“Look closely, my friends,” whispered Nicholai as he gestured toward another engraved stone in the chapel floor, only a few feet from the graves of Thomas and Aimée de St. Briac. “This stone marks the honored resting place of Eustache’s ancestor, Gaspard LeFait.”
Was it possible? Humbled, Gabriel dropped down on one knee beside his manservant. Together, they read aloud the French inscription on the burnished plaque:
Here lies Gaspard LeFait
Faithful manservant to Thomas Mardouet, seigneur de St. Briac
Meddling windbag and Beloved friend
Born 1469 ~ Died January 1554
Reaching the last words, Gabriel felt a chill pass through him as he absorbed the meaning of the inscription. How many times had Eustache driven him mad with his insistences that “monseigneur” was as true a lord as any nobleman? It had seemed nonsense, but perhaps it was Gabriel who had been wrong. Eustache looked up at him now, smiling, his own cheeks wet with tears.
“Just as I have always told you, monseigneur, I was born to serve you.”
“And meddle in my life,” Gabriel agreed with a wry smile. As they rose to their feet, he saw Nicholai, Lisette, and Isabella, all watching in wonder. “Clearly, there are some things in life that cannot be explained…”
“Take my advice and surrender to the mystery,” said Nicholai. “It’s one of the secrets of happiness.”
“And love,” his wife added softly.
Chapter 25
Izzie enjoyed a lovely hot bath in the special bathing alcove that adjoined her chamber, reflecting once again that the French were very advanced in many respects.
“Only think how nice this would be in the damp chill of winter, my lady,” said Lowenna from the doorway to the alcove. “None of those nasty drafts we must contend with in England. And look at all these towels!” She held up a stack for Izzie to see. “There’s an enormous room they call the lingerie, where all the linens are stored. I’ve never seen so many towels and sheets in one place!”
“Ingenious,” Izzie agreed absently. She tipped her head back against the rim of the copper tub and thought of Gabriel and the magical scene they’d shared today in the chapel.
Once upon a time, Izzie had believed wholeheartedly in destiny. Just like Eustache, the very first time she saw Gabriel, she’d been convinced that fate had brought them together. How many times had Mouette Raveneau reminded her of the words she’d spoken that night a decade ago: “That is the man I will marry!” But as the years passed, Izzie had realized that such notions were only girlish dreams and it was up to her to shape her own destiny.
“Do you believe in fate?” she said now to Lowenna.
“Indeed I do, my lady.” Color suffused the girl’s round face. She held up one of the soft towels to wrap Izzie in as she stepped from the bath.
Izzie looked at her, remembering the hours that Lowenna had spent with Eustache. “Do you just let it happen? Aren’t you afraid that your dreams might be dashed? That your heart could be broken?”
“No, my lady, I do not be afraid.” She wore a serene expression as she added, “And yes, I just let it happen.”
* * *
Gabriel sat across from Isabella during the evening meal, illuminated by dozens of flickering candles and surrounded by members of the lively Beauvisage family. They sipped fine wine while enjoying a relatively simple menu of filets of partridge, sautéed turbot, haricots verts with butter, and a large salad that mixed fresh tarragon, lamb’s lettuce, watercress, pimpernel, and other fragrant herbs, all dressed with a mixture of olive oil and tart vinegar.
It was refreshing, Gabriel thought, to be joined at the table by these bright adolescents. Adrienne and her younger brother were well-behaved, but not shy about joining in the conversation.
When Isabella complimented Lisette on the fresh young green beans, James declared, “Did you know that Napoleon refuses to eat them? He is revolted at the prospect of one of the bean strings being in his mouth because, he says, they feel like hairs!”
“Is that a fit story for our table?” Nicholai asked, unable to conceal his own amusement.
“Is it not?” countered James. “I thought you and Maman believed the emperor’s odd ideas about food to be an amusing subject.”
Lisette sent her husband a teasing smile before turning to Gabriel. “You have promised to tell us more about your reason for visiting Château du Soleil, m’sieur. We sense that you have come for a bigger purpose than becoming acquainted with our family.”
“My wife is American and, hence, very candid,” remarked Nicholai. “You don’t have to answer.”
Gabriel met Isabella’s gaze across the table and felt himself relax. Beautiful dishes of oeufs à la neige were being served as he sipped a brandy and considered. At length, Gabriel began to tell them the story of the portrait of King François I. He explained how it had been lost, their suspicions about the involvement of Denon and Wicar, and the search that had brought Isabella with him to France.
“I had intended to send Lady Isabella and our servants back to Roscoff so that I might travel on to Paris, but my mother encouraged—even insisted—that we come here first. She felt certain that we would uncover information that would prove helpful.”
“If nothing else, our dear Eustache made a momentous discovery,” said Isabella, sampling one of the pretty meringues that floated in a shallow sea of orange sauce.
“True enough,” allowed Gabriel. For a moment, he imagined being alone with her, tasting the sweet dessert on her lips, before mentally shaking himself. “However, what I really need is information that will help me find our painting of the King.”
“I know a bit about the relationship between da Vinci and Thomas, your distant St. Briac ancestor,” Nicholai offered. “Thomas left journals and letters, all packed away in our tower storerooms, and I spent many hours reading them when we first came to live here.”
Gabriel felt a surge of excitement. “I am grateful for anything you can share.”
“As you may know, King François was fascinated by Leonardo’s great intellect. He brought him from Italy to live in France when the artist was an old man and gave him a manor house near the king’s own château at Amboise. By that time, François and Thomas, who had been friends since adolescence, were young men, reveling in a life of royal pageants, hunts, feasting, and travel from one elegant château to another.”
Eyes agleam, Isabella set down her fork to listen. “I have heard that da Vinci brought his great masterpiece, the Mona Lisa, with him when he traveled to France, rolled up in his bags with other papers and belongings. Can you imagine?”
“I believe that Thomas recorded that in his own journals,” said Nicholai, nodding. “He was with the king when Leonardo arrived, and he wrote of the high regard his friend had for the aging painter. François visited him as often as possible and they would converse for hours. It seems that Leonardo’s mind never dulled as he aged, and he made plans and sketches for many things. Thomas wrote of Leonardo’s design for a great mechanical lion they used during a pageant at Blois. The metal beast, moved by springs, took a few steps toward the king, as if to attack him. When François used a wand to challenge it, the lion opened its chest and revealed a bouquet of white lilies.”
Isabella clapped her hands. “What a wonderful story! I can just imagine the scene.”
“Was da Vinci painting during this time?” asked Gabriel, still hoping to learn something helpful about his own lost painting.
“A little, I believe. In fact, we have an unfinished painting here that the great man was working on at the time of his death.” As if anticipating his guests’ desires, he pushed back from the table. “Would you like to see it?”
The two children went off to finish a game of chess with their tutor while Lisette took her husband’s arm and they led the way into the great hall. The high-ceilinged room was lit by candles fitted into branched sconces, and the paneled walls were lined with works of art. Isabella was gazing at each painting that they passed
with utter fascination.
“Here it is,” said Lisette, as she and her husband stopped in front of a small portrait of a woman. The lower half showed a detailed sketch of the bodice of the woman’s Renaissance-era gown, though her face and hair were beautifully complete.
Gabriel stared at the uniquely carved frame, accented with worn bits of gold. His heart was pounding so hard that he could hear it in his ears. He looked down at Isabella and saw by her expression that she was as moved as he was.
“Yes,” he said to her, “it’s identical to the frame on our painting of the King.”
“And isn’t the size the same as well?” she whispered. Stepping forward, Isabella pointed to the finely-made series of hatch-marks, denoting a shadow in the sketched portion of the painting. “Do you see this? It’s one of da Vinci’s signature techniques.”
“Who is this woman?” Gabriel asked Nicholai.
“It is Queen Claude. She married François in 1514, three years before Leonardo’s death. According to Thomas’s written records, Leonardo was making the portrait as a gift for His Majesty.” Nicholai paused as if savoring the moment of suspense, before adding, “He had already completed a companion portrait of King François. Many years later, the king gave the two small portraits to Thomas and Aimée, as tokens of his regard, and to commemorate the friendship François and Thomas had shared with Leonardo.”
It was Isabella who spoke up. “Where is the companion portrait of the King?”
Gabriel already sensed the answer, yet he felt another chill run down his spine as Nicholai looked directly into his eyes. “Family lore has it that, when your great-grandfather Philippe went out into the world to make his fortune, Marie Beauvisage bestowed upon him not only the St. Briac surname, but also the painting of King François.”
“This makes me more determined than ever to recover the King,” Gabriel said grimly. “When I consider the sort of despicable coward who would steal our family treasure from its hiding place in Cornwall, I could murder him with my bare hands.”
Isabella glanced up with unguarded dismay.
“Have I shocked you?” he said in a gentler tone. “Our St. Briac family has had little enough proof of our worth. Do you blame me for hating the person who snatched away the one piece of tangible evidence that we spring from the same bloodline as these lords of Château du Soleil?”
“Of course not,” she whispered, but he saw how pale she had become. “You must pardon me. I am fatigued, I suppose.”
“If you need more proof,” said Nicholai, “you shall have it.”
Clearly, his host was relishing the moment. He beckoned them to follow as he and Lisette led the way farther along, toward the mammoth fireplace that stood unlit in summer.
“These portraits are of Thomas and Aimée, lord and lady of St. Briac,” Nicholai told them, pointing to a pair of larger paintings. They were illuminated by rosy beams of light flowing in through the windows on this midsummer’s evening. The first portrait showed a piquantly beautiful, raven-haired woman in a gown of emerald-green velvet. “They were painted by their English friend, Andrew, Duke of Aylesbury, a talented portraitist.”
After they had paused to admire Aimée, Nicholai led Gabriel to stand in front of the second portrait. With a gesture of greeting, he proclaimed, “Say hello to your ancestor, m’sieur.”
Gabriel stared, his heart in his throat, while Isabella gave a muffled gasp of surprise.
The tall, well-built man smiling roguishly down at him was clad in a simple jeweled doublet. He had chestnut hair, cropped short and curling slightly, and his turquoise eyes twinkled with good humor.
Except for his clothing and a close-trimmed beard, Thomas Mardouet, seigneur de St. Briac, was the image of Gabriel.
“You could be twins,” murmured Lisette.
“It is certainly amazing,” agreed Nicholai. He wrapped an arm around Gabriel’s shoulders again and drew him closer. “I knew something miraculous was happening the moment I first saw you in the village, but I didn’t realize the full extent of it until now. Seeing you beside this man, who has been a hero to every seigneur de St. Briac, I am truly awestruck.”
A thousand conflicting emotions were at war inside Gabriel. When at least he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “If you have indeed realized the full extent of what this means, m’sieur, kindly enlighten me. For my part, I feel as if I am in a dream.”
It was gracious Lisette who stepped forward and took his hand in both of hers. “It is a sign, don’t you think so? Another sign, like the connection you have to Eustache, the descendant of Gaspard LeFait, that you are truly part of this family, and you are meant to be here. Beyond that, we cannot know. It is another of life’s splendid mysteries.”
Gabriel accepted the warm good wishes of Nicholai and Lisette, still feeling utterly confounded by this latest disclosure. A full minute passed before he noticed Isabella standing at a distance, still pale—and even more pensive than before.
Chapter 26
“I find that I am exhausted after this day of great revelations,” said Gabriel to their hosts. “And I can see that Isabella is also fatigued. If you’ll excuse us, I will see her to her rooms.”
Izzie watched him, feeling almost faint with the power of her own emotions. On one hand, she was filled with pride and relief for the man she loved. And yet, it was impossible to forget that her own brother was the villain who had stolen the portrait of King François that Gabriel valued so highly. Now that she had heard the story behind the painting and da Vinci’s relationship to the young King François and Thomas, lord of St. Briac, Izzie felt even deeper shame for George’s crime—and the secret she had kept for him.
“Of course,” Lisette was saying warmly. As she embraced Izzie, their eyes met. “I can see that you are not yourself. Rest, and tomorrow we’ll have a leisurely breakfast in the garden.”
Soon Gabriel was guiding her out of the great hall and down the vaulted corridor. “Cherie, are you ill?” he asked.
“No.” Suddenly she felt like crying, but couldn’t possibly tell him why. “I will be fine. I think I just need to sit down for a few minutes.”
“My rooms are just ahead. Come in and rest for a bit, then I’ll take you downstairs to your own chamber.”
She did as he bade her. Gabriel brought her into his darkened rooms and gently helped her to sit on a chaise upholstered in figured blue silk. Outside the windows, the sun was rapidly setting, but Gabriel lit an oil lamp and placed it on a low table near Izzie. She was grateful that it only supplied soft, golden light that would make it difficult for him to read her expressions.
“Drink this,” he said, and handed her a small glass of cognac before pouring a portion for himself and sitting down beside her. Arching a brow, he added, “But not all at once.”
She gave a little laugh and saw the relief in his handsome face. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine, really.”
“Thank God.”
To her surprise, he lifted her free hand and pressed a slow, burning kiss to her palm. Waves of confused arousal washed over Izzie. “You must be feeling absolutely elated,” she said.
“Mais oui,” he replied in a low voice. “I have been longing to hold you in my arms again.”
“Be serious,” she protested.
“Believe me, I am completely in earnest.”
“I meant, you must be elated to have learned so much about your heritage tonight. To have seen the portrait of your legendary ancestor—” Izzie broke off, nearly gasping as his mouth moved to the sensitive pulse points of her wrist. “Wasn’t it amazing to realize that you look exactly like the most famous St. Briac of all?”
“Of course. But at this moment, something else has gained my attention.”
Izzie took a big sip of the cognac, feeling it warm her, and then Gabriel was taking the little glass away and turning her to lie back on the chaise with him. Familiar currents of longing flowed through her body.
“Your mother and Eustache were right,” she manag
ed to whisper.
“So it would seem.” He braced himself on one strong arm and gazed down at her with smoldering eyes.
“Do you believe it now, that you have as much right to be here as the Beauvisage family does?”
“I suppose I must, but still it feels illusory.” He reached out with one powerful, elegant hand and traced the side of her face with his fingertips. “I care more for the reality of this moment with you.”
Wasn’t this what she had dreamed of for a decade? They were alone together, in Gabriel’s ancestral château, and everything was perfect. She felt the power of his devotion. In fact, it seemed that he might be on the verge of declaring his love for her. Why, then, did her heart threaten to burst from her chest, while her stomach churned warningly?
“If there is one great benefit from this day,” Gabriel said as he slowly unfastened the soft ties at her bodice, “it is that I may finally be convinced that I am worthy of you. Tonight, looking into the eyes of my noble ancestor, it seemed that he was telling me that we were the same, and I should believe it going forward.”
“That’s simply—wonderful.”
He was kissing her, coaxing her to relax under the play of his mouth on hers, the deft tutelage of his tongue. And in spite of the shame and guilt that tore at her, Izzie felt her body responding helplessly.
Her bodice came open and Gabriel reached back to partially unlace her stays. To Izzie’s dismay, she saw that her breasts were freed, round and aching in the shadowy golden light.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered roughly.
His words sent a fresh wave of arousal surging through her. Under her skirts, she was swollen, tingling with a primal longing. She almost begged him to touch her there.
Izzie thought she would go mad when he bent his masculine head and traced the ruched edge of her nipple with his tongue. From far away, she heard herself moan. His fingertips were caressing her breasts, touching each sensitive place in exactly the way she craved. At last, after he had teased each nipple in turn, with only the tip of his tongue, Izzie couldn’t help herself. Her breathing was shallow and ragged, and when he came back to her right breast, she moved so that the entire pink crest came into his mouth.
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