“Marry me, Juliet.”
I had no doubts. I was lost in his dark desire forever. “Yes. Kiss me.”
He brought his lips to mine and whispered, “My dear, I thought you would never ask.”
He kissed me then, sliding his fingers into my hair and loosening the pins, letting my curls fall free. I felt his hunger, his heart, his soul reaching for mine in that kiss, and I gave myself up to the magic of his passion. Pressing tightly to him, I breathed in the scent of sandalwood and spice.
“Love me, Stephen,” I whispered.
“As long as God gives life to our souls.”
“I mean right this minute.” I slid my hands down to his hips and pulled him closer.
He laughed. “My impatient Juliet.” Sweeping me into his arms, he carried me inside the house. “Tonight the pleasure is going to last till dawn.”
“Dawn? But that’s hours! No man could—”
“Just wait,” he said, silencing me with a kiss. Then he proceeded to fulfill his promise.
Epilogue
The full moon hung low in the sky, and a starlit path to heaven dotted the blue black night. Jasmine and sweet honeysuckle scented the evening breeze, along with the aroma of lit torches. Shadows darkened the courtyard, but the hearts of those who had gathered there were filled with light and love.
I turned to look at my silver and lace dress in the mirror, but instead of wedding finery, I saw a man more mist than substance. Dressed in worn confederate gray, he stood between the mirror and me, yet I could still see myself. He was familiar and I was unafraid. It was Jean Claude’s ghost.
A heavy chill still hit me, but I smiled at him, realizing he had been helping us find his murderer all along, possibly even protecting us. Some miracle had put out the fire in the attic, I was certain. I heard a flutter and looked to my left.
The pages of his journal lying on my bed flew open as if by magic, and the man of mists placed his hand over his heart, gestured good-bye, and disappeared. Tears stung my eyes, but at last I felt peace about the past.
Standing near the French doors, where I could hear the laughter from below, I read the passage from Jean Claude’s diary again.
“Finally, my youthful wife, who has brought so much to me when I thought I’d have no joy to fill these years, I must ask you to forgive me. For if you are reading these words, which I pen in a lonely camp amidst a war that has become a folly of death and destruction, then I have failed my mission. My attempt to get the supplies needed for our dying cause must have ended in dishonor. Forgive me. For you must understand, I see ahead and the fields are barren. The South has murdered her sons, her husbands, and fathers, and there are none to plow the field and feed the hungry. I thought by this deed, that I might save us all. So I have commended my heart and the future of my son, Andre, whom I hold ever close to my heart, into St. Catherine’s hands and lay all that has been dearly bought at her feet.”
I shut the journal. Soon Stephen would be waiting for me in the courtyard below, and I would go to him.
“I must say, this is the most unusual wedding I have ever attended,” said Ann Trevelyan, Stephen’s sister-in-law, as she slipped into the room. “It is absolutely perfect for you and Stephen. I am so happy for you, and now that I have met you, I am happy for him.” She smiled, transforming her face to one of quiet beauty as she adjusted the deep red roses of my bouquet. “Are you nervous?”
“Non, I am anxious to be with Stephen. He is my heart, and I am blessed that he comes with such a large and warm family.”
“I daresay the nine of us are a bit much to take all at one time.”
I smiled. “You are all très wonderful.”
“We are an overly lively and chaotic group, but it is nice of you not to say it.”
“A wonderful lively, then,” I said.
Two weeks ago, Stephen’s family had arrived from San Francisco and filled La Belle to overflowing. In that short time, I felt surrounded by a bounty of love and laughter. Ann’s practical nature seemed to keep everyone sane. No matter what havoc or disaster arose, her no-nonsense manner ruled, and Stephen’s brother Benedict helped keep Justin and Robert, his sons, from getting too out of line with their exuberance. Already, Andre, Justin, and Robert had started building a tree house, the planning of which had required the expert advice of all of the men. Stephen and Benedict seemed to be enjoying the adventure just as much as the children.
The ethereal sounds of Ginette playing the harp drifted up from the courtyard. This time no sadness lay in the beautiful melody, and her voice rang with strength and happiness. In the morning, when the dew was fresh upon the earth, renewing all of life, she would marry the captain of her heart. But tonight, the moonlight was mine.
“It’s time,” Ann said.
Taking the bouquet she held out, I stepped onto the gallery and walked to the railing as planned. Stephen stood by St. Catherine’s fountain, looking toward me, and I thought again how beautiful he was in the moonlight and the shadows. My cue to come to him was to be a rose he would hold it out for me. I expected for him to lift the bloom immediately; he didn’t. Instead, he nodded his head to the side.
Turning to look, I saw Andre with his violin. He stood in the moonlight and played a softly, exquisitely beautiful song. Mignon stood by him, in silent support. My heart overflowed with love for both of them.
When Andre finished, Stephen held up the rose. Then Papa John helped me down the steps, where Mama Louisa stood with tears streaming down her face. “God’s blessing,” she said simply.
I nodded as Ginette and Mignon joined me.
“Juliet, you are breathtaking,” Ginette said.
“Just until the dawn. Then it will be you who will outshine the sun.”
My sisters’ dresses flowed about them like beautiful pastel ghosts in the moonlight as they followed me. Waiting in the courtyard was a sea of people I was just beginning to take into my heart. Stephen’s sister, Katherine Simons, her husband, Anthony, and their daughter, baby Titania, Benedict, Justin, Robert, baby Elizabeth Ann, and Stephen’s mother, Rosalind Trevelyan.
I walked to Stephen in the moonlight as he stood at the fountain. Benedict stood at his side, and next to him was Captain Jennison, the man to whom Stephen and I owed our lives. I gave Ginette my bouquet, placing my hand over Stephen’s as he held the single rose out to me.
“I love you,” he said, softly.
“And I love you.” With our hands joined over the rose, we knelt at St. Catherine’s feet to be married.
The minister began the service, and as I knelt before the statue, I remembered the words from Jean Claude’s journal—that he’d laid all that had been dearly bought at St. Catherine’s feet. And then I knew, with certainty, what he’d meant.
“Stephen, I know where the gold is,” I whispered, then primly looked back at the minister, who was speaking about the duties of husband and wife.
“Where?” he whispered back.
“We are kneeling on it. The gold is at St. Catherine’s feet.”
“Good lord!” he exclaimed, causing a stir of movement among everyone. I laughed.
Stephen’s brother bent down next to him. “Is there a problem, Stephen?”
Merriment danced in Stephen’s eyes as he shook his head, then looked at the priest, who was frowning at us both. “Have you gotten to the kissing part yet?”
“No,” the priest admonished.
Undaunted, Stephen smiled. “Then there will be two of them, for I cannot wait.” He leaned over and kissed me, making my heart sing.
When the ceremony ended and Stephen swept me into his arms, I realized a new era was beginning. La Belle du Temps, the house of my heart, would now become the house of Stephen’s and my hearts. Our fondest memories would live within her, times of laughter and joy as our children grew. She would hold our lives with gentle arms, and the strength and understanding of our ancestors would wrap around us as we walked from the shadows of the past to a bright new future.
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