Gus waited; Evangeline was building up to something big.
Tears glistened in her eyes, and there was a tremble in her voice. “We were only gone for four years. In that time, the various citizens committees for the revolution, which had use of this place, abused it most horribly. They did everything but destroy it. And now . . .”
She waved a hand in the air.
“Now Marec and his bandits want to take it from us again. My family were good to the people of this area. We still are, and this is the reward we get?”
Her head dropped at the same time as her arm. “I am sorry, Gus; I am glad you came. It’s just that I was hoping for more. Armand likes you, and that is a particular problem. Sir Stephen has always been firm with my uncle, and he listens to him.”
And he may not pay heed to what I have to say.
Gus scrunched his lips together, fighting to keep his temper under control. He had every right to be offended by Evangeline’s words. She had basically just told him he was useless.
But getting angry wouldn’t solve anything. It would only serve to fracture the fragile bond between them. He wanted nothing more than to come to her, to offer reassurances and comfort.
He might not be able to reach Armand, but he understood Evangeline and how her mind worked. A soft pat on the arm and a kind word was not the way to deal with her. A change in tack was required. “You said in your letter that your uncle wouldn’t listen to you, that he is determined to fight Marec. So, why do you think he would pay heed to anyone? To be frank, I am not here to stop him from going to war.”
Her brows lifted.
You weren’t expecting to hear that.
“Why are you here then?”
He took a step closer. “To do what I can to support Armand, but also to help you. If things go as badly as I expect they might, you are going to need me. Evangeline, I came to France for you.”
Heat raced to Evangeline’s cheeks. When Gus took another step closer, she wanted nothing more than to flee. Roguish Englishmen were dangerous. She had long held that opinion from her dealings with the members of the rogues of the road. Augustus Jones in particular had always set her nerves inexplicably on edge.
He had come to France for her. Evangeline struggled to understand what that really meant. She had written to Gus because she was concerned about Armand. Her uncle’s life was in danger. Saving him and the family home were what mattered.
I have to get away.
“I must go and check with the kitchen. Make sure the plans for the roast perch and fennel supper are progressing. Armand will be in need of a good meal when he returns. Excuse me.” She made for the garden gate but didn’t go back inside the main house. Instead, she moved quickly past the vegetable beds, deftly sidestepped a wandering chicken, and then headed straight toward the path which led down to the sea chapel.
Her blood was pounding hard in her ears, but it was not loud enough to cover the sound of Gus’s boots.
“Evangeline, wait,” he said.
“No.”
She kept up her hurried pace, only finally slowing when she reached the stone steps. They were old and worn. Only a fool would try to descend them at any sort of speed.
Fifty-three steps. The last half-dozen or so were wet and slippery from the sea mist, slowing her progress even further. Gus caught up with her as she put her foot on the last one.
He took a firm hold of her arm and helped her down.
“You can’t run away from me. Where will you go?” he pleaded.
She turned to face him. “You said you came for me. But what about Armand? I am afraid for him. Not just what Vincent and his men will do, but what my uncle is scheming. Gus, I fear it is something big, and once he lets it loose, no one will be able to control it, least of all him.”
He released his hold and followed her into the chapel.
The moment she stepped inside, everything changed. Light and sounds from the world disappeared, replaced by the sense of being somewhere that was almost ethereal. Nothing could compare to how standing in the tiny cave made her feel.
On the far side of it the blue sea which lay beyond could be seen through a small gap in the rock face. The waves, dancing up and down, captured in a living frame.
Suspended from the roof of the sea chapel was a small silver bell, rarely rung these days. On the near wall, behind a stone altar, was a rack for votive candles. Evangeline took in the rows of fallen, burned-out beeswax. This place had become forgotten. Lost.
It was sad that no one, apart from her, came here. Even she rarely did these days. Life was too busy. Too many pressing conflicts for her time to indulge in precious moments of quiet reflection.
