stone.
She heard her steps ring out as she crossed to the center of the bridge. She paused and stared at the castle. It was still magnificent. Standing there, staring at the shadowy structure rising against the gray-tinged horizon, her breath caught. A shadow of the greatness it once represented, the structure seemed tonight as alone and echoing and mysterious as the man who had stood at the path of her husband’s grave.
The graveyard was just to the right of the castle. Vast and deeply interwoven with moonlit headstones among thick green vegetation, it seemed a world all its own. She’d visited her father’s grave here, but not so often—not often enough to know every pathway as she did now. Now she knew this place like her own house in the dark—the winding stone path, the brush that wasn’t cut back enough and snagged her skirts if she wasn’t careful, the names from centuries past, worn by rain and wind so that they were as faint as the memories of the dead. She supposed that was why she’d chosen these early morning visits. Everything here was mystery; a perfect match to her feelings about Daniel and their marriage.
Daniel. How he’d dazzled her when they first met. As her steps continued over the cobbled walk, her own memories rose before her.
Her cousin, the Countess de Beauharnais, was born and raised on a sugar plantation in the French province Trois-Ilets, Martinique, the Caribbean Island that was an overseas department of France. The countess had married well above her station and convinced Scarlett’s mother by letter that there were many available alliances to be made for her beautiful daughter. Since Scarlett’s father had passed away several years ago, Scarlett’s mother was quick to respond that her daughter would travel to Paris to make such a match.
They’d packed her off in a coach on a clear blue day, where the gentle wind blew her thick, dark curls away from her cherry-colored bonnet. Her small, stuffed trunk was secured atop the vehicle with the best clothing, slippers, and jewelry that they could scrounge together. She would never tell her mother the mortification she’d felt when sized up by her benevolent cousin. But Louisa had been generous. She’d commented immediately on Scarlett’s lithe form as she evaluated her in an up and down movement of her light brown eyes. With a dazzling smile, she pulled Scarlett into a dressing room overflowing with gowns, the fabrics of which were unknown in the backwater of Carcassonne. Silks and brocades; laces and undergarments that had names Scarlett had never heard; overcoats and wraps of fur and satin; and long, glorious gowns of colors she’d never dreamed existed in the world. Louisa had magically, it seemed, summoned a swarm of talented seamstresses, all of whom were more than willing and able to remake a married woman’s castoffs into the gowns of a debutante. Louisa was single-minded in her mission to prepare Scarlett to meet the Paris society. But it had all proven unnecessary. It took only that first dinner party, when Scarlett met the tall and handsome Daniel Robespierre, to strike a match.
Oh, how her heart had jumped when he first looked her way. He’d stopped mid-sentence and stared, a slow smile upon his face. She looked down, her face growing warm, and then stole a quick look at him—only to discover that he was walking toward her. As her aunt made the introductions, Scarlett had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. Then he bent over her hand, brushed it with a mere whisper of a touch of his lips, and looked up and into her eyes. She stood very still, then smiled. When he smiled back, it brought a thrill to her throat. She opened her mouth to say something clever, but all that came out was, “Oh.”
He grinned at her then, one side of his mouth kicking up, his eyes alight with suppressed laughter.
They seated him next to her at the long, lavish table, and she quickly learned that Daniel was a young lawyer, a patriot,
She heard her steps ring out as she crossed to the center of the bridge. She paused and stared at the castle. It was still magnificent. Standing there, staring at the shadowy structure rising against the gray-tinged horizon, her breath caught. A shadow of the greatness it once represented, the structure seemed tonight as alone and echoing and mysterious as the man who had stood at the path of her husband’s grave.
The graveyard was just to the right of the castle. Vast and deeply interwoven with moonlit headstones among thick green vegetation, it seemed a world all its own. She’d visited her father’s grave here, but not so often—not often enough to know every pathway as she did now. Now she knew this place like her own house in the dark—the winding stone path, the brush that wasn’t cut back enough and snagged her skirts if she wasn’t careful, the names from centuries past, worn by rain and wind so that they were as faint as the memories of the dead. She supposed that was why she’d chosen these early morning visits. Everything here was mystery; a perfect match to her feelings about Daniel and their marriage.
Daniel. How he’d dazzled her when they first met. As her steps continued over the cobbled walk, her own memories rose before her.
Her cousin, the Countess de Beauharnais, was born and raised on a sugar plantation in the French province Trois-Ilets, Martinique, the Caribbean Island that was an overseas department of France. The countess had married well above her station and convinced Scarlett’s mother by letter that there were many available alliances to be made for her beautiful daughter. Since Scarlett’s father had passed away several years ago, Scarlett’s mother was quick to respond that her daughter would travel to Paris to make such a match.
They’d packed her off in a coach on a clear blue day, where the gentle wind blew her thick, dark curls away from her cherry-colored bonnet. Her small, stuffed trunk was secured atop the vehicle with the best clothing, slippers, and jewelry that they could scrounge together. She would never tell her mother the mortification she’d felt when sized up by her benevolent cousin. But Louisa had been generous. She’d commented immediately on Scarlett’s lithe form as she evaluated her in an up and down movement of her light brown eyes. With a dazzling smile, she pulled Scarlett into a dressing room overflowing with gowns, the fabrics of which were unknown in the backwater of Carcassonne. Silks and brocades; laces and undergarments that had names Scarlett had never heard; overcoats and wraps of fur and satin; and long, glorious gowns of colors she’d never dreamed existed in the world. Louisa had magically, it seemed, summoned a swarm of talented seamstresses, all of whom were more than willing and able to remake a married woman’s castoffs into the gowns of a debutante. Louisa was single-minded in her mission to prepare Scarlett to meet the Paris society. But it had all proven unnecessary. It took only that first dinner party, when Scarlett met the tall and handsome Daniel Robespierre, to strike a match.
Oh, how her heart had jumped when he first looked her way. He’d stopped mid-sentence and stared, a slow smile upon his face. She looked down, her face growing warm, and then stole a quick look at him—only to discover that he was walking toward her. As her aunt made the introductions, Scarlett had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. Then he bent over her hand, brushed it with a mere whisper of a touch of his lips, and looked up and into her eyes. She stood very still, then smiled. When he smiled back, it brought a thrill to her throat. She opened her mouth to say something clever, but all that came out was, “Oh.”
He grinned at her then, one side of his mouth kicking up, his eyes alight with suppressed laughter.
They seated him next to her at the long, lavish table, and she quickly learned that Daniel was a young lawyer, a patriot,
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