The Secret of Love Page 6

  The conversation ended as Tristan lifted a finger to request silence. They turned off the path and started up a thickly wooded hillside blanketed by bluebells and decaying leaves. When a sharp stone underfoot attempted to threaten St. Briac’s balance, he reached for Isabella’s arm and guided her along without a word.

  “Ah, here we are,” said Sebastian in hushed tones. He exchanged glances with Tristan as they stopped in front of a little hillock with a lot of brush piled at one end.

  “But there’s nothing here,” protested Isabella.

  “Shh. Please don’t announce our position to the entire village of Lerryn.” Her brother began to push aside the branches until they could see what appeared to be the small opening to a cave, covered by slabs of granite.

  Isabella’s expression of dismay had given way to astonishment, and Gabriel’s own heart gave a great thump as he watched Sebastian and Tristan push the granite aside. The prospect of recovering the painting, his only link with a legitimate heritage, sent adrenaline rushing through his veins.

  “It has been safe from the elements in that cave?” he wondered aloud.

  “I have seen to that.” Tristan straightened in the shadowy light to meet St. Briac’s eyes. “Four years ago, after you brought the painting to us, Sebastian, Julia, and I packed it in layers of dry linen, and then put it in a thick chest. And I have come back yearly to change the fabric and make certain it hasn’t been harmed in any way.” Turning back to the smuggling hole, he added, “I was just here in April, as a matter of fact. King François was looking splendid! I swore he winked at me.”

  Relief and joy welled up in St. Briac. “Ha! Yes, I know what you mean. I have had that same feeling many times when I beheld the portrait. It is, I am told, one of Leonardo’s special gifts.”

  As Sebastian and Tristan dragged the chest out into the light, Gabriel felt Isabella squeeze his hand. “You’re quite right,” she whispered. “That is one of Leonardo’s unique gifts. His portraits seem to come alive in a way that can’t be explained by mere technique.”

  He kept her gloved hand in his, reassured somehow by the pressure of her fingers. They watched together as Sebastian opened the chest and Tristan lifted out a linen-wrapped bundle. It seemed that his heart would burst from his chest as the layers of fabric were peeled away.

  “You see?” Tristan proclaimed, “just as I told you—”

  They all waited as the last bit of cloth came off and he held up a dark, rectangular object. Although exactly the shape and size of the framed portrait of King François, it was not a painting at all.

  St. Briac froze with shock as he realized that his precious treasure was gone—replaced only by a stained, battered book.

  Chapter 5

  George, George, George!

  It was all Izzie could think of once reality sank in. Someone had stolen St. Briac’s painting! It was not simply the only evidence of his true family heritage, but one of the few portraits in existence by the master Leonardo da Vinci.

  And now it had disappeared—and only Izzie would suspect that the thief was the Marquess of Caverleigh, her own brother. Thoughts spun round and round in her mind and her heart seemed to be spinning dizzily as well. Fortunately Gabriel, Sebastian, and Tristan were so occupied with their own agitated conversation that none of them seemed to notice that she had gone dead white, her hands ice-cold and trembling.

  Gabriel and Tristan decided that they would thoroughly search the woods and the tunnel leading to the quay, while Sebastian returned Izzie to Trevarre Hall.

  “Not that I imagine we will find it,” St. Briac said as they parted ways near the smuggler’s hole. His tone was acid. “Do you suppose the thief accidentally dropped it?”

  “But we must search,” Tristan insisted. “Who can say what we might find?”

  “How the devil could this have happened?” Sebastian asked. “Could someone have seen you come here, Tristan? Perhaps a groundskeeper?”

  “God knows,” Tristan replied, shaking his head in disbelief. “Perhaps there will be a simple explanation…”

  “Simple? I doubt it.” St. Briac’s eyes glittered like a stormy sea.

  While he was talking, and the other men looking about in anger and confusion, Izzie noticed something small and brown, gleaming among the leaves. So quickly they did not notice, she bent down and picked up the button from George’s coat.

  “At dawn, I intend to sail for France as planned,” Gabriel continued. “Not only must I return home, but also I suspect one of Napoleon’s henchmen has taken the painting. I will recover it, I can promise you that.”

  The dark expression on his face was completely at odds with the man Izzie imagined she knew. Gray clouds were gathering overhead and the wind was picking up as Sebastian took her arm and they started back into the woods. Izzie had balled her free hand into a fist, George’s button concealed within.

  Her heart felt torn in two. Gabriel hadn’t even said goodbye.

  * * *

  “I don’t understand why you are leaving,” said Julia from the doorway of Izzie’s bedchamber. She scooped Lucas up and walked toward the bed. “Sebastian won’t like it that you mean to stay alone at Lupine Cottage.”

  “I won’t be alone. I’ll have Lowenna with me.” Izzie opened a portmanteau and tried to focus on packing a proper array of summer clothing. “I’m twenty-four years of age, you know. Quite old enough to direct my own life, in case Sebastian has forgotten.”

  “Are you upset about Gabriel St. Briac?” Julia asked more softly.

  Izzie could feel her trying to make eye contact, but she looked away and shook out a thin muslin round gown. “Upset? If you are referring to the theft of his painting, yes of course I am upset!”

  “I suspect that you have long had feelings for him…”

  “Feelings?” Izzie scoffed as she folded the gown. “Are you referring again to the infatuation of a young, impressionable girl? I have told you that I outgrew such fantasies long ago.”

  Julia stared at her. “You are behaving very strangely! Please, sit down and talk to me. You aren’t plotting something imprudent, are you? If you put yourself in danger—”

  “What could I possibly be plotting to do? Really, Julia, are you delirious?”

  This seemed to have the desired effect. Her sister-in-law laughed, too, looking relieved. “I don’t know what I imagined…it’s just that you aren’t yourself.”

  “It was upsetting to find that someone had stolen M’sieur St. Briac’s painting, that’s all. But, it is just a painting. No doubt he will find the villain who took it, kill him in a duel, and all will be well in the end.” Izzie closed the portmanteau.

  “I’m relieved to know that my fears are unfounded. If I suspected that you were at risk and I failed to share that knowledge with Sebastian, I shudder to imagine the repercussions.”

  “Rest easy, my dear. I would never put you in such a position.”

  “Of course, that’s the least of it.” Julia continued to watch Izzie. “I wish it weren’t true, but you would be judged harshly if you engage in improper behavior. You are the daughter of a marquess; high standards are set for you. If your good name is sullied, not only won’t you be received by the London ton, but you may depend upon the fact that your friend Mouette’s pretentious husband would be the first to shun you.”

  “How fortunate then, that Mouette appears to have already cut the ties of our friendship.” Izzie gave an ironic little laugh before adding, “You’ll be reassured to know I have no such wicked plans.”

  “I won’t preach to you any longer.” Julia touched her cheek, and Izzie felt momentarily teary. “Will you not stay and dine with us tonight? I’m certain Gabriel will want to bid you farewell.”

  “Tell him that I wish him bon chance.” She put on a smile, hugged Julia, and gave little Lucas a kiss on his warm, damp cheek. “I need some time alone, that’s all. Come for tea tomorrow afternoon, if you’d like. I’m sure I’ll be feeling much better by then!”
/>   * * *

  Back at Lupine Cottage, high on its hilltop above the village of Polperro, Izzie felt relieved to have escaped the lovingly watchful eyes of Julia and Sebastian.

  Twilight was gathering as she rearranged the contents of her portmanteau, adding a traveling case of paints and other artist’s supplies. Over and over again, Izzie reminded herself that she must go to France and help Gabriel St. Briac track down his lost painting. She had no choice. Even though, as a consequence, she might spend the rest of her life living beyond the pale, it was a trifling point in comparison to the crime that her brother George had committed.

  Of course George was responsible for the theft of St. Briac’s priceless three-century-old heirloom. The brown button was proof.

  Izzie felt as if she were caught in a vise. She’d sworn to George not to tell anyone she had seen him there in Cornwall. Yet she was convinced that he had followed Gabriel from France to Trevarre Hall, where he must have overheard conversations about the whereabouts of the painting. She couldn’t reveal what she knew to anyone, but she could help to recover the painting…and perhaps protect the life of her clearly tormented oldest brother. She loved George, and she still believed that he could change his ways. The bittersweet depths of her loyalty were tangled in the past, hidden in corners of her heart she couldn’t bear to explore.

  Izzie straightened her shoulders. She had a genuine contribution to make to Gabriel’s search. She held not only critical evidence and secrets about George, but also real knowledge about the art of Leonardo da Vinci.

  “My lady?” asked Lowenna from the other side of the one-room cottage, where she was attempting to tidy up. “A man’s button be here on the floor.” She held up George’s brown button.

  Izzie’s heart jumped. She wasn’t one to lie, and Lowenna knew well enough that she hadn’t entertained any men. “It belongs to my brother George. He is in Europe, I believe, and I have kept it in hopes of sewing it on to his coat myself one day.” Reaching out, Isabella took the button and put it into her portmanteau.

  “Do ye plan a journey?”

  “Yes.” Izzie gave her a determined look. “And you are going to help me. Let us take a walk down to the village and locate the French sloop Deux Frères.”

  “As ye say, my lady.” Lowenna’s face looked paler than usual against her black curls. “But…why? Is it to do with the painting stolen from the hidey-hole at Lanwyllow?”

  “How do you know about that?” Izzie asked, surprised. “Have you heard something about George being here?”

  Lowenna blinked. “No, my lady. At the Hall, I were passing in the corridor near Lord Sebastian and Lady Julia’s bedchamber and did hear them talking softly about the stolen painting.” She paused, leaning closer, watching Izzie’s face. “Why do ye mention your other brother? Could he—”

  Izzie hastened to interject, “Lowenna, you must not speak further about any of this. Do you understand? Put it all from your mind.”

  “As ye say, my lady.” The girl looked doubtful.

  “Trust me to know what is best.” Izzie wrapped her favorite berry-colored shawl around her shoulders and lifted the latch on the cottage door. “I have a grand adventure in mind!”

  * * *

  Gabriel St. Briac stared into a glass of cognac, brooding. Moonlight streamed through his cabin’s transom window as Deux Frères bobbed in the shallow water of Polperro harbor. The tide was out, but before dawn they would be able to sail out into the English Channel, and thence to Brittany.

  “Capitaine, what ails you?”

  It was the voice of Martin, the crew’s excessively helpful first mate.

  “Nothing ails me,” St. Briac said shortly. “Shouldn’t you be on deck, overseeing the preparations to sail?”

  Martin took a step backward. “I apologize for the intrusion. I simply thought that I might see to your personal needs since you are without a manservant.” The young man gave a hopeful smile before adding, “Your brother welcomes my assistance during voyages like this.”

  “I see.” Gabriel wasn’t surprised to learn that Justin liked to be catered to. “You are kind to offer, however I choose to fend for myself and see to my own needs. No doubt there is more than enough to keep you occupied on deck.”

  “Bien sûr! As you wish.”

  St. Briac watched as Martin made a bustling exit, before lifting his cup and drinking down the rest of the cognac. Alone again, he returned to his problem.

  What the devil had happened to his painting, and what was he going to do about it?

  Gabriel was so unfamiliar with failure that he felt disoriented. It really hadn’t occurred to him, having discovered such an obscure hiding place for his treasure, that it could still be at risk. Lanwyllow was tucked away down a small tidal creek in the back of beyond. Who else could have known the painting was hidden in the remote estate’s old smuggling hole? He trusted Sebastian and Tristan implicitly. He knew neither of them, or anyone else in their families, would have breathed a word to anyone.

  His head began to hurt.

  If he didn’t find the painting, he’d have to explain this catastrophe to his family…a prospect that filled him with icy dread.

  St. Briac’s gut told him that Napoleon and his gang of art looters were behind this, yet he couldn’t work out a clear path to a solution. Certainly there was no point in staying in Cornwall. The villain who had stolen his painting had certainly returned to France. Perhaps if Gabriel could figure out a way into the circle of art thieves who served Napoleon, he could also find his way to the painting.

  * * *

  During Izzie and Lowenna’s stroll through the village of Polperro, they wandered around the quay, pretending to watch the fishermen as they emptied their nets bulging with silvery pilchards.

  Izzie wore a large bonnet that hid most of her face, just in case she encountered Gabriel St. Briac, but he was not to be seen. Instead, they happened to encounter Ananiah Job, whose uncle Zephaniah was known as the smugglers’ banker. He was coming from the direction of a sleek vessel. The words “Deux Frères” were barely visible on its maroon-colored hull, as if they had been painted over. Two Breton sailors, clad in short trousers, jackets, and flat-crowned hats, were working on deck.

  It was easy enough for Izzie to engage Ananiah Job in conversation about the weather, and then to casually mention the handsome sloop moored at one end of the quay. Soon enough, he had divulged that Deux Frères belonged to a pair of French brothers called St. Briac.

  “Such a fine vessel!” Izzie exclaimed. “But we are at war with France. Is it true that these men are smugglers?”

  Job’s voice dropped to a whisper as he cautioned, “Best not to use that word, mistress. We do never know when a Customs Officer be lurking just out of sight! As for Gabriel St. Briac, he helps by bringing highly taxed goods to a needy merchant.”

  “How kind of him,” Izzie said sweetly as she took Lowenna’s arm. “We won’t keep you, Mr. Job. Good day!”

  As they crossed the little Roman Bridge that arched low over the harbor, Lowenna regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and fear. “My lady, why are ye askin’ about that Frenchman’s boat? What d’ye mean to do?”

  Ignoring the girl’s questions, Izzie drew her to one side. “Doesn’t your family live in Lansallos Lane, Lowenna? If we stop by their cottage, I would be very grateful if you could go inside and fetch some of your brother’s trousers…”

  * * *

  After midnight, Izzie set an envelope inscribed “To Sebastian and Julia” on the table in her cottage. It contained a letter of explanation in which she had stressed that she was a woman and capable of making her own decisions. Still, she shuddered at the thought of Sebastian’s reaction to her dangerous adventure.

  Finally ready, Izzie blew out the candle and led the way down the twisting moonlit lane from Lupine Cottage to the village. She held her portmanteau in one hand, pulling Lowenna along with the other, until they reached Fore Street.

  “If we be seen
abroad at this hour, ye do be ruined, my lady!” Lowenna warned in a panicky whisper.

  “Do hush! Have you forgotten that we are dressed as boys?” Izzie asked calmly. She gestured toward the loose ankle-length trousers they both wore. “Besides, the entire village is asleep. Stop worrying and simply remember our plan.”

  Lowenna began to blink. “Oh, my lady—”

  “Just listen. When we reach the quay, you will pretend to fall down and injure yourself, badly enough to attract the crewmember on watch. When he comes to help you, I’ll slip on board, and that will be that.”

  “That will be that?” Lowenna repeated in agitation, clearly convinced that her mistress had gone mad. “D’ye mean to sail away without me? I be duty-bound to serve you, my lady!”

  “I am four-and-twenty years old. I don’t need a minder. I will take the consequences of my own rash behavior.”

  “Lord Sebastian will have me thrashed!” the girl moaned. “Or worse!”

  “You serve me, not my brother. If you do not help me, I’ll do this alone.”

  With that, Lowenna gave a heavy sigh and followed Izzie down the darkened, narrow lane toward the quay. True to Izzie’s prediction, there was no one to be seen. Even the tiny windows of the whitewashed structures were dark. The harbor, which was little more than a basin set inside sheltering cliffs that opened to the sea, glimmered in the moonlight. Ever so slowly, the tide was coming in.

  “Do you see him?” Izzie held fast to Lowenna’s arm and gestured toward the boy who appeared to be standing watch on the deck of Deux Frères. He was leaning against the mast, his chin on his chest.

  Lowenna looked as if she might faint. “My lady!”

  “Just do it as we have practiced,” Izzie implored. She gave the girl a little shove and whispered insistently, “Hurry—and don’t forget that you are supposed to be a boy. Try to act like one!”

  Time seemed to accelerate as Lowenna went running along the quay. When she reached the French sloop, the girl appeared to trip, crumpling upon the uneven stones. Izzie had made her practice groaning—just loud enough to bring someone from the boat, but not so loud as to alert Polperro’s own watchman.