Lucien paused just outside the threshold to the family smithy.
No, not the family smithy. It belonged to the Harpers now. Despite the same smells of leather and metal and grease, the same juxtaposition of intense heat from the forge and the bracing cold of the winter wind outside, the new owners’ influence was everywhere. Not only was the smithy bedecked with boughs of holly, new faces laughed and shouted and frowned with concentration in every corner.
The smithy hadn’t ground to a halt without Lucien. It was positively bustling.
For the first time since moving to Cressmouth, rather than pop inside to help out wherever he was needed, Lucien kept walking. Past the open doors, past the queue of waiting carriages, until he reached the street.
His heart beat uncomfortably fast. Not because he missed the smithy. He hated the smithy. But he’d loved being an intrinsic part, having responsibility, knowing he was productive, being important.
“Pfft,” he scoffed beneath his breath.
Being a blacksmith hadn’t made him important. It had made him unimportant. Fallen. Disgraced, if his parents had been alive to see it. He wouldn’t be important until he got back to France, where the status quo had returned just as it had been before the revolution. His stomach tightened. If his parents were alive today, they wouldn’t be dragged down the street and executed. They’d be fêted and fawned over, members once more of the glittering social sphere they’d wanted to share with their children.
If he wanted to be important, he just had to wait six more weeks.
He’d waited this long, hadn’t he? Forty-seven-and-a-half more days was nothing. Which was why Lucien intended to spend as much of it as possible with the people he loved most: his family.
The door to his sister’s house flung open from within before Lucien even walked up the path. It was not the Skeffington butler standing at the threshold, but a pair of rambunctious ten-year-old twins.
“Uncle Lucien!” Annie and Frederick shouted as they tumbled out of the house to hug him.
Although they’d seen him mere days ago when they’d trundled hoops in the park, Frederick and Annie always greeted him with the same delighted exuberance. Lucien’s chest tightened as he returned their embrace. Back in France, dignified majordomes might announce Lucien’s name to throngs of aristocrats in elegant ballrooms, but part of him would always miss simple pleasures like these.
He ruffled the twins’ hair. “Are your parents at home?”
The words came slowly, even though he’d rehearsed them in his head the entire walk over. If he managed to get the grammar right, his pronunciation never failed to cloud his meaning. But unlike many a tourist who had passed through the smithy, the twins had never made much of Lucien’s limited command of English.
“They’re in the cellar with Aunt Eve,” Frederick said.
Annie tugged his elbow. “Do you want to make flower crowns? I picked harebells in the castle greenhouse.”
“Or trundle hoops?” Frederick added hopefully. “Can you teach me a new trick?”
“After I speak… to your parents,” Lucien promised them.
He did not need to ask directions to the cellar. Part of it had been converted into a small sitting room, and the rest provided storage to his brother-in-law Jack’s vast collection of wine.
He reached the bottom of the stairs with the twins jostling behind him. At the clatter, Jack, Désirée, and Eve glanced up, startled, then broke into wide smiles.
“Perfect timing.” Lucien’s sister Désirée shot a teasing look toward her husband. “And to think we were debating whether to open another bottle of wine.”
“I can think of no better cause for celebration than Lucien’s presence,” her husband Jack agreed. “Does anyone object to champagne?”
Lucien rolled his eyes in amusement.
Like his twins, Jack found himself in Lucien’s presence on an almost daily basis. Although they were friends, what Jack really wanted was an excuse to enjoy Veuve Clicquot champagne.
It was a privilege to be the catalyst.
Lucien accepted a glass of bubbling champagne and took the chair across from his sister.
Annie and Frederick sat on the plush carpet at his feet.
Once the champagne was served, Jack made a face at Lucien. “We’re trying to decide what to do with Eve’s father.”
Lucien turned toward Eve in surprise. “He is ill?”
“He’s peevish,” she corrected with a wry expression. “And bored. He thought retirement would make him happy, but now he has nothing to do. It’s making him insufferable.”
“We’re discussing if having him join forces with Uncle Jasper would be a mistake or a solution,” Désirée explained in French. “Bastien and Eve could take over her father’s house, and Mr. Shelling could potter about the farm with Uncle Jasper.”
The farm where Lucien lived? He stared at his sister in disbelief. Yes, Uncle Jasper could benefit from something else to do besides the occasional game of vingt-et-un, but Eve’s father was not one of Lucien’s favorite people. He’d once opposed his daughter’s courtship on the grounds that Bastien was French, which, if you asked Lucien, was the best trait of all. Perhaps the old man had finally outgrown his prejudices, but Lucien—
Had no say in the matter, he realized belatedly. This conversation was happening without him because the consequences would occur without him. He would be in France. They would be here. There was no reason to include him in plans about their future because he was not going to be a part of it. Rather than digging up weeds or making awkward small talk with Eve’s impossible-to-please father, he’d be off waltzing with the crème de la crème in Paris, living the life he’d always wanted.
So why was his jaw clamped together and his stomach knotting in protest?
“Or perhaps the other way around,” Désirée continued. “With Eve and Bastien at the farm, he’d be closer to the smithy, whilst Mr. Shelling and Uncle Jasper would have greater access to the castle and all its resources.”
“I’m sure whatever the family decides will work out,” Lucien said gruffly, and meant it. Come what may, the family always managed to do the best they could in any circumstance.
It was just the first time “the family” did not include him.
He was glad they were carrying on without him, if a little prematurely, he told himself firmly. It was a situation that would soon become the usual, and he did not want them to suffer in any way without him. He just hadn’t expected them to find it so… easy.
From the moment of their parents’ deaths, everything Lucien had done or planned or sacrificed, had been for the good of his family. Assuring a terrified ten-year-old and eight-year-old that everything was going to be fine, struggling every waking hour in a smithy he hated, forgoing his own chance at assimilation to provide for his siblings and then their ailing uncle… He would do it all over again, a thousand times if he had to, but the achievement Lucien had been most proud of was this chance to restore their heritage and give his siblings their home back.
And they weren’t even interested.
Eve lifted her glass toward Jack. “This is excellent champagne.”
“Don’t salute me; salute this fellow.” Jack grinned at Lucien. “In a few months, this lucky devil can bathe in buckets of the stuff if he has a mind to.”
Eve feigned dismay. “Bathing in champagne sounds expensive. Never say Lucien is a spendthrift.”
“Lucien is conservative to a fault,” Désirée assured her. “He’s more likely to cultivate his own vineyard than to depend upon anyone else’s.”
“A vineyard,” Jack sighed dreamily.
“Be careful, grand frère,” Désirée teased Lucien. “If Jack finds out there’s so much as a single grape growing on your property, you’ll never get rid of us.”
Lucien gazed back at her, feeling two stone lighter. Perhaps that was the answer!
His family would never permanently abscond from England; that much was clear. But it didn’t mean they couldn’t spend extended visits in France, if Lucien provided an attractive enough incentive.
Living a life of leisure one day had been the dream that sustained him through year after year at the smithy. But a vineyard… who could object to that?
Their parents had owned one. If Lucien managed to get the family property restored, the old vineyard would be ready and waiting. Because he’d grown up with it, Lucien was as familiar with grapes as he was with a hammer. It would give him renewed purpose and make his home an attractive family destination in one fell swoop.
“You have a bargain,” he told his sister in French. “If I provide the vineyard, you all must come and enjoy the harvest.” His eyes fell on Annie and Frederick. “And learn French.”
“We’re learning already,” Frederick answered in heavily accented French, without missing a beat.
Annie rested her elbow on Lucien’s knee. “Si nous apprenons le français pour vous, allez-vous apprendre l'anglais pour nous?”
If we learn French for you, will you learn English for us?
Lucien stared at her in alarm.
He’d given up on English because he’d given up on England. He was leaving; who needed it?
But the answer was: his niece and nephew. His family. He wanted them to feel comfortable and fit in when they visited over there; they wanted the same for him whenever he was here. Honor and fairness meant he couldn’t possibly put in less effort than a ten-year-old.
He’d sworn to protect his family. That included being a good uncle to Annie and Frederick, and any future nieces and nephews. What kind of uncle wouldn’t even bother to try to communicate effectively in their language?
“Je le ferai,” he promised them in French, then corrected himself. “I will do it.”
Désirée shot him a look of surprise. “You’re studying the books I left you?”
Not exactly. Lucien cleared his throat rather than respond.
“I’m so relieved,” she continued. “I was afraid that if I didn’t have time to help, you’d give up entirely.”
Lucien smiled blandly and hoped the heat rising up the back of his neck didn’t lend its telltale flush to his face.
The truth was, staring at page after page of English text—whether in a children’s book or the village Gazette—was not going to make him fluent. If he wanted to improve, he needed a tutor.
And if Désirée could no longer fill that role, he had no choice but to turn to…
Meg.
Lucien’s face was definitely flushing. His entire body felt hot and out-of-kilter. He could only manage to keep Mademoiselle Church from his mind in brief snatches, and none of the images had anything to do with learning English.
Could he ask her? Making mistakes in front of another person was just as abhorrent to him as admitting when he needed help. It had worked with his sister because Lucien trusted her implicitly. He didn’t know Meg well enough to determine if she was worthy of his trust. Yet something told him a woman as eccentric and fearless as she was, just might surprise him. Again.
The thought of her seeing his weaknesses made his palms clammy, but after everything else he had been forced to survive… He could do this, too.
Lucien set down his empty glass and rose to his feet. “Thank you for the champagne.”
“Hoops later?” Frederick asked at once.
“And flowers?” Annie added.
“Later,” Lucien promised. “There is something I… must do first.”
Although he had never visited the Farrell residence—or paid a social call to anyone in this village—Lucien knew where to go. Cressmouth had only one dairy. Ten acres of farmland for grazing cattle; eight maids a-milking in the barn. That had to be the place.
His footsteps grew less sure the closer he drew to the front door, but he forced himself to rap the knocker anyway.
After a pause so long that he almost gave up the whole idea, the door swung open, revealing the exact person he’d come to see.
“Mademoiselle Church,” he murmured.
“Meg,” she corrected automatically.
Lucien ignored the strange jump in his stomach.
“Meg,” he acknowledged. “May I come in?”
“May you…” She stepped aside at once. “Of course you can come in. You can come anywhere you like. I’d just been reading Fanny Hill—the climax, if you will—and for a moment I feared I’d conjured your image from the libidinous depths of my... Do you know what? None of that matters. Why are you here? Do you want some tea?”
What Lucien wanted was to be able to understand more than eighty percent of the things she said to him. Perhaps that was being generous. More than fifty percent? Surely that would be enough to prove to his niece and nephew how much they mattered to him, and that he was trying just as hard as they were.
“No tea.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve changed my mind.”
She frowned. “So you do want tea?”
“No. I want…” He clenched his hands. Why were these words such torture to say? “English lessons.”
“English lessons.” Her blue-gray eyes widened as though those two words were as foreign-sounding to her as they were to him. “From me?”
His cheeks heated. “You said…”
“Yes, of course I said, and yes, of course I will! Do you want to start at this very moment? I don’t have any instructional materials with me, but I suppose we can begin with dialogue. That’s how children learn, isn’t it?” Her eyes widened. “Not that you’re a child. You’re obviously a man. A very big, very strong, very attractive—what I mean is, I don’t think you have to stare at English to start understanding it. Maybe we should start with something simple.”
“Please do something simple,” he begged.
“Tell me if you understand these words.” She stepped so close to him that her bodice nearly grazed his waistcoat. When she lifted her chin, her lush pink mouth was mere inches from his. She dropped her voice to a sultry murmur. “We’re all alone. Now are you going to kiss me?”
His groin tightened. Yes, Lucien had thought about stealing kisses, blast it all. He had to physically restrain himself from reaching for her. He’d been thinking about kissing her ever since she put the idea into his head in the park. No, he’d been thinking about it for much longer than that. And here she was. Soft and eager. If he were to lower his mouth to hers, there was no one to witness him making a phenomenal, delectable mistake.
“You do understand,” she breathed in wonder. Her face immediately fell. “And you’re not going to do it, or else you’d have done so by now. Pity. Do let me know when you change your mind.”
Lucien would definitely not let her know that he very much wanted to kiss her. If he let his guard down for even a moment, God only knew what might happen next.
“No lessons here.” His voice was strangled.
Being alone with her not-entirely-teasing flirtations would not be conducive to concentrating on one’s studies. The library wouldn’t work; the castle was teeming with tourists and he did not want even one more person to witness him struggle. On the other hand… they clearly needed a chaperone.
“My house,” he said firmly. “Tomorrow.”
That would give him enough time to arrange for Uncle Jasper to be in plain view of the dining room table. His sister-in-law might even walk past a few dozen times if she wasn’t working up at the castle. Maybe Lucien could even invite her extremely English father to move in six weeks early. They’d have to divide the bedchamber, which would definitely ensure Lucien got no designs on sharing it with someone else.
“Tomorrow,” she agreed. “We’ll start with an evaluation.”
She meant evaluating his English proficiency, Lucien was sure of it. And yet, the way her gaze lingered on his mouth as though she was considering evaluating a few other things, right here and now…
“À bientôt,” he blurted, and bolted out the door before he gave in to temptation.