on your part, Sandhurst?" Jeremy Culpepper demanded, his cheeks red with outrage and stuffed with the freshly baked bread he had been chewing.
"Shh!" Andrew laid a finger over his mouth and shook his head with mock severity. Drawing his friend into a corner of the kitchen, he whispered, "It's only for a few more days, old man! Just until we reach London."
"I don't believe it! The chit's followed you to Paris, begged to marry you after all, and still you won't tell her who you really are! Sometimes I think you continue this farce only because it amuses you to watch me humiliate myself answering to 'Playfair' and acting the part of your manservant!"
"Jeremy, stop ranting." The spark of humor had gone from his eyes. "I have my reasons for not telling Micheline I'm the Marquess of Sandhurst, and I can assure you that they have nothing to do with you. Instead of complaining, why not look on the bright side? It's April. Spring's in the air, and we leave for England within the hour." He gave Culpepper a distracted smile. "Cheer up."
Pretty Therese Joubert, at ten the oldest of Nicole's three children, came in then and he greeted her, glad for the interruption. She offered them some sweet butter to spread on the warm bread, which Jeremy accepted. It seemed that his appetite only increased when he was upset.
Sandhurst excused himself to check on the horses. Outside, he glanced up to the third-floor window that Micheline had flung open earlier to let in the sunshine. Last night's snow was only a memory; today was warm and fragrant with the promise of spring. Micheline was making final preparations for the journey to London while Aimée kept her company. It would be their last opportunity to talk for a long time to come.
Sighing, Andrew wondered once more if he was right not to divulge his true identity to Micheline yet. He told himself that he wanted her to have a chance to become accustomed to one thing at a time. So much had happened just in the last twenty-four hours. What if she had second thoughts as they traveled to England? It seemed better that she be given the opportunity to ease into her new life... or even to change her mind.
Sandhurst had other reasons that he was less willing to examine. Part of him still worried that Micheline might have acted on a romantic whim. It was difficult to forget all the things she had said to him during their weeks at Fontainebleau, and difficult to believe that the shadows were gone from her eyes forever. They were both new at love, and there was still a part of him that remained detached, watching in cynical disbelief. He, too, needed the next few days, before she learned that she was marrying the Marquess of Sandhurst after all, and not Selkirk the painter.
Besides, he had grown to like his new identity. He was in no hurry to reclaim his wealth, title, relatives... or past.
"For a man in love, you look altogether too serious," St. Briac remarked, coming up behind him.
Sandhurst mustered a faint smile. "In this case, love is proving to be fraught with untold complications. My heart may be filled with joy, but my mind is overcrowded with worries."
"Will you take a piece of advice from an old married man?"
"Gratefully!"
"Listen to your heart if you begin to despair. You and Micheline have genuine love on your side. I've learned, during years spent with Aimée that have been anything but tranquil, that problems which may seem insurmountable when they arise really can be sorted out—and later forgotten—if two people love each other enough. Have faith, and for God's sake, don't give up!"
"It sounds as if you're sending me off to war,!" Andrew remarked sardonically.
"Believe me, war is far simpler than marriage... but nowhere near as much fun!"
St. Briac's wry laughter was irresistible. Sandhurst joined in, clasping the Frenchman's hand. "I appreciate your sage advice... I think!"
* * *
A hearty midday meal was served in the Joubert kitchen, complete with several toasts to the future happiness of Andrew and Micheline and the health of the next St. Briac baby. Then, amid loud cries of "Au revoir!" and "Bonne chance!" Andrew, Jeremy, and Micheline rode out into the crowded street, bound for London.
They first had to reach Calais, which lay on the northernmost coast of France. Sandhurst's first thought had been to hire a coach, but Micheline would not hear of it. She