My Fair Lover (Legendary Lovers 5)

There was an underlying warmth in his words, but his manner was amicable, easy.

Kate decided it best to emulate his lead and act as if nothing had changed between them. She wanted to give no reason for her family or his crew to suspect she had spent the night in Deverill’s arms.

“Not yet. I thought I should check with you first to discuss the plans for the day.”

“You have ample time. We should reach the port of Royan in a few hours. See the break in the coast there up ahead? That is the Gironde estuary.”

Kate’s gaze followed to where he was pointing. She could indeed see the mouth of the estuary where the Gironde River flowed into the sea. The Zephyr had tragically sunk near there after sailing from Bordeaux farther upstream.

“What happens when we reach Royan?”

“Our priority should be to settle your aunt at an inn where she may rest comfortably. After that, I plan to hire a carriage to convey us around the district for the next week or two.”

“Good. Aunt Rachel will likely be too ill to travel any farther today.”

“I also want to track down Louvel this afternoon and perhaps open negotiations to search for the shipwreck. But I presume you would first like to visit the church and see the site where your mother is buried.”

Kate suddenly felt as if a shadow had passed over her, depleting her previous warmth. But it was time to turn her attention to the real purpose of their voyage.

Squaring her shoulders, she glanced up at Deverill. “Yes. Will you come with me?”

“Of course, if you wish.”

“I do wish it,” she said solemnly.

She couldn’t help feeling more able to face her mother’s grave site because Deverill would be by her side.

—

The morning proceeded much as he predicted—and as a fair wind propelled the schooner into the estuary, the scenery surrounding Royan matched what Kate expected.

Sheltered from the harsh Atlantic gales, the coast was sprinkled with wooded, rocky headlands and sandy coves, while a castle fortress guarded the entrance to Royan’s harbor. The climate here was far warmer than England, she’d been told. And like many coastal seaports, the town boasted buildings of light-colored

stone with red-tiled roofs, accented with pine trees and splashes of newly budding bougainvillea.

As Kate watched from the railing, they sailed into the harbor, which was dotted with vessels of various sizes. Dazzling sunlight reflected off the white sails and blue water so intensely that she had to shield her eyes.

Shortly after Captain Halsey dropped anchor, a rowboat ferried out to the Galene, carrying the harbormaster, who boarded and conferred with both Halsey and Deverill. Within the hour, Kate was settling her weary aunt into rooms at a local inn while Deverill hired a carriage from the nearby livery stable.

Rachel felt too weak to accompany them to the church but urged them to proceed without her. But, of course, Cornelius wouldn’t leave his wife’s sickbed. Instead, he decided to wait for their valises to be delivered from the ship, professing that he would be satisfied to have Kate report back to him about the condition of the grave.

Kate was anxious to begin. She and Deverill ate a quick luncheon, and soon he was driving her to the ancient church on the southern outskirts of town.

The elderly priest had anticipated Kate’s arrival, due to several recent correspondences with the Wilde family. After kindly welcoming them, he showed them to the cemetery at the rear of the property, then led them through a squeaky gate into an overgrown section—where paupers were buried, he apologized in French and broken English.

“We felt certain,” Father Ramonde explained, “that your maman came from a good family since she wore a gold locket with a crest etched on the face. But we had no way of learning her identity. She spoke only her given name before succumbing to her injuries.”

Proceeding down an unkempt, grassy path, he halted before an aged wooden marker bleached gray by years of sun and rain.

Kate hesitated, feeling her throat constrict. It had been many weeks since her family learned the truth about the Zephyr’s sinking—and of Lady Beaufort’s brief survival after washing ashore, half-drowned and in great pain. In that time Kate had obsessively focused on finding her mother’s burial site. Now that the moment was at hand, however, she braced herself for the blow.

The priest quietly withdrew, providing privacy for her and Deverill. Clenching her hands together, Kate stepped forward, staring down at the simple wooden marker. She could barely make out the name carved there.

“Melicent,” she whispered. Her voice was tight with tears while her eyes stung. Behind her, Deverill brought his hand to rest lightly on her shoulder.

Conscious of his silent offering of comfort and strength, she bowed her head. She was profoundly grateful for his presence, for she hadn’t wanted to brave this emotional moment alone.

“She died far too soon,” he murmured.