Page 142 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
Henry’s thumb began to twirl the ruby ring about his finger.
“And it costs so much to feed a horse,” Léon continued. “And it’s a long way to England. And… He’s a-a French horse. He won’t understand the English horses.”
“Ange,” said Henry softly, his hand falling on his knee, “I’ll get our tickets.”
Catherine passed across a little bag. “That’s all the money we have,” she said pointedly, looking him in the eye. “It won’t go far. Not once we pay for this trip and their silence.”
But Henry was nothing if not a dreamer. The sale of the carriage and two of the horses was already required to afford the crossing. It took Henry’s beloved ring, his sword, one of his pistols, and almost all the money in the little bag to secure Destroyer’s and Azazel’s fare.
When he returned to the carriage, the first thing Léon noticed was his naked little finger. “Henri…” His heart swelled so large he could barely contain it, and he tripped across the wet ground to him. “I love you.”
Henry caught him, stumbling backwards. “You might not be saying that when we have nothing to eat.”
“You’re amazing.” Léon kissed him, hard, then dropped to his knees to tell Émile, who wrapped iron arms around Henry’swaist for about three seconds before Henry picked him up to carry him on board.
“It’s okay,” Catherine sighed out, not having missed a thing. “We can always boost another carriage.”
“Quiet, Cathy!” Henry hissed. “It’s a fresh start. We have to be model citizens from now on, and we’ll survive just fine.”
She rolled her eyes, then slung a hand around Souveraine’s shoulders, while Souveraine wondered aloud, “It hadn’t occurred to me until just now, but… am I actually allowed to open a bar in England? As a sole female trader? In fact… Am I even allowed to stay?”
Léon’s boots skidded on the wet planks. “We stick together. If you have to leave, I will leave with you.”
Henry’s cheek twitched.
“I know, Léon,” said Souveraine. “I know you mean to. But we both know the world we’re entering is not half as enlightened as Paris has been.”
Henry’s tongue tsked. On a heavy sigh, “I guess it’s been leading up to this the whole time, hasn’t it?”
“Leading up to what?” Souveraine asked, lightly offended by his tone.
Henry shook his head, then turned to Léon. “You know there isn’t a thing on this earth I wouldn't do for you. I told you that. And now I’m going to prove it.”
65
WHAT IT WAS LEADING UP TO
Colourful shafts of sunlight burst through the church windows, bathing all below in a sparkling rainbow of joy.
Well, all except one person.
Henry remained darkly brooding as his eyes sought Léon’s. Léon met this with a grin and a nod, and the reverend repeated the question. “Do you take her as your wife, sir?”
“Yes,” muttered Henry. “Delighted.”
“Then you may now kiss the bride.”
Henry lifted the veil to reveal very straight, if exceptionally pretty lips, and he and Souveraine leaned close, afforded the wedding party but the barest of touches, before both pulled back in perfect relief it was over. Pronounced man and wife, Henry rushed for Léon, whose own wife, Catherine, dropped his arm to take Souveraine’s.
It was done in front of God and a room full of every well-respected, upper-class witness Henry and Catherine could gather at short notice to attend the double wedding.
Souveraine, now married into aristocracy, was agreed by all to be a very pretty bride, even if she was French. And Léon was roundly declared to be a filthy scoundrel, having plucked one of England’s roses from the hands of the rich.
Regardless, all four were perfectly content, but none more so than Émile. Who the hell he belonged to, none of the guests knew, only that Henry doted on the boy so much that it made a tragic rumour spring up about Souveraine. One woman declared she had been a well-to-do young woman back in France. Another added that she’d heard Souveraine was unjustly widowed by the evil French and their guillotine. Another suggested the likelihood that Henry had rather dashingly saved her from the same fate, along with the son she bore the phantom first husband.
The small group didn’t hang around long enough for anyone to learn the truth. The job being done, Henry had an announcement printed in the paper the next day, where it would be the talk of all civilised society. Brother and sister both married, Catherine in particular unable to be wed to any other man, no matter what tricks her father might have wanted to pull had he known she was back in the country.
They stayed in London just long enough for Henry to meet with an editor to sell his latest article, the one he’d been working on all the night of the crossing, and all the way from Dover. A horrifying tale of a revolution gone wrong. The tragedy of beautiful dreams warped and distorted. He finished it by expressing his hopes that the pure ideals of the revolution would live on long after all the blood was spilled and the last head taken. This latter portion was, of course, removed from the published article, and London was treated to one of the best and most horrifying reports on exactly why the monarchy should always stay in place, why people were happier living under the thumbs of their ‘betters’, and why nothing should ever change.
