Page 9 of A Christmas Love Redeemed
‘What do you mean?’
‘We used to live in the manor house.’ She pointed through the wall in the vague direction of north. ‘But it was entailed, and when William died, it passed to a distant cousin. He leased it to Sir Simon Maxwell, our local Justice of the Peace, and we were turned out. All Mama had was a small annuity and a promise from our cousin that we should be allowed to live in this cottage.’
Ah, that explained how two gently born ladies came to be living in such a tiny cottage.
Fabien studied her face, seeing the injustice meted out to two innocent women, whose only sin was to be born female.
‘Where do you live?’ she asked.
‘My family estates are near the Loire,’ he said. ‘A very beautiful part of the country.’
He thought longingly of the graceful chateau with so many rooms that no one had bothered to count them. France might only be twenty or so miles from the door of this cottage, but it might as well have been on the moon.
‘You still have them?’
‘Our estates?’
It seemed a strange question, but of course, she was thinking of the Revolution.
‘They were restored to my father by Napoleon when he became Emperor,’ he replied. Along with the title Comte de Mont Clair. ‘My father and uncles have always been loyal to Napoleon.’
‘It must have been a difficult time.’
‘I was a child, but yes, it was not called the Terror without just cause. My grandfather was guillotined, but then so was the town baker. The killing was vengeful and indiscriminate. My father was an officer in the Army and decided discretion was the better part of valour and committed to the republican cause. I preferred the sea and joined the navy when I was fifteen.’
‘How old are you now?’
‘Twenty-four, et toi?’
‘I am nineteen.’
Her answer surprised him. He had thought she was a little younger.
‘I have no dowry and no prospects,’ she continued. ‘My father was a gambler, so all that we had was the estate.’ She looked down at her hands. ‘Are you…?’ She cleared her throat. ‘Are you married?’
He shook his head. ‘There’s been no time in my life for marriage… or betrothal.’
Hannah said nothing. She leaned forward and poked the fire into life. The light glinted in her eyes as she watched the flames dance, and Fabien saw behind the dowdy clothes that there was a fire within this girl. A strength he had never found in any of his sister’s vacuous friends or the suitable young ladies his mother threw in his path.
He would be the Comte de Mont Clair when his father died. It behoved him to marry well and restore the family’s lost fortune, but he’d met no one who stirred his soul the way this woman did… and at nineteen, she was a woman, not a girl.
If their circumstances were anything but what they were now…
He closed his eyes. To even think that was foolishness.
‘Why has your mother not turned me over to the authorities yet?’ he asked.
‘Do you wish to be turned over?’ Hannah’s eyes met his.
Fabien laughed… a mistake, his wound caught and he grimaced. ‘My dear Hannah. I am on the wrong side of the English Channel. I do not see that there is any alternative.’
Hannah’s nose crinkled. ‘I’ve been thinking. If you make your way to Poole, there is a good chance you can find someone willing to take you across the channel, for a price.’
Hope bubbled in Fabien’s chest but sank as he realised that his purse, even if it had contained any useful currency, was at the bottom of the sea. His fingers strayed to the chain around his neck. Perhaps …
‘What is the date?’
‘The twenty-first of December. It will be Christmas in a few days,’ Hannah said. ‘That might be a good time to leave. Everyone will be busy with their festivities. No one will pay you any heed.’
