“No, he wasn’t.” Remi knew without a doubt she was wrong. She wasn’t naive enough to believe he was held up, not when she suspected she knew the answer.

“I wrote to him before the wedding,” Remi admitted. “Before the invitations were sent.”

“You what?” Elise perked up. A juicy bit of information was all she ever needed to reignite her interest. “And you’re telling me now?”

“I know I shouldn’t have, but I felt so…afraid. Desperate for someone to save me.”

Elise’s eyes widened. “What did you say?”

“I asked him to come home.” Remi flushed, half from embarrassment and half from guilt. “Though, it would be more accurate to say that I begged him to.”

I said that I loved him still, she thought, not brave enough to mention it to Elise. “It was foolish.”

“And he never came…Oh, Remi. How cold.” She might have been frowning, but some part of Elise enjoyed the drama. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t hold any ill will toward him,” she paused, “but I know, deep down, he’s angry.”

Elise brightened. “Perhaps he never received it! Did you have the right address?”

“Yes. I snuck into Tante Beline’s room and found her list of invitees.” Remi tried a smile but failed. “It was the right address. Tante Beline does not make mistakes.”

“She does sometimes.”

“No.” Remi turned back to her mirror, unable to look at anything but her sinking reflection. “I thought that, but then I asked Edgar about his cousins and where they lived.”

Elise was silent.

Remi continued, “When the invitations went out, and we received word from others, I checked for their reply. When it didn’t come, I asked if the address was wrong, if we’d overlooked something—somehow. He assured me it was correct and that his cousins, Ben included, would have received theirs on time because he’d posted it himself.”

“Oh…”

“He didn’t seem surprised.” Remi sighed. “He dismissed their lack of reply. Said it happened all the time, and Ben, being a spiteful boy, would not bother to attend either.”

Remi recalled their conversation in his study, brief though it might have been. Learning the truth solidified the utter misery she’d felt at the ceremony. Guilt had washed itself over her; the feeling of betrayal he must have felt far exceeded her own hurt. And the anger? Well, there was no discounting him for that, not when his father thought of him as a ‘boy’ and not a grown man.

“How sad he must have been.” Elise mirrored Remi’s worries.

“And angry,” Remi added again for effect.

Elise moved away from the bed and was behind Remi in seconds. She placed two hands on her shoulders and gave them a squeeze before dropping her face beside Remi’s. They looked at each other in the mirror—one as white as the moon’s light, the other as healthy and pink as a newborn baby.

“Be at ease, cousin,” Elise said cheerfully. “I’m sure, given time, he’ll understand.”

“And if not?” Remi grimaced.

“Well, I don’t think you’ll give him much choice in the matter. Not when you’re his⁠—”

Remi stood abruptly, nearly knocking Elise backward into the bed. Her face burned with fresh heat. “Don’t say it,” she said, her voice steely, though thoroughly humiliated.

Elise laughed. “At least you’re not as pale anymore!”

Remi groaned and hid her face in her hands.

A knock at the door interrupted them, drawing their attention to Sylvie’s thin frame. She looked surprised and somewhat nervous, her lip already red from being bitten. Her hands curled into her apron as she addressed Remi. “Martin’s son ran ahead. He says the carriage is on the way.”

Remi’s heart fell. “So soon?”

“Yes, Madame.”

Remi was petrified, rooted to the spot as the breath left her chest. If not for Elise, she would have fallen back into bed and remained in hiding for the rest of the day. But her cousin looped their arms together and gave Remi a tug.

“As Maman would say,” Elise said with a grin, “if your corset is tight enough, they’ll never see you bend.”

Remi groaned. She hated to admit, but there was a modicum of wisdom to be gained from Beline’s lessons. Unable to protest, she let Elise pull her through the door and down the stairs. Above the sound of their footsteps and Sylvie’s quick pattering behind them, Remi heard the tremble of thunder. It was so loud that for a moment, she thought it might have been her heart plummeting to her stomach.

She was right.

He’d brought with him thunder.

BEN

The Bleue Isle, named for the brilliant hue of the water that surrounded it, felt unfamiliar as Ben departed the boat. He stood on the water-worn planks of the dock and breathed in deeply.

Jacques appeared beside him, looking refreshed. He didn’t have the same aversion for seafaring that Ben did.

“Quaint,” Jacques remarked as he took it all in. The docks were old and empty, the fishermen out catching their wares. A few buildings waited ahead, a carriage and driver on the small street before them. There weren’t any other passengers on the little ship they came by, so Ben knew it was for them.

“It isn’t much.” Ben grabbed the little luggage he’d brought with him. He motioned to the carriage with his chin and started forward. “The Isle has been lost to time. I’m sure not many people outside of the little towns where the fishermen sell their catch even know about the place.”

The driver, Martin, quickly introduced himself and went about stowing their baggage while Ben and Jacques chatted on. They climbed into the cool, stale air of the cabin and sat opposite each other on the low seats.

“Brave men making that trip every day. Those waters were choppier than the worst roads in Paris,” Jacques said.

The carriage started forward with a sharp jerk, followed by a loud apology thereafter.

“It’s a wonder to me that the Isle still exists.” Ben tried to picture the old halls from his youth, the sunshine streaming in from the bay windows that faced the cliffs overlooking the sea. He jerked upright when his sister’s solemn face and tear-stained cheeks cut into his memory. Thankfully, it was quickly chased away when their carriage pitched violently from a stray bump.

“Good gods, man!” Ben cried as he toppled to the side. He thumped the ceiling. “Watch it out there!”

“Apologies, monsieurs,” their driver called back. “We’re nearly there!”

Ben composed himself and peered out the small window.

The manor came into view, rising like a dark angel above the trees lining the bleak dirt road. It was the same stony face of his youth, aged by the growing weeds and moss-stained crevices from the passing years. Shrouded in the morning dew, it seemed to stretch through the mist, its gates yawning wide in welcome. It would have made him happy to see it, but its countenance was as bleak as the reason he’d returned. It appeared to wear a shroud of its own as if grieving all this time. A snap of reality twisted his insides, stoking the anger inside him. Like a phoenix, his resentment rose from the ashes, a new being made from the fires that had burned within him for years.

His family’s legacy. His father’s death.

“Remi,” he whispered.