The carriage rattled over the cobblestones of the French village. It was a different sound than the gravel of England—louder, more rhythmic, full of life.
Ines sat pressed against the window. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the street.
"Look at that," she whispered, tapping the glass.
The people walking on the street were vibrant. In London, the ladies wore pale pastels—soft pinks, baby blues, and creams. But here, the won wore bold colors. She saw a lady in a dress of deep saffron yellow, and another in a striking erald green. Their waists were high, in the Empire style that was popular everywhere, but their bonnets were taller, decorated with extravagant ribbons and feathers that seed to defy gravity.
"The fashions are quite... spirited," Carcel noted, looking over her shoulder.
"They are wonderful," Ines corrected. "They look like tropical birds I read in my novels."
She was excited to see more diversity. It wasn’t just the clothes; it was the energy.
People were shouting greetings across the street, laughing with their whole bodies. It felt free.
The carriage turned off the main road and began to climb a gentle hill lined with cypress trees. The air changed. The sll of roasted chestnuts faded, replaced by the scent of wild thy, lavender, and sothing sharp and salty.
The sea.
They got to the manor. The carriage ca to a halt in front of a lovely house built of pale listone. It had blue wooden shutters and vines of purple wisteria climbing up the walls. It was a sanctuary.
They got down from the carriage. Ines stepped onto the warm earth.
She looked past the house.
Carcel wasn’t lying when he said his manor was close to the sea. It actually was.
Beyond the garden wall, the cliff dropped away, revealing a vast expanse of water. It sparkled like a field of diamonds and eralds under the afternoon sun. She could see the roaring waves from here, crashing against the rocks below. It looked like a short walk there—a winding path led from the garden gate directly to a small, sandy cove.
Mada Bernier, who had gotten down from the carriage, clapped her hands.
"Pierre! Venez ici!" (Pierre! Co here!) she shouted.
Mada Bernier called a man to help them take their luggages to the room. A sturdy gardener appeared, grinning, and hefted the trunks as if they were filled with feathers.
Carcel took Ines inside.
The interior was cool and airy. The floors were made of terracotta tiles, and the furniture was made of light wood, not the heavy mahogany of England. Sunlight flooded every corner.
"It is beautiful," Ines breathed, spinning in a slow circle in the foyer.
It wasn’t as grand as her house in London or his castle in Carleton, but it was perfect. It felt intimate. It felt like a place where they could just be Ines and Carcel, not the Duke and Duchess.
She walked to the back doors that opened onto the terrace. The sound of the waves was louder here.
She felt a pull in her chest. It wasn’t pain; it was longing.
She tugged Carcel’s sleeves softly.
He looked down at her. He was dusting off his coat, looking a bit weary from the travel.
"Yes, my Duchess?" he asked, his voice soft.
Ines pointed to the open door.
"I want to go to the water," Ines spoke. Her eyes were pleading.
Carcel blinked. "Now?"
Ines nodded her head vigorously.
Carcel frowned slightly, looking at the dark circles under her eyes. "I thought you would be tired after the long journey. We have been traveling for hours. Perhaps a nap first?"
Ines shook her head. "I can sleep later. The sea is right there, Carcel. It is waiting for us. Please?"
She looked at him with big, puppy-dog eyes. She knew he couldn’t refuse her when she looked like that.
Carcel sighed, but a smile tugged at his lips. He was powerless against her joy.
"Very well," Carcel smiled. "But we cannot go like this. You will ruin your silk shoes."
He gestured to her heavy traveling dress.
"Let’s go dress appropriately," he suggested.
He turned to Mada Bernier, who was fluffing pillows on a sofa.
He spoke in French.
"Mada Bernier, préparez un pique-nique pour nous, s’il vous plaît. Quelque chose de léger." (Mada Bernier, prepare a picnic for us, please. Sothing light.)
Mada Bernier bead. She loved feeding people.
The woman replied in French, "Tout de suite, Monsieur le Duc." (Right away, My Lord Duke.)
In an hour, the scene had changed completely.
They had walked down the winding path to the private cove. The cliffs sheltered them from the wind, creating a sun-trap of warmth.
A large, thick blanket was spread on the soft sand. A wicker basket sat open, revealing the treasures Mada Bernier had packed: ripe peaches, clusters of purple grapes, flaky pastries dusted with sugar, a wheel of soft brie cheese, and a bottle of chilled white wine.
Ines had changed into a simple white muslin dress. It was light and airy, perfect for the French coast. She had left her bonnet behind, letting the sea breeze play with her hair.
Carcel had abandoned his coat and cravat. He wore a loose white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and simple trousers. He looked relaxed, younger, and breathtakingly handso.
They ate, laughing as the juice from the peaches ran down their fingers. They drank the wine, which tasted of sunshine and pears.
After they had eaten, the mood settled into a lazy, golden contentnt.
Carcel laid on Ines’s lap. He stretched his long legs out on the blanket, closing his eyes against the sun. Ines sat with her back against a large piece of driftwood.
She held a book in her hands. It was a collection of French poetry she had found in the manor’s library.
"Read to , my love" Carcel murmured. " I love hearing you read to ."
Ines began to read. Her voice was soft and lodic, mixing with the sound of the waves. She translated the poems as she went, turning the French verses she could pronounce into English whispers.
"The sea is a mirror," she read. "Reflecting the soul of the sky..."
Carcel listened. He watched her face. He watched the way her lips moved. He watched the way her eyes scanned the page. He felt a sense of peace so profound it almost scared him.
He reached into the basket without looking. He picked up a fork with a piece of sliced lon.
He would occasionally raise the fork with fruit to her mouth.
"Eat," he whispered.
Ines opened her mouth without stopping her reading. She took the fruit, chewed, and swallowed.
"...and the wind carries the secrets of lovers,"
She finished the poem. She closed the book.
The silence that followed was heavy with emotion. The sun was beginning to dip lower, painting the sky in shades of violet and orange.
Ines set the book on the blanket. She looked down at her husband.
She reached out and began stroking Carcel’s hair. It was thick and dark, soft under her fingers. She traced the line of his jaw, the curve of his ear.
She looked at the sea. The vast, endless blue. It made her feel small, but also infinite.
"I’m very happy," Ines said softly.
She looked back at Carcel.
"I’m so happy," she confessed, her voice trembling slightly, "that I’m afraid my emotions might lead to an episode."
The air shifted instantly.
Carcel’s eyes flew open. The lazy contentnt vanished. The word "episode" was a trigger for him. It ant doctors. It ant fear. It ant the possibility of her fainting again.
Carcel imdiately got off her lap. He sat up, turning to face her. His hands gripped her shoulders, searching her face for any sign of pallor or pain.
"Don’t say things like that again, okay?" he said intensely. "Are you feeling faint? Is your heart racing?"
Ines shook her head. She saw the panic in his eyes, and it made her love him even more. He wasn’t worried about himself; he was terrified for her.
She nodded, reassuring him.
But the emotion was too big to hold inside.
A tear rolled down her cheek. It was a singular, diamond-bright tear.
"What’s wrong?" Carcel asked, his voice sad and desperate. He reached up to catch the tear with his thumb. "Why are you crying? Did I do sothing wrong?"
Ines shook her head again. She covered his hand with hers, pressing it against her cheek.
"No," she whispered. "It is not sadness. It is gratitude."
She looked into his eyes, the sa shape of eyes she had seen in his mother’s portrait.
"You are the best thing that happened to after my family," Ines said, her voice choking with emotion.
She sniffled.
"I’m so lucky and grateful to have you in my life," she finished. "My heart isn’t weak, Carcel. It’s just... full. So very full."
Carcel let out a breath he had been holding. His shoulders relaxed. He realized she wasn’t sick. she was just overwheld by love.
Carcel wiped her tear away gently. His gaze softened, filled with a tenderness that rivaled the ocean’s depth.
"I also feel the sa way," he whispered. "You saved from a cold, gray life, Ines. You brought the sun."
He leaned in. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close until there was no space between them.
He hugged her. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of sea salt and woman.
"I love you," he said into her skin.
Ines closed her eyes, holding him tight.
"I love you too," she replied.
She pulled back slightly. She cupped his face in her hands, holding him like the precious treasure he was.
She kissed him.
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