There he was, standing right next to the groom. Simone allowed herself a moment’s aching regret, just one, for what might have been, before putting that regret firmly behind her. ‘There they are.’
‘Courage, mon amie,’ murmured Gabrielle.
‘Today, I have plenty,’ Simone assured her. ‘Enough for you too if you need it.’
‘I don’t need it.’
‘I know.’ Simone smiled at the knowledge that Lucien’s heart was for ever in safekeeping.
The photographer snapped more photos for the camera as they alighted from the carriage. Simone snapped more memories for her heart. The rich fragrance of autumn roses wafting up from the bridal bouquets. The glow of the old gold Duvalier pearls around Gabrielle’s slender neck. Something borrowed, Simone had insisted. They’d belonged to Simone’s mother, whose death had coloured both their lives. They were of Caverness and all that went with it, and they had endured, as the children of Caverness had endured.
Gabrielle wore them with love and with pride.
‘You’ll do,’ whispered Simone as she inspected Gabrielle one last time before Harrison stepped into place to escort his daughter to the gazebo where Luc and Rafael waited. ‘You’ll do very nicely.’
Night and Day, the household staff used to call Luc and Rafael when they were children. So totally different, night to day, but each followed the other and always in perfect rhythm. Brothers of the heart and now brothers-in-law, and Simone was fiercely glad for Luc’s sake that, through Gabrielle, Rafe would be drawn back into her brother’s life.
Luc would be richer for it, and she…she would get by.
Simone barely heard the words of the ceremony. She knew they were beautiful. She knew them for truth. But she’d thrown her senses open, the better to catch the day and hold it close. Luc in his black tie regalia, so certain of his love for Gabrielle. Gabrielle incandescent with her love for him. And Rafael, who loved hard and never looked back, looked on in grave silence as he silently handed the safekeeping of his sister over to Luc.
An exchange of rings and then a kiss while Simone wrapped her calm around her like a shield and looked anywhere but at Rafael.
Congratulations and photos as the wedding party and guests made their way slowly through the gardens towards the restaurant. Simone held both bouquets now as the bride and groom greeted their guests. Many of Luc’s friends and business associates had made the trip from Europe. Some hadn’t had to travel quite so far. Simone kept a politician’s eye open for future allies for the new Mrs Luc Duvalier. She kept a general’s eye out for future enemies.
‘What are you doing?’ a deep and delicious voice murmured in her ear. ‘Calculating the collective cost of every piece of jewellery in attendance?’
‘Shh,’ she said imperiously, resisting the urge to turn at once and look her fill. ‘I’m counting.’
‘Counting what?’
‘Goodwill towards your sister.’ She counted to five before turning to study Rafael, still only marginally prepared for the loss of breath that usually accompanied such a venture. ‘For example—’ yes…goodbye oxygen ‘—Melisandre Dubois does not have any. Such things are worth knowing.’
Rafe scanned the crowd. ‘Point her out.’
‘Black cocktail hat, strapless black bodice, long pink skirt.’
‘Got her. Old flame of Luc’s?’
‘Please,’ she said. ‘Credit him with some intelligence. No, she’s never been Luc’s. She’s a snob.’
Rafe’s features hardened. ‘Who else here is lacking in goodwill?’ he said, and Simone told him. The children of Caverness guarded each other’s backs. Some things never changed.
Inigo signalled discreetly from the restaurant entrance that it was time for the party to move inside. With a nod, Simone told Rafe and separately they worked the guests and made it happen.
Champagne flowed. Canapés were served on silver trays by circulating wait staff. Once the guests had settled and the champagne had begun to work its magic, Inigo announced the arrival of Mr and Mrs Luc Duvalier. They entered to generous applause and the strains of a lone violinist playing an unchained melody.
‘I love what you’ve done with the roses,’ Simone murmured to Inigo, who had moved to stand by the kitchen doors, the better to orchestrate seamless service.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘Aren’t they divine? But really, I only had to arrange them. Rafe was the one who scoured the state to find them.’ Inigo eyed Rafael’s fine form and offered up a theatrical sigh. ‘It’s such a waste.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Simone as she caught Rafael’s eye. Rafael knew they were studying him. He hadn’t overheard them, but he was hazarding a pretty good guess as to the topic of their conversation and his eyes promised retribution of the dark and edgy kind. ‘Not necessarily.’
Inigo smiled widely. ‘Did you see that look he just sent you? Call me a prophet but that’s not a merciful look from a merciful man.’
‘Mercy’s not really one of his strengths,’ said Simone and countered Rafael’s displeasure with a smile of pure challenge. Common sense clearly wasn’t one of hers.
‘Ow!’ said Inigo. ‘Sweetheart, you really shouldn’t poke at the man like that.’
‘Have you ever met a man who can take you straight to hell and make you burn for more, Inigo?’
‘No, but I’d like to. Send me a postcard. And don’t be shy if there’s anything I can do to help speed your impending trip into fiery oblivion. Cold water. Polar bears. Ice-train truck chains for restraining the vengeful angel over there, because seriously, my friend, he looks like he’s planning on burning in hell right along with you.’ Inigo shuddered theatrically. ‘You just tell Uncle Inigo what you need.’
Rafael straightened his tie, gritted his teeth, and did his bit to make Luc and Gabrielle’s guests feel welcome. It was an eclectic mix with figureheads of European winemaking dynasties mingling freely, and, to Rafael’s eye, quite readily with their Australian counterparts. Luc had never met some of the wedding guests before. Gabrielle had never met most of them. It didn’t seem to matter.
The reason it didn’t seem to matter wore a muted coffee-coloured sheath, a smile that never dimmed, and wielded hostessing skills that commanded Rafe’s respectful awe.
Poised and breathtakingly beautiful, and by dint of will and skill alone, Simone Duvalier merged the House of Duvalier and its associates with the House of Alexander.
Yes, it was true that Gabrielle and Rafael were the children of one of the most accomplished household estate managers in France, who up until recently had been in their employ.
Yes, indeed, Rafael had learned the art of making champagne from Simone’s late father, but the red-grape blends had beguiled him in a different direction. Yes, it was champagne’s loss—Simone’s father had considered Rafael’s champagne blends to be some of the finest the House of Duvalier had ever produced. In the last year of his life and as far as champagne was concerned, Phillipe
