Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

By the afternoon, Evangelina stood on the docks with Zeke, Rowan, and Samira. They had said their goodbyes to their mothers at the house, and Zeke to his siblings there as well. Tears were shed, but Evangelina promised to be home soon, and Conway declared he had every confidence they could gain significant headway in making sure it would be safe for her on English soil once again. Finally, as it was time to depart, Evangelina clung to her sister.

“I’ll be home for the birth,” Evangelina promised. “I swear it.”

“Good,” Samira clasped her hands. “Because you and Zeke are to be godmother and godfather to the babe, and so you must be here for our child.”

Evangelina smiled through her tears. “I love you, Sister.”

“As I love you, Chintu,” Samira replied.

The brothers embraced and said their goodbyes, strong, private things spoken in words and deeds, the significance of which was known only to them, brothers of the blood, wishing each other well as they moved on different paths. Rowan and Samira watched the pair walk up the gangplank and disappear into the ship that would take them to another shore.

“Are you all right?” asked Rowan.

Samira scrubbed at the tears on her face. “No!” Then she looked at him. “But yes.”

Rowan kissed her temple. “I know what you mean.”

The eldest siblings watched as the ship moved slowly away from the dock and toward the horizon. They watched until it grew smaller and smaller. Finally, Rowan guided Samira back the carriage and they sat together on one side of the coach, never not touching.

“There’s a story I’m thinking of,” said Samira as Rowan played absently with her fingers.

“Hm?” Rowan made a half-interested sound as he watched the light dance in the emerald he’d given her.

“It’s the story of Abhimanyu,” Samira went on.

“Abby Manu,” Rowan repeated.

She laughed, the sound feeling a bit strange in her throat after so many tears.

She went on, saying the name again before resuming her story. “There was a woman named Subhadra, and she was with child. While she was carrying the baby, her husband Arjuna explained to her the Chakravyuha battle formation technique. When the child was born, he knew the technique because he had memorized it in the womb, but he fell asleep before he heard how to escape the formation. Many years later, when the child was fighting for his family and their protection, he used the formation to win the battle, but he did not know how to get out of it, so that was where he died.”

“The child was Abhimanyu?” Rowan asked.

Samira nodded slowly.

He bent and kissed her forehead. “Is there a reason you thought of that story?”

Samaria looked up at him. “I’m pregnant. I’m sure.”

Rowan breathed deeply. He’d known it already, they both had, but hearing her say it did something to him.

“A dark story for such happy news,” he said cautiously.

“I’m afraid for them,” Samira said softly. “Look at all Evangelina has suffered because of where she comes from. Look at all my mother has had to endure, and our child…”

Rowan drew her closer. “I know it’s frightening, but we will be there for them, together. And they will have all the Marstons at their back, and anyone else who cares to see beyond such things as a person’s skin.”

Samaria’s eyes glistened. “I’m afraid that number is too small to do much good.”

Kissing the top of her head, Rowan spoke against her skin. “Me too.”

She closed her eyes and let the tears drip down her face. “What if they’re ostracized?”

Rowan shrugged. “There are worse things than being outside the Ton. I’m sure you can attest to that.”

She managed a small smile. “Indeed.”

“They will grow up loved, Samira. Our children, and Ari and Max’s children, and Evangelina and Ezekiel’s, and whomever all the rest of my siblings decide to marry. They will all be loved lavishly, and that is all we can promise in this world,” said Rowan.

Samira gazed up at him, the love in her heart showing in her eyes. “When did you grow so wise?”

He puffed up his chest in a dramatic fashion. “Fatherhood makes men of us.”

Samira dropped her hand, caressing him until he let out a groan. “And here I was thinking I had made a man of you.”

Rowan let out a breathless laugh. “Remind me just how you did that, and perhaps I’ll revise my answer.”

Laughing, Samira moved until she was straddling his lap. “Promise me we will always be all right.”

Gripping her hips, Rowan surged up and captured her mouth, kissing her fiercely. “My love, if the Ton turns us out, if London melts into the Thames, if the world is set aflame, you and I, our children, we will be all right. I swear it with all I have, all I believe, and all I am, for I love you, and that is greater than the forces of darkness can ever muster.”

Closing her eyes, Samira found his lips with hers. “I love you too.”

The channel crossing was smooth and swift, getting Zeke and Evangelina to Calais in the evening. They booked lodgings and made their way toward Paris the next day. When at last they entered the city, they sought out the person Andrew had most highly recommended they connect with, and Zeke sent him a note as soon as they arrived. Soon after, they met with a man with pale green eyes, windswept, chestnut hair that was too long to be fashionable but was altogether becoming, and a glorious smile. He was plainly an artist, with charcoal under his nails and paint flecks on his clothes, and like, it turned out, recognized like.

“You must be Mr. Caro,” Zeke stuck out his hand.

The young man smiled and shook it. “Ethan, please. Any friend of Andrew’s…And I understand you’re an artist.”

“I dabble,” shrugged Zeke.

Evangelina elbowed him. “He is extremely good.”

“Do not listen to her,” Zeke said with a smile. “She is horrendously partial. This is my lovely wife, Evangelina Marston.”

The man then nodded to Evangelina in what was almost a bow but felt very casual and light. “My lady.”

“Sir,” she bobbed a curtsey.

Mr. Caro – Ethan – laughed. “I’m hardly that. Just a humble art student hoping to someday make something of myself. But in the meantime, welcome to Paris!”

He swept his hand out in dramatic illustration of the grand city that awaited them.

Evangelina’s pulse leapt, and she squeezed Zeke’s hand. “We made it.”

Leaning down, Zeke whispered on her lips before he kissed them. “Yes we did.”

They went to dinner – at a restaurant, which Evangelina had never experienced – with Ethan, and he told them about all the sights and joys of the city. He promised to help them find lodgings and to connect them with wonderful people they would thoroughly enjoy. Ethan spun tales of a vibrant community of artists and a lot of opportunity for Zeke to advance his talents, both in the making and the selling of his art. Ethan was a lively dinner companion, asking them interesting but not invasive questions, directing at least half of them to Evangelina herself. She was happy to answer, to get lost in Ethan’s bright stories and wild tales, to hear Zeke’s answers to questions she already knew, and several others she had not yet heard.

Evangelina ate until she thought she was going to burst, and then they walked along Seine in the moonlight. Finally, when they got back to the rooms they’d rented for the short term at a lovely hotel, Zeke and Evangelina were a little drunk and very happy.

“I think I’m going to like it here,” said Evangelina, grabbing Zeke by the collar. “It’s beautiful, and there’s so much to do.”

“I am glad to hear you say so,” Zeke leaned down to kiss her nose. “I love Paris, and I had dearly hoped to bring you here under better circumstances.”

She frowned. “The circumstances are certainly not ideal, but we have been in far worse ones. We are together in the city of love. I count myself extremely lucky.”

Zeke kissed her lips then, deeper, until a little sound escaped her. He pulled back, sweeping the wild curls off her face with his hand. He kissed her again, softer, then stepped back.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, turning toward the water closet.

Evangelina spun on her heels, surveying the room. “Oh, Zeke, Ethan said he wanted to see some of your work! Did you bring them with you?”

“There’s a folio on the desk,” he called back.

Evangelina moved toward the desk and picked up the brown folder, but when she did, beneath there was the black sketchbook she recognized from when Zeke drew her. Smiling, Evangelina set the folio aside and began to leaf through the pages of the book beneath.

A few minutes later when Zeke reentered the room, Evangelina had sunk down into the chair beside the desk and was staring at the drawings before her.

“Oh, those aren’t–” Zeke started.

“Zeke,” Evangelina whispered, trailing her fingers over the lines on the page. “These are…”

“They’re the work of a madman,” he shook his head. “Pay it no mind.”

She turned to look at him, her eyes shining with feeling. “I do not know art, but I know beauty when I see it. These eyes, they are spectacular. So expressive, so much feeling. When did you draw them?”

Zeke seemed to force himself to look at her. “The night of our wedding.”

Something hit in Evangelina’s stomach like a rock, and the familiarity of the eyes jolted in her mind. She saw them every day in her mirror.

“You drew my eyes?” she whispered.

“I cannot seem to create anything else,” said Zeke quietly. “Every face I draw becomes yours, every figure I paint is you. Even the statue you saw me sculpting that day...I’d meant it to be of Celeste. I thought if I created something else, it would cleanse the ravenous need to depict you from my system, but it did not. All I had in me was yours already.”

“That statue was me?” asked Evangelina quietly.

Zeke nodded. “I did not intend it, but I couldn’t help it. Somehow, some way, whether I am thinking of you or trying to keep myself from it, my soul calls out for yours, and you come to me to give me peace.”

Evangelina blinked rapidly. “Is that so bad?”

She was confused by this; the words sounded beautiful, almost like love poetry, but his tone was almost bitter.

“Happiness, joy, contentment, these are the enemies of artistry, Evangelina,” he said quietly. “I fear my craft will stagnate if you are all I can create. I am happy to give it up if it means safety and gladness for the rest of our days, but I mourn its loss.”

Evangelina heaved an immense sigh. “I see nothing lost here, Zeke. These are the most beautiful works I’ve seen at your hand, and where is it written that joy must be the death of artistry? I do not know so very much about art, but I think I have learned a great deal about the world, and anything that means anything in this life comes from emotion. Negative emotions like pain, hurt, fear, anger, those are powerful, and I believe they have driven the crafting of some of the greatest pieces of art ever made. But do you know what is more powerful than those things?”

Zeke just looked at her, unmoving, unblinking. Evangelina soldiered on, believing wholeheartedly in what she was about to say.

“Joy. Pride. Affection. Community. Love,” she stated. “These emotions ground us to humanity at the same time as lifting us to the heavens to commune with the gods. Tell me, is this a lesser feeling to drive art?”

Slowly, Zeke shook his head. “No.”

“Good then,” Evangelina stood and crossed to him. “So I think you should paint me.”

Zeke lifted his brows. “What, now?”

“Indeed,” Evangelina declared, beginning to pull the pins from her hair. “You like my hair down, no?”

He snorted. “You’re already starting to talk like a Frenchwoman.”

Evangelina’s eyes sparkled. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”

Zeke laughed, running his hands down her body. “Where did you learn a phrase like that?”

Evangelina spun from his arms, giving him a coy look over her shoulder as she began to shimmy out of her gown. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Zeke rocked back on his heels, watching as Evangelina stripped to her shift, then stooped to catch up the hem.

“Love,” he halted her. “If you strip down any further, I won’t be able to focus enough to say the alphabet, let alone paint you.”

Evangelina turned earnest, large eyes toward him. “Well however did you manage with previous models? Do you need to – ahm, coucher – beforehand?”

Zeke laughed roundly. “I never had this issue with previous models, my dear. Have we not established that you are a different sort altogether?”

“Oh,” Evangelina blushed prettily. “Well then, perhaps we should do the bedding first, then get to the art later.”

“As long as we have our priorities straight,” Zeke scooped her up and tossed her back onto the bed in a single motion. He loomed over her, sliding the shift up her body, exposing every delicious inch of her skin to his gaze. “I will paint you, Evangelina. I will make you immortal, and in you, I will touch every beautiful emotion you represent. And I will do it after I’ve thoroughly debauched you. Oui?”

Evangelina bit her lip in giddy excitement. “Yes please!”

The next six months in Paris were the best of Evangelina’s life. She missed her mother and sister like mad and wrote to them constantly, hearing updates on Samira’s pregnancy and every detail of the family. Joel had left for the North of England to attempt to find some kind of occupation for himself, Thalia was preparing for her second season the next year after having turned down half a dozen proposals in her first, and Callista was still being unfailingly herself.

Mr. and Mrs. Marston made a circle of sparkling friends and acquaintances from the art world. Zeke worked on his art, growing and developing, with Evangelina as his near constant model. She read, learned, and, best of all, experienced. She spent her days studying architecture by inhabiting the buildings, culture by conversing with those who defined it, history by walking the places it was made. At night, she read voraciously and became a fixture of society. The wilder side of Paris did not shun her for her humble roots but instead adored her for her wild stories of lost parentage, kidnapping, and her courtesan mother.

One evening, Zeke and Evangelina attended a soiree hosted by a fashionably widowed countess who purchased one of Zeke’s paintings and had invited dozens of Parisian artistry’s most fashionable for the unveiling. The artist himself and his wife sipped champagne and mingled until the piece was revealed.

Evangelina stared up at herself, the dark eyes gazing back at her, her body wrapped in a white sheet, her hair wild and untamed, falling down her back. She recalled the night Zeke had painted it, the love and the joy in the room, the unabashed enjoyment that radiated through the canvas. Evangelina looked beautiful, but more than that, she looked loved. She felt the love in every brushstroke, painstakingly made to recreate her.

“Viola!” cried the countess as her guests looked up at it. “Here is Joie de Vivre, painted by the incomparable Ezekiel Marston, whom we have in attendance tonight. And his beautiful wife, who was good enough to be the subject.”

Cheers went up, and Evangelina’s face flushed with all the emotion. The first few paintings Zeke had done of his wife he said he would never part with, and any that showed her in too great a degree of undress he hoarded like a dragon. But soon, he was persuaded by Evangelina that he could not fail to share his talent with the world, that he had to let some of them go. So to the right people, people like the countess who understood and fell utterly for the happiness in the piece she purchased, Zeke would relinquish them.

“Congratulations,” said Ethan, shaking Zeke’s hand.

“Shouldn’t I be congratulating you?” Zeke asked, clapping the man on the back. “I hear wedding bells for you.”

“Yes,” he beamed. “Marie is an angel on earth.”

“Our deepest congratulations,” said Evangelina. “When is the happy event?”

“In two weeks,” he said, smiling broadly. “There is…there’s a time concern.”

Zeke laughed. “Well, congratulations on that as well, man! You’ve been busy.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Ethan raised his glass.

“It is unfortunate we won’t be able to attend,” Evangelina said after taking a sip of her champagne. “We’re returning to England for my sister’s and his brother’s child’s birth.”

“Ah, well, we shall all have to celebrate when you return,” said Ethan, far too exuberant to be even slightly deterred.

When Zeke and Evangelina finally got into the carriage to take them to the apartments they’d rented, they fell against the seats, happy and exhausted.

“That went over brilliantly,” said Evangelina.

“I think so as well,” nodded Zeke.

“In a year, you’ll be the most famous artist in Paris,” she said.

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t think I want to be the most famous artist in Paris, Evangelina.”

She sat up then, shocked yet somehow not surprised. He had never sought fame, never chased notoriety, only his skills and the peace it brought him.

“What do you want, Zeke?” Evangelina asked quietly.

He shrugged a little. “I want change, difference, newness. But I want home, comfort, routine. Just not in Paris.”

“Not in England, either?” asked Evangelina, almost hopefully.

He raised a brow. “What did you have in mind?”

Evangelina bit her lip. “Well, I have been thinking…”

Sea mist came up on the side as they sailed on the ocean. Zeke put a hand on Evangelina’s back, and she could feel the nervous energy wafting off him.

“It will be all right,” soothed Evangelina.

Zeke’s scowl deepened. “It’s too dangerous.”

“They aren’t looking for me,” Evangelina said. “Conway swears they might arrest me if they found me and somehow knew who I was, but no one is seeking me out. Besides, who would arrest a woman at her sister’s bedside while she is in childbirth?”

She had meant it to sound light, but Zeke’s face darkened further. Maybe it was a dreadful plan, but Evangelina could not stand the idea of not being by Samira’s side for this moment. Evangelina only hoped she was not too late.

They made it to the house with Samira in the throes of labor. Zeke tried to comfort his brother, but at some point, it proved far too much for Rowan, who stormed up the stairs and stayed by his wife’s side. Evangelina sank down beside Zeke and held his hand as she listened to her sister’s screams.

“Might be the wrong time to ask,” Zeke said after Evangelina winced at one of Samira’s bellows. “But, do you want children?”

“I’ve always imagined having them, yes,” said Evangelina. “Though, the getting them is sounding less and less appealing by the moment.”

He patted her hand. “We don’t ever have to, if you don’t want.”

“I do want,” Evangelina reassured. “As long as you want…?”

“I do,” he smiled.

Evangelina leaned against him. “Good. Not right away though. I want you all to myself for a few years, and I want to be settled somewhere when we finally do.”

“I like that plan,” he kissed her head.

“Ma’am?” a maid entered the room. “The Viscountess has delivered of two, healthy baby girls, and she is asking for her sister.”

Evangelina hopped up and gave Zeke a quick kiss before darting up the stairs and to her sister’s bedside. She found inside one of the most beautiful pictures of familial bliss she could ever conjure. Samira sat with one daughter bundled in her arms, and Rowan shared her bed, another daughter in his arms. Rowan leaned in and kissed Samira’s cheek, then she offered her mouth to him and he kissed it deeper. Evangelina averted her eyes, nearly leaving the room to see such a vision of bliss.

“Sister!” Samira cried, finally noticing. “Come here! Meet your nieces!”

Evangelina was soon introduced to Sarika and Priya, the latter of whom was placed into her arms. Rowan receded slightly, finding Zeke just outside the door and the pair embracing while letting the sisters have their moment. The ladies gave tearful embrace, talking and cooing over the babies. At some point, they switched children they were holding.

“What will you do now?” asked Samira, rubbing the soft chub of Priya’s cheek.

Evangelina snuggled Sarika closer to her chest. “Actually, I think we’re going to go back to Paris.”

Samira’s brows lifted. “Really?”

“We like it there,” Evangelina said. “Not forever of course; it’s not home. But we have friends, and I’m not wanted for murder.”

Samira winced. “Of course. I’ll miss you.”

Evangelina kissed her niece’s head. “We’ve even talked of traveling to India for a time.”

Samira was shocked. “Really?”

“If we went, I could see the homeland I never got to know,” said Evangelina. “And Zeke is very interested in studying Eastern art. We would be there for several years of course, but I would hope that when we came back, all this mess might be sorted out.”

Samira nodded. “I see. Well, I can’t say there wouldn’t be part of me that would be envious.”

Evangelina smiled. “Well, you’d just have to come visit.”

“Yes, we would,” agreed Samira. “It wouldn’t scare you, to travel around the world to a place you’ve never been?”

Evangelina looked to Zeke through the open door, and he caught her eye, smiling as he did. Evangelina could only smile back.

“Not as long as we’re together,” Evangelina said, and knew in her heart that was the only requirement.