Ireland, 1812

The Emerald Isle really was beautiful.

Ysanne Moreau hadn't settled anywhere for too long since coming to the UK two years ago, after Adele and Anthoine had returned to France; instead she'd travelled the hilly lowland and coastal mountains, walked the limestone river valleys, and stood on the rugged bluffs overlooking the sea, feeling the biting spray lash against her face.

Sometimes, at whatever inn or lodging house she was staying at, she'd wake up missing the sound of Adele's voice or Anthoine's laughter, but they were happy in France somewhere, and Ysanne was learning to be happy by herself.

Giovanni's little portrait was constantly with her, and there were days when she smiled to see it, remembering the Italian lilt of his voice, the way he'd used to kiss her, the warmth of his body as they lay in bed together. There were also days when looking at it brought the echo of his final words, that terrible night of blood and fire and loss.

But she wouldn't let the sadness win.

She wouldn't let it drag her under.

One morning she found herself wandering into the small village of Dunlavin. A market had been set up in the main street – butter and oats and wheat, cattle and horses and pigs all being sold from local farms, as well as salt and linen and utensils, and so many other things, drawing Ysanne's interest. She'd lived frugally since leaving France, but she had always had a taste for the finer things in life, and when she came upon a stall selling furs, she couldn't resist.

She lingered over fur coats and muffs, while the stallholder hopefully watched her, waiting for a sale.

A peal of laughter rang out, bright as a bell, followed a moment later by a male voice.

Ysanne went rigid.

She knew that voice.

Still clad in the fur coat she had tried on, Ysanne turned.

Edmond stood at the other end of the market. He was dressed the same as most other men in the village – breeches, a plain linen shirt, and a top hat made of felt – but his sharp beauty made him stand out in any crowd.

Ysanne's heart lifted.

He was supposed to be in France. That was why they had parted, but now he'd ended up here, same as her, and –

A woman stood with him, resplendent in red petticoats, her curly hair like spun gold. Edmond's arm was around her waist. She held a scarf up to his neck and he shook his head; she flicked his face with the end of the scarf and he laughed.

He looked so happy.

Ysanne couldn't take her eyes off him.

The romantic feelings that had once flared to life between them were long gone now, and they would never come back, but she still loved him deeply, and this was the happiest she'd seen him in a long time. Whoever the blonde woman was, she was obviously good for him.

Edmond started to turn, and Ysanne swivelled back to the stall, pretending to concentrate on the furs.

Edmond was right there, so close. All she had to do was say his name and his vampire hearing would pick it up.

But if Edmond had fallen in love again, then he was probably settled here, with the blonde woman. Ysanne wasn't ready to settle anywhere. She was only passing through Dunlavin; once she had finished exploring the market, she'd be gone. Her life and Edmond's life were still on different trajectories, but that wasn't the only reason.

When they'd escaped the revolutionary mob that terrible night, Edmond had known for years that she'd been living in Paris because he'd been there too. But he'd never approached her. He hadn't been in a good place at the time and, having seen how happy she was with Giovanni, he didn't want to interrupt that. Ysanne understood that now in a way she hadn't before.

Edmond had started a new life with someone, and Ysanne, still battling with the bone-deep sadness of another loss, didn't fit in there.

She peeked back at him.

He'd moved further away, now standing by a stall that sold glittering strands of jewellery. He held up a necklace, then put it down and picked up another one, lifting it to the light. The blonde woman said something that made him smile.

"What do you think?" said a voice behind her, and Ysanne turned back to the stallholder. "The coat," he said, an eager gleam in his eyes.

"Oh." Ysanne had forgotten she was wearing it. "I'll take it."

She paid him, slowly counting out the money, delaying the moment she had to leave. She didn't even know if she liked the coat.

Edmond was walking away by the time she looked back, his arm around the woman's waist again, holding her close. He'd never even know that Ysanne was there. She watched him leave. She'd find him again, one day, and maybe then she would be in a better place. Maybe then they'd be reunited.

For now, she turned in the opposite direction, ready to continue her travels.

Next week, we're going to see how Jemima and Ysanne first met :)