All right, yes, he was flirting with her. But that was all it was. Graham wasn’t going tokissher. The strange sparks between them were just a silly reaction to being alone with a man for more in one day than ever before in her entire life.
Or maybe Grahamwasn’tflirting with her. Maybe Kuni just wished he was. Maybeshewas the one leaning too close, gazing up at him for far too long.
This wasn’t real. It was just another rebellion. She wasn’t interested in any Englishman. It would be both pointless and disastrous. She had mapped out her future, and she would let nothing get in its way.
“My private chamber,” she croaked. “Where is it?”
He nodded and led her out of the corridor, the strange electricity gone. “Just up these stairs and to the—”
Before she could take the first step, a sharp breeze ruffled her skirts and the entryway filled with voices.
“Please,” begged a scratchy voice. “We need to speak to the Wynchesters. We have no other hope.”
Graham strode forward. “What’s this?”
She hurried after him.
An older man and woman stood in the doorway. Their clothes had faded with age and had clearly been mended many times. Their skin was a yellowish gray, as if they were ill—or perhaps very exhausted. They clung to each other as though letting go would cause them to crumple where they stood.
“Please,” said the woman. “We are in dire need of aid.”
“I’m Graham Wynchester.” His voice was so warm and kind, it was no wonder the elderly couple looked at him as though the sun had peeked from behind the clouds. “You’ve come to the right place.” He turned to the butler and lowered his voice. “Have a repast sent to the sitting room at once.”
The butler assented and hurried in the opposite direction.
Graham looked almost startled to see Kuni still standing there. “I am so sorry. I’ll send up some chocolate, and a maid will escort you to your chambers. Or if you like, go around these stairs and down the other wing, where you’ll find a library at your disposal on the left. I don’t know if we’ll be free for supper—”
“Can I help?”
Kuni regretted the question as soon as she’d asked it. Of course she couldn’t help. She’d asked her brothers that same question every day for nearly every one of her five-and-twenty years, and the answer had never been yes.
Nor would it be today. If Graham wanted her assistance, he would have asked for it—not sent her off to read a book or to sip some chocolate while the Wynchesters attended to important matters. Only when she won the king’s respect and became a Royal Guard would people cease underestimating her.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I did not mean to insert myself in—”
“Of course you can help,” Graham answered. “Every client deserves our very best.”
10
Graham led the elderly couple into the sitting room.
His family was busy with their usual pursuits: Tommy sketched out a map. Philippa cataloged a tower of books. Elizabeth polished the blade of a sword stick. Marjorie inspected every thread of her new ribbon. Jacob coached a wriggling weasel in the delicate art of…well, one never knew with Jacob.
But when they caught sight of the visitors, his siblings mobilized at once. Gone were the map and the sword and the ribbon. Even the weasel disappeared into a ventilated basket. All five siblings were on their feet at a respectful distance, quietly awaiting instruction.
Graham offered the couple the most comfortable sofa. As they lowered themselves onto the cushions, maids entered the salon with platters of sandwiches and a variety of hot drinks. He smiled to show his appreciation for their promptness. All the Wynchester staff was an essential part of the team. They returned his smile before stepping back.
He turned to the new clients. “There is no rush. If you’re hungry or need a moment to collect yourselves before discussing how we can help, we have all the time you need.”
“Thank you so much.” The older woman and her companion reached for triangles of sandwich with gnarled, shaking hands.
Graham retrieved a fresh journal and a handful of sharpened pencils before seating himself on the sofa closest to the visitors. When he glimpsed Kunigunde hesitating in the doorway, he flashed her a smile and motioned for her to join him.
She eased down next to Graham and folded her hands in her lap. Her posture was impeccable. Somewhere on her person were at least two daggers. He could see no sign of the blades, but knew they would appear in her hands like magic at the first sign of danger. But at the moment, she appeared calm and attentive. Her head angled toward the visitors and slightly downward, allowing her to regard them without staring, and to listen without distracting.
It was not at all difficult to imagine her as an exemplary Royal Guard.
Soon, the guests set down their plates, patted their mouths with their napkins, and began to speak.
