"And your eyes,"—Marianne crouched so that she and Primrose were at eye level—"they're green like mine, aren't they?"
Primrose let out a shuddery breath. "Yes."
"You have a small birthmark. It's shaped like a flower. On your left knee."
"H-how do you know that?" Primrose stammered.
"Because," Marianne said in a suffocated voice, "for the first year of your life, I spent every minute with you. Before you were taken, you were my world. And even after…"—her voice trembled as she fought to maintain her composure—"oh, my darling, there hasn't been a moment in the last seven years when I haven't yearned to have you back in my arms."
"She's telling you the truth, little miss." Marianne turned her neck to see Ambrose standing behind her. In calm, reassuring tones, he said, "I am a member of the Thames River Police. And we have been helping your mama look for you."
Primrose's lashes lifted, her chin wobbling. A single tear spilled down her cheek, and Marianne's heart wrenched. It was asking too much for her baby to understand, too much—
"Mama?" Primrose whispered.
A sob lodged in Marianne's throat. "Yes, my precious girl.Yes." She opened her arms.
The Frenchwoman stepped between them. "N'attendez pas," she said to Primrose. "These are all lies—"
Ambrose gripped the governess' arm, pulled her out of the way. "Lady Draven tells the truth. It is you who has been told the lies. Unless you want to be charged as an accomplice to kidnapping, you will tell me where your employer is."
"I will say nothing," the Frenchwoman spat.
Marianne's gaze stayed on her daughter. Her entire being shook with the need to seize Primrose up, gather her close. Yet she feared that she would frighten Rosie further.
So Marianne remained where she was, her heart and her arms wide open.
Heartbeats passed.
Then, like a miracle, her daughter ran to her.
42
The returnto London took two days. Throughout the journey, Ambrose kept close watch over Marianne and Primrose. Coyner, damn his eyes, had somehow managed to escape. Ambrose had questioned the governess, and she'd admitted that Coyner had planned to meet her and Primrose at a hotel in Calais. Sir Birnie had sent Runners to the French port to hunt Coyner down. In the interim, Ambrose remained on high alert; his instincts told him Coyner was an obsessed lunatic, one who would not easily give up on the object of his fixation.
Looking at Primrose and Marianne now, Ambrose felt a fierce surge of protectiveness. Mother and daughter sat next to one another on the carriage cushions, and with the dye removed from the latter's hair, their heads resembled two bright blooms bent together. Marianne spoke in gentle tones, answering Primrose's questions. Over and again, her hand smoothed the girl's hair as if to reassure herself that her daughter was safe in her arms at last.
Ambrose's throat thickened. By God, he'd do whatever it took to give Marianne the sense of security she deserved. To ensure that nothing and no one threatened her and Primrose again.
"Are we almost there, Mama?" Primrose asked for the umpteenth time.
"Nearly, my darling." Over her daughter's head, Marianne sent him a smile.
A sweet, sharp longing struck Ambrose. Though he had no right to hope, he nonetheless did. He told himself to focus on the future one day at a time. First things first, he had to see Coyner captured and behind bars. Then and only then could he broach the topic of the future with Marianne. To convince her that he could be a worthy husband for her… and father to her little girl.
In the short time he'd spent in Primrose's company, he'd come to adore the little imp, who shared her mother's beauty and charm… and strength of will as well. He listened with a faint smile as Marianne asked what Rosie would like to do in London, and the child rattled off a list that included everything from visiting Astley's Amphitheatre to acquiring a pretty bonnet to match her Mama's. Praise God, it appeared that Coyner's main sin—beyond kidnapping the girl—had been in overindulging her. Without a firm and steadying influence, Primrose would no doubt turn into a hoyden.
"And will Mr. Kent be staying with us too?" Primrose said.
Ambrose waited for Marianne's answer. In tacit agreement, he and she had been entirely circumspect in their behavior since finding Primrose. At the inn where they'd stayed last night, Marianne and Primrose had shared a room whilst he'd taken an adjacent one. Things were confusing enough for the little girl without her having to wonder about the state of affairs between her mother and the policeman who was guarding them.
"Would you like him to stay with us?" Marianne asked.
Primrose's nod warmed Ambrose's chest.
"Then he will, won't you, Mr. Kent?" Marianne said to him.
"If it pleases Miss Primrose," he said, inclining his head.
