“Her Uncle François has died on the guillotine.”
“Because of us!” Henrietta’s scalp prickled in horror.
“No. He wrote a manifesto for the Jacobins and voiced his strong opinions of how the Revolution should be run. His work attracted the attention ofthe Committee of Public Safetywho accused him of being a counterrevolutionary.”
Henrietta expelled a breath. “He must have been the one the gypsy spoke of,” she said thoughtfully.
“What gypsy?”
“I’ll tell you about it some other time. It’s not important anymore.”
“And now England is at war with France.”
“You will not see any of that war, darling.” She rested her head on his good shoulder. “And even when you are strong again, you shall be far too busy.”
He arched a brow, a grin tugging at his mouth. “I’ll be busy, will I?”
She traced a finger over his lips. “Yes, loving me.”
* * *
Two months later, Mr. and Mrs. Hartley returned from their honeymoon in Brighton. They visited Gabrielle and Uncle Philippe in London. Uncle Philippe had regained his strength and was soon to join Louis Joseph de Bourbon, Prince of Condé, who organized émigrés into a counter-revolutionary army at Coblenz. And Aunt Gabrielle had resumed her literary soirees.
A week later, Henrietta and Christian arrived at Beaumont Court. Her father was waiting on the carriage drive to greet them with Verity beside him. She was increasing, the baby due in five months and glowed with vibrant good health.
“You look well, Verity,” Henrietta said, kissing both cheeks.
Verity greeted Christian, then took Henrietta’s arm. “We French have a word for how well marriage agrees with you, Madame Hartley.Éclat. Come inside luncheon awaits.”
Some hours later, Henrietta wandered through the familiar gardens around her family home. It pleased her that as a married lady, she could do as she pleased in many matters. Her gowns for instance. She smoothed the skirts of her lavender, poult de soie gown with its mulberry silk petticoat, as she roamed over the lawns toward the summerhouse, her hat trailing from her hand. The lavender bonnet strings caught on a rose bush, and she bent to untangle them. Voices came from the summer house. She smiled when she recognized her two favorite men. She was about to call out but paused at the mention of her name.
“Much as I’d like to I cannot tell Henrietta,” Christian was saying. “I am sworn to secrecy.”
“She would understand,” her father said. “Do you feel the mission was a failure?”
Henrietta released her hat from the thorns but stayed where she was. She should make her presence known, but her curiosity got the better of her.
“Lady Atkyns believes so, certainly. A brave woman, she was determined to carry out her promise to her friend Marie Antoinette. She did try to save the dauphin.”
“What occurred? Are you able to reveal it?”
“Gossip will spread through parliament, I imagine. But I prefer to tell you the unvarnished truth.” Christian stood with his back to her, his elbows resting on the wooden bannister rail. “Lady Atkyns moored her ships off the French coast and waited for the dauphin to be delivered into her hands to be taken to England. It was not considered a wise plan, but the English royalists saw a French king as a stabilizing force.
“Our mission was to rescue him from theCommittee of Public Safety.We waylaid the guard, but even with the advantage of surprise, only three of us survived. When I was hurt I was smuggled onto a ship and brought home. As my surviving colleagues were unable to bring the dauphin to England, they placed him with a peasant family somewhere deep in the French countryside.”
“So, will he ever reign as king?”
“Who knows?”
Henrietta peeked out of her hiding place as Christian shrugged and turned to stare out into the garden. “With luck on his side he can grow up a free citizen and breed for future generations. And maybe one day either he or his kin will sit on the French throne, but the Ancien regime will never rule France again.”
“A satisfactory outcome,” her father said. “You are courageous, Christian. I wish this might become known. You agents are seldom rewarded enough for your bravery.”
“The dauphin’s mother was the brave one,” Christian’s voice sounded gruff. “Marie Antoinette refused to be rescued. She didn’t want to desert her children. There are still aristocrats imprisoned and awaiting death. I wish there was more I could do.”
From her hiding place behind a lilac bush, Henrietta opened her mouth in horror, and almost leaped from her hiding place to confront him.
“But I must leave that to others,” Christian added, much to her relief.
