“I must leave a message for my aunt. She is away from home.”
“Bon,” the duchess said.
“I’ll fetch my pelisse and bonnet.” Hetty’s spirits rose as she hurried toward the door. Something to do at last, and a confidant in the tiny lady beside her.
*
Guy opened hiseyes and stared into the dark. His first thought was a moonless night at midnight. But because the air was thick with dust and mold, he ascertained he was indoors. He moved his head gingerly. It ached, and every part of his body seemed bruised. Where was he? A memory flashed into his mind, a silvery moon, the sweet-smelling garden at Hampstead, and then… nothing.
He put his hand to the sore spot on the side of his head and discovered a lump with crusted dried blood coating his hair. He loosened his cravat, his mouth bone dry, his insides hollow with hunger. His last conscious thought came back to him, a demanding voice in the darkness. What did they ask him? Had he failed to supply the answer? His mind remained befogged. How long had he been unconscious? Once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he spied a faint light under a door. He staggered from what he recognized as a bed of coarse dusty onion sacks then, walked an unsteady path toward the light.
Once he located the door, he turned the knob, pushed the door open, and stood blinking in the glow of candlelight flickering in iron sconces along a low-ceilinged stone passage. Something came back, a memory of being dragged along a tunnel at some point, the rancid smell of earth and mold stifling him. His hands tied, he’d cried out and struggled and been hit again before the blackness claimed him. This must be a cellar. The weight of stone pressed down, disorienting him. The air rank with the smell of rat droppings and tallow made him swallow as nausea gripped him.
He fought to draw the stale air into his lungs, to strengthen him. To face whatever awaited him at the end of the passage. Bracing himself against the wall, he lurched toward the light, and stumbled into a wide cavern. A candle wheel hung from the ceiling, throwing the room into a chiaroscuro of light and shadow, the frigid air smoky. Without his coat, Guy shivered in his ruined evening clothes.
An arched door opened in the far wall, and he started toward it, coming to a halt as a tall man entered. He gestured with the pistol in his hand for Guy to leave the room.
Was he asleep or awake? “Whoareyou?” Guy wiped his eyes and took a step backward.
The man moved into the circle of light.
Stunned, Guy sucked in a breath and almost collapsed. He grasped the back of a wooden chair to right himself. It was like gazing into a mirror at his own visage. The face staring back at him was gaunt, the blue eyes harder. A long scar marred his cheek. But taken feature-by-feature, it was identical to his.
Guy passed a hand over his eyes. “It cannot be true! Vincent!”
“It’s true all right. You’d best sit down before you fall.”
Guy stared at him. He slumped onto the chair and put his hand to his throbbing head. “You speak better English than I.”
“Papa taught us well, but one forgets, no? But I learn fast. You must when life isn’t offered to you on a silver platter.”
“I’ve longed to find you my whole life, Vincent. Although we all believed you to have perished in the attack on the chateau, Papa never stopped searching. He is dead now. Maman, too. Did you know?”
“He abandoned me to the fire. His own son. You were his favorite, Guy.”
“That’s not true. He was a fair man.”
“He disapproved of everything I did.”
“You were often damned difficult, but he loved you. We all did.”
His hard face didn’t soften, didn’t acknowledge the possibility. “It matters not now.”
“Why do this? What is it you want from me?”
“All in good time.”
“You were not in our bedchamber when the fire started. Where were you?”
“Do you want food?”
“Yes, but first you must tell me what happened.”
“First, I will fetch you the food.”
He disappeared out the door again, shutting it behind him.
Guy sat with his head in his hands, it all seemed unreal.
