He glanced at her. When she smiled, her face was so very pretty, it made his chest ache. He looked away. “Sweets, for one. Newspapers from London and Paris. Proper linens and down pillows. Clothing I don’t have to sew by hand. New hats and gloves when the leather wears thin.”
“Oh yes, indulgences, indeed,” she laughed. “But Gabriel, is there truly a lingering threat? Even now? The Revolution in France has been over for more than ten years. As I mentioned, Maurice believes the monarchy may be restored in France. We think this is one of the reasons he’s so covetous of Winscombe. He needs money if he is to reclaim his position in court.”
“The Prince d’Orleans,” Gabriel said, “whomever he is—be it me, my cousin Maurice, whomever—is a potential challenger for the French throne. My guess is, he doesn’t want apositionin court, he wants tobe king—head of the court himself, head of everything. He always harbored delusions of grandeur.”
“But is that possible?” she gasped. “Could the Prince d’Orleans ascend to the throne if France restores a monarchy?”
“If the monarchy returns to France, my uncle Louis-Stanislas should be king—in theory. However, the Orleans branch of the familycouldchallenge himfor it. I know this because my sister has been harassed by the courtiers of our uncle in recent years. The school that burned? That was most likely done by revolutionaries. Ten years on, there are fewer of those zealots running about, but loyalists have taken over where they left off. Someone is always hunting an exiled prince.”
“What do you mean, they harassed your sister?” she asked.
“They’ve hounded Elise for my location; but her husband is rather forceful and he’s put a stop to it. Luckily she doesn’t know exactly where I am. She couldn’t tell them, even if they reached her.”
“But if your uncle’s men found you,” she asked, “could you simply tell them—now as a grown man—that you have no aspirations to the French throne, that you simply wish to be left alone? Are you still so vulnerable?”
And this, Gabriel knew, was the crux of the matter. The line between life-and-death solitude and preferred solitude was as thin as the leaf of a fern. Did he simply want to be left alone?Hewasn’t afraid of the outside world, but he would always be afraid for the safety of Elise and her family—even for Lady Ryan, if she left here bandying about his name and title. Furthermore, the customs and crowds and chaos of society repulsed him. He knew himself to be wholly unprepared to return, and he had no notion of how to condition for that sort of thing. The mere thought of it made his shoulders ache, and his chest tight, and his palms sweat.
Lady Ryan was gracious about his life in the wood, but to most people, he would be a spectacle. He wantedno part of their judgment. And that said nothing of the filth and soot, the noise, the buildings that blotted the sun, the rivers that teemed with offal and the runoff of latrines, the clocks that counted off hours of the day so no moment was wasted?
Worst of all would be the loss of his freedom. From anonymous woodsman to obligated prince. He could not.
“I don’t want to defend my solitude, Lady Ryan,” he said. “It’s best for everyone that I’m believed dead. I’m loyal only to myself. It’s safer that way. For everyone. I’m—” He glanced at her and then away.
“I’m sorry I cannot help you,” he finished. “I’m sorry I’m passing you off to Elise and Killian Crewes, her husband; but I pray they can help you. And I pray you can forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” she said. She flashed him a genuine smile. “I understand everything you’ve said and I don’t fault you. How could I? You’ve endured so very much, and you’ve carved out a life that is safe and fulfilled. You deserve this peace, Gabriel. I want nothing less for you.”
Her words were sweet and sincere but instead of absolving him, his stomach twisted into a knot. He was angry at himself, angry at his cousin, angry at the plague of being born a prince.
“Stop—please,” he breathed.
“Stop... riding?” she asked.
“Stoptalking.”
“Alright. I wasn’t actually speaking at the moment but alright.”
“Enough has been said.”
“I understand, Gabriel.”
“The trail to the village of Pewsey is just there.” He pointed through a screen of saplings at a clearing, splashed yellow with sun. “You’ll turn right beyond the tree line and see a small brook with a little bridge. Cross the bridge and follow the path to the stone fence. There’s a gate to the left. Through it, you’ll find the main road into town. It becomes the high street within a quarter mile. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Yes, I understand.”
“I’m sorry I cannot go closer. I’m sorry I—”
He stopped and closed his eyes again. He sighed. “You should be perfectly safe. It won’t take ten minutes to reach the inn from here. You’re sure you understand?”
“Oh yes. It’s perfectly clear.”
He nodded and forced himself to think of everything she needed to know about the money and the letter. If he focused on these logistics, he would not think of letting her go. He reached into his coat for the packet. She shifted in the saddle beside him, preparing to dismount.
“Wait,” he said. “Let me help you.”
He swung from his horse and tethered him to a tree. Striding to her, he reached up. His hands closed around her waist and he had the errant thought:I’ll not touch her again. I’ll not lie with her again. I’ll not hear the sound of her voice, ever again.
She laughed a little when he lifted her. It was a delighted, heartbreaking little trill, and he marveled that she could find joy despite everything she faced. Shouldn’t she be jerking from him and stomping through the trees, shoutingthank you for absolutely no help at all?
