Ryan bit her lip, thinking how—for once—Agnes’s wild imagination had lit upon two out of three.
“I was not left for dead,” Ryan told her, “but I did have a rough go of it in the... er, forest. Also, I’ve located the prince, if you can believe it. However, he is unable to help us. Sadly.”
“Located the prince?!” whispered Agnes, her hands up, fingers spread, as if Ryan might pull a prince from her cloak and toss him on the rug.
“Yes. But, he cannot leave the forest for reasons of personal safety. However, his sister Princess Elise d’Orleans—now aMrs. Crewes—lives in a manor house nearby, and he has bid us to call on her to ask for advice and help.”
“A princess...” marveled Agnes. The maid was too young to have met the original Orleans clan, and she only recently learned that her mistress had been promised to a prince. Every mention of French royalty sent Agnes into the throes of disbelief and anxiety and wonder.
“Yes, a princess; but Agnes, we must move quickly.I am loathe to remain in Wiltshire longer than necessary. Can you help me get out of these clothes and redress my hair? If Princess Elise cannot help us, we must return to London and seek out the counsel of lawyers to make sense of the old betrothal. First thing’s first. We’ll leave the inn and travel by carriage to the estate of Gabriel’s sister—”
The maid’s hands went still as she peeled back the damp cloak. “Gabriel?” the girl repeated.
Too late, Ryan realized her error. “Gabriel,” Ryan clarified, “the Prince d’Orleans. He... he prefers informal address now that—well, he prefers informal address. He does not carry on as a prince in his work with horses. In the forest. Obviously.”
An hour later, washed and wearing a clean dress, Ryan sat across from Agnes in the hired carriage.
“This estate is called Mayapple,” Ryan told the maid. “Prince Gabriel said the driver would know it, and so he does. I’ve asked the man to wait after I’ve knocked, because I’m not certain Princess Elise will have time to receive me. We’re dropping in with no invitation. You’ll have to wait in the carriage, I’m afraid. Do you mind? You must make certain the driver doesn’t pull away before I’ve managed to dash off a note, at the very least.”
“Oh yes, my lady, I prefer it,” assured Agnes. Ryan had given her a very cursory overview, complete with half-truths and flat-out lies, about meeting Gabriel in the forest. The maid was respectful enough to withhold judgment, but it was clear she was highly suspicious of all this business with a French fiancé; and a deep, dark wood; and horse training; and calling onprincesses with no invitation. It took no cajoling to convince Agnes to watch from the safe distance of the carriage.
Ryan turned to stare out the window, idly patting Gabriel’s letter in her pocket. He’d not bothered to seal it, and she was tempted to take a peek—if for nothing else, to read how he’d described Ryan’s situation. But of course Ryan could not read his private correspondence; she’d already rifled through his drawers and found her letters.
Fingering the parchment again, she forced herself to strategize the best way to describe Maurice. In hindsight, she’d blurted out too much, too quickly when she’d explained him to Gabriel. No matter how gracious or compassionate Princess Elise revealed herself to be, given the choice, she’d probably rathernothave Ryan’s problems introduced into her life.
Outside the window, the deep greens of late summer cast the cloudy morning in a dark, almost pickled light. Mainland England was so very green compared to the brown, earthy crags and cliffs of Guernsey. Plant life was plentiful in the Channel Islands of course; but not like the mainland, with its grassy meadows, dense trees, and the mosses and ferns that furred over rocks and stone walls. She hadn’t realized there were quite so many shades of—
Ryan stopped, midthought, and squinted at a decidedly un-green movement in the trees. But was it—?
She leaned closer to the window, using her glove to clear away a smudge.
Oh my God.
There was a rider keeping pace with the carriage. She fell back against the seat. She blinked, tryingto interpret what she saw. But it made no sense. She raised up to look again.
Yes, yes, there he wasagain.
Someone wasriding his stallionin the forest that bordered the road. Flanking the carriage at a distance of about thirty yards, deep in the trees.
Gabriel.
The sight of him—and there was no doubt it was him, his size and posture on horseback were unmistakable—crashed into Ryan like a wave. She grabbed hold of the seat, blinking into the dimness of the carriage.
But what did he mean? They’d said goodbye. Ryan was no expert, but surely theirparticulargoodbye—with the tree and the heavy breathing—promised the finality of battlefields and deathbeds and walking the plank.
And yet, here he was.
Ryan sat very straight against the seat, her body pinned back by the shock of seeing him.
“Are you quite well, my lady?” asked Agnes, eyeing the window cautiously.
“Yes,” said Ryan carefully. “Perfectly well. I merely—I saw something that reminded me of home.”
“Of Winscombe?” asked the maid. Agnes had been very vocal about the flatness and muddiness of mainland England, about the endless buildings and crowded streets and the sooty, airless smell. So far, she had not been impressed.
“It was nothing,” said Ryan, “I was taken by surprise, that’s all.”
Ryan fought the urge to look again; Agnes existed in a constant state of alarm. Ryan need not heap onmore erratic behavior. And what was solved by watching him keep pace with the carriage? What if she looked again and he was gone?
