“Forgive my calling unannounced,” she continued. “My name is Lady Marianne Daventry, and I am from the island of Guernsey.” Another swallow. “In the English Channel.”
Ryan blinked. Of course they would know Guernsey. Everyone knew Guernsey, didn’t they? She was not accustomed to formal introductions—she rarely met someone she’d not known her entire life. In hindsight, perhaps it’d been best that she’d met Gabriel in the midst of a highway ambush.
She took a breath and smiled. The baby made the offering noise again and thrust out the bread.
“No, no darling, the bread is for you to eat,” said the woman. “Our visitor does not want it.” She looked again to Ryan.
“I—” began Ryan. She stopped and reconsidered. “That is...my family.” Another pause. “I’vecome in search of Mrs. Killian Crewes, the former Princess Elise d’Orleans? Of France?”
“I am Mrs. Killian Crewes,” said the woman, her voice a degree more cautious.
“Shall I fetch Mr. Crewes, Mrs. Crewes?” asked the butler.
Mrs. Crewes made a dismissive gesture, not taking her eyes from Ryan.
“How do you do,” said Ryan, bowing slightly. “Again, I’m so sorry to drop in on you with no warning, but I’ve come to mainland England on business pertaining to my family—and yours, that is, your childhood family—and I first sought out your brother, Prince Gabriel d’Orleans...”
Mrs. Crewes’s expression turned from cautious to wide-eyed. Her pallor went white. Slowly, she began to slide the baby down her hip. The child resisted, grabbing her mother’s sleeve and holding on. While Ryan watched, the child clung to her mother’s side, chewing, as Mrs. Crewes reached for the door facing. Ryan was just about to reach for the baby when Mrs. Crewes hoisted her up again. With her free hand, she braced against the door.
“I beg your pardon?” rasped Mrs. Crewes.
“I’ll just go fetch Mr. Crewes, shall I?” the butler said. He looked to the baby, made an expression of distaste, and then hurried away.
“Forgive me,” Ryan said, “I’ve no wish to alarm ordistress you—and in fact nothing is amiss... well, nothing is immediately amiss... it’s just that I’ve come seeking... well, seeking advice. By a wild turn of luck, I was able to locate—”
Before Ryan could finish, a pack of dogs—one, two, three, four... well, there must have beensixof them—pushed past Mrs. Crewes and the baby and bounded onto the stoop, tails wagging, noses probing, tongues hanging.
Fear coursed through Ryan and she sucked in a breath. She clutched her chest and skittered back, falling against the house.
Her distress and retreat only intrigued the animals and they followed her, forming a panting half circle at her skirts. Immediately, the wound on her leg began to throb. She looked from one animal to the next, trying to remind herself that she needn’t be afraid of every dog. But one of these dogs, she noticed, looked exactly like the breed favored by Maurice. She locked eyes with it and began to breathe quickly in and out, in and out. She looked right and left, wondering how she might evade them. Could she outrun them?Allof them? She let out a whimpering noise.
“Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry,” Mrs. Crewes said, pushing off the door and wading into the dogs, reaching for collars. She swung the baby from her hip and settled her on the stoop. The animals seemed delighted by this game—the terrified caller, the frantic host, the laughing baby on the floor who waved delicious bread. The pack of them shifted and spun, jumping and sniffing. They were like eels in a tidepool, everywhere at once, impossible to catch.
“Marie? Sofie?” Mrs. Crewes called, shouting back through the door.“Bartholomew!
“They won’t harm you,” Mrs. Crewes assured Ryan. “These are my nephew’s dogs. He’s on break from school and insists on transporting them from his own house to mine so he might not miss a moment in their company. And yet—where is he? Nowhere to be seen, while the dogs are omnipresent. My husband will speak to him. We forget how terribly behaved they are because our small daughters maintain their own version of unrelenting chaos.”
With no warning, one of the dogs, the biggest one—the one who looked like Maurice’s dog—began to bark loudly.
“Oh God, that one’s called—? Oh I can’t remember,” muttered Mrs. Crewes, reaching for the dog. “Quiet, you worthless hound.”
Ryan was just about to throw herself from the stoop. It was lofty—twenty steps high, at least—but she could jump off the side and crash into the flowerbed. She’d break a shrub or two, but at least she’d escape the dogs. Sheneededto escape the dogs.
“Stand. Down.”
A firm voice rang out, freezing the dogs where they stood. Ryan froze, too, her foot dangling over the edge of the stoop.
Mrs. Crewes clutched the scruff of two different dogs but her head snapped up. Even the baby went still.
Gabriel.
He appeared from nowhere, clipping up the steps and positioning himself between Ryan and the dogs. When he blocked her, he reached behind andgrabbed her waist, nudging her from the edge of the stoop.
“Careful,” he said to the animals, “careful.” Mesmerized, the dogs went immediately quiet and still.
“She has a fear of dogs,” he said to Mrs. Crewes.
There was a long, heavy pause. Ryan craned to see around Gabriel’s shoulder.
