“You’re not put off by the servants quarters?”
She glanced over her shoulder. A clattery din of chopping and voices rose from the kitchens, but they were alone in the passage. “On the contrary, I trod every corner of Winscombe on a daily basis. This includes the dusty attic, the moldy cellar, and the servants quarters. In the absence of my mother, I am responsible for the house and the staff.”
“What of your dress?” he asked.
Ryan furrowed her brow.My dress?
“This is your everyday wardrobe?” he asked.
Ryan looked at the smart white dress with tiny scarlet flowers. Elise had heaped a rainbow of beautiful dresses on her bed the night before, claiming three pregnancies in five years had left her with unwearable castoffs. Ryan had never been interested in fashion, but it would be impossible to miss the beauty of the dresses. Agnes had been ecstatic and suggested Ryan try the white and scarlet first. At Winscombe, Ryan would’ve reserved a dress of this quality for Easter or a wedding or— Honestly, at Winscombe, Ryan would’ve given any new dress to one of her sisters. But she was not at Winscombe, and her dress from the forest was ruined, and Agnes had been so eager to see her in something new.
“No, in fact,” she said, eyeing him. “Elise has loanedme a handful of dresses that she no longer wears. We’ve sent a messenger to my aunt in London, asking that my own clothes be delivered to Mayapple, but in the meantime...” She let the sentence trail off.
He stared at her, his face hard. With no warning, he turned away. “Do you know the way abovestairs?”
“I meant to take the back passage.” She was speaking to his back. “Agnes and I came by this route. Staff can feel stalked when their domain is invaded, and so many are in the kitchens at this hour. You’re going the best way. But we’ll need light.”
He swiped a candle from a sconce, and strode down the passageway.
“Is there an agenda for the parlor?” he called over his shoulder.
This was his invitation to join him, Ryan presumed. She started walking. “Mr. Crewes simply said he has ideas on how I might proceed.”
The corridor came to a wall and turned sharply to the right. Gabriel made the turn. Ryan increased her speed to keep up.
“Please know, Lady Ryan, that I intend to find a solution for this,” he said. And then he stopped so suddenly she almost collided with his back. He spun around. “I know my initial response was opposite of this. I was wrong, and I admit it. You took me by surprise. Obviously. You are my responsibility and I’ve no intention of sending you back to a greedy cousin who’s bent on destroying everything you hold dear. I’ve limitations, but they are not greater than my responsibility to you.”
After he’d said it, he turned and continued his march down the empty corridor.
“Just to be clear,” Ryan called after him, “I amnot, in fact, your responsibility. You’re mistaken if you think I’m flinging myself into your care. My only request has been that you reveal yourself to your cousin.”
“If I reveal myself to be the Prince d’Orleans, risen from the dead,” he said, disappearing around the corner, “I’ll have to carry on with the title until I can convince the royal court that I don’t want it; that I disavow all of it, that Iabdicate. It’ll be an arduous process that could take months, if not years, and play out on the world stage. I will help you—Iwantto help you—but it must be done my way. We’ll invalidate the betrothal by proving arranged marriages cannot be inherited. This should be obvious to everyone but here we are. I won’t emerge from my seclusion, but Maurice can take the title and good riddance—so long as he leaves you alone.”
She followed him to a dead end, with passageways forking to the right and left. “Where the devil does this lead?”
“It’s to the left, I believe.”
Gabriel turned left, ducking to keep from bumping his head.
“I never meant to direct how we do it,” she told him. “Revealing yourself was just an idea. If we use lawyers instead, I can see it through by myself. I exonerate you from helping, Gabriel. Honestly, I expect nothing from you.”
“How every man hopes to be perceived,” he grumbled, “no expectations.”
For some reason, this made her angry. Now she was responsible for how he wasperceived?
“Gabriel, your request from the start has been ‘expect nothing.’ In hindsight, it was excellent advice.”
They came to a thin stairwell with steep, narrow steps leading upward at a slight curve. There’d been no light for the last ten yards at least. Their only defense against the darkness was the candle in his hand.
“Is it here?” he asked, lifting the candle to push back the gloom.
“Yes.”
“Up you go then. Forgive my terseness.”
“Forgiveness is not necessary, Gabriel, but I would also venture that terseness is not necessary. I’ve been nothing but cordial to you. I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”
“Yes, you have.” A pause. “And what if I askedyousomething?”
