“Do I know of a solicitor who can, most likely, disprove and disavow this imposter cousin?” Killian asked, idly running his fingers through Noelle’s ginger hair. “Yes, I can think of one man in particular. I hope you don’t mind, I’ve sent a messenger to London this morning, seeking an appointment as soon as he is able.”
“I’ll cover his fees,” Gabriel said. “Whatever the cost. He’ll need to eventually travel to Winscombe to be the voice of legal authority on Lady Ryan’s behalf. I’ll pay for this, too. All of it.”
“Could we not,” asked Elise, “have this solicitor write to Maurice now? Warn the man off? Cut him off at the knees?”
“I would not advise any advanced warning,” Ryan said. “In my experience, it’s better not to give himtime to prepare. If he discovers that legal sparring is on the horizon, he will seek out his own solicitors.”
“Indeed,” said Killian. “I’d also hate to leave something so important as Lady Ryan’s future in the unreliable hands of the post. The back and forth of it. I prefer Gabriel’s idea of sending the solicitor in person. His name is Mr. Finley Soames, by the way. As a favor to me, he should make himself available, as long as the schedule is set out in advance. It’s lucky we know the date this cousin intends to return. That will be the week Soames should make the journey to Winscombe.”
“And you believe Mr. Soames can put a stop to all this?” Elise asked. “Because Maurice would not be swanning about Guernsey, terrorizing Ryan and her family if he believed it was anything but valid. Will the word of your Mr. Soames be sufficient?”
“Yes,” said Killian. “Well, probably.” He thought about this. Finally, he said, “I assume. He’ll show precedent—other arranged marriages that were dissolved; other heirs who did not inherit arranged brides-to-be; and—I don’t know? Argue this before the local magistrate? I cannot say exactly, but I know Soames has untangled betrothals and inheritances far less obvious than this.
“That said,” continued Killian, handing the baby to Elise, “if you want the very fastest, most direct way to send the cousin packing, Gabriel himself should turn up in person, prove he still draws breath, and challenge Maurice for the d’Orleans title.”
Gabriel felt himself begin to sweat. The teacup in his hand rattled and he set it on the table. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ryan glance his way.
“Gabriel’s claim to the title would need only the authentication of a courtier called a ‘royal adjudicator,’” Killian went on. “This is the fellow who would vouch for Gabriel’s legitimacy. He cannot simply pop up from the forest and say he is the prince, I don’t care how much he resembles his late father. He’ll need to dredge up any and all proof of his former life.”
A queasy, clammy chill began to slowly rise inside Gabriel’s chest. Courtiers and authentication and attaching himself to the Prince d’Orleans title—he’d sworn off all of this. Hearing them ticked off elicited a bone-deep exhaustion. His freedom, the control he held over his life, was put in deeper jeopardy with every new piece of this plan.
Lady Ryan reached out and settled a hand on his knee. Gabriel stared at the five fingers. The warmth of it sank to his skin—to his bone. He wanted to cover her small hand with his own. He wanted to encircle her wrist and tug her against him.
Lady Ryan cleared her throat. “Gabriel’s ‘return from the grave’ is less of an option. Entering public life undermines Gabriel’s home and work in the forest, and I’ve no wish to save myself only to lay waste to everything Gabriel holds dear.”
She took a sip of tea; a calm, careful gesture that conveyed reason and patience. There was a finality to it. An authority. Across the room, Killian and Elise observed her hand on his knee and listened to her words. They watched her drink. Baby Noelle raised her hand and seconded her statement with an enthusiastic, “Gah.”
“Well said, Noelle,” observed Killian.
“She is fond of you, Lady Ryan,” chuckled Elise, giving the baby a squeeze.
Gabriel looked back to Ryan. She was laughing at the baby, making a face, balancing the delicate teacup and saucer in one hand, holding to his knee with the other. An unnamed emotion, buoyant but also immense, seemed to squelch the cold dread in his chest. He turned back to Killian.
“Yesterday,” Gabriel said, “you mentioned another option. You raised the potential of marriage. Could we discuss how this might work?”
And now his sister paused in lifting the baby above her. She shifted the child to search Gabriel’s face. Killian cleared his throat and tossed his diary on the table, rattling the tea service.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” said Killian. “Marriage. To each other.”
“Well, not the sort of marriage where we live as man and wife. I mean, a sort of protective union that allows us to live separate lives.”
Slowly, subtly, Ryan slipped her hand from Gabriel’s knee and attached it to her teacup. Using both hands, she replaced it on the table. The hopeful portion of this conversation had ended. Now they would commence with tearing out her heart.
“It would be the sort of union,” Gabriel explained, “where Lady Ryan returns to her family at Winscombe, and me to my horses and camp. She would have my name but also the freedom to resume her old life without the burden of me.”
Ryan wanted to tell him that he was no burden.
She wanted to tell him that she would entertain some compromise where she left Winscombe for a time and lived a portion of every year in Savernake Forest.
She wanted to ask him if the only way for her to win was to embrace “her old life,” exactly as it’d always been. She’d sought him out to protect her old life—she knew this. And there were three people and many sheep in Guernsey who relied on her, but so much had changed. Was there no room for compromise? Was it impossible for everyone to have what they wanted—including her?
And what Ryan wanted—what she wanted most of all—was to marry Gabriel butnotlive separate lives. To save her family and to also save Gabriel.
But Ryan was not accustomed to placing her wants ahead of what others wanted. And she didn’t think Gabriel wanted to compromise. He’d just said what he wanted with no hesitation. If anyone in this room, anyone at all, sought some modified version that allowed for a real marriage, no one put voice to it. And Ryan could not be the only one to say the words. She was brave enough to want it—just barely—but she was not brave enough to say it. At least not yet.
“Maman!There you are,” sang a voice from the doorway, interrupting the conversation.
Little Marie and Sofie peeked into the room, hopeful smiles on their faces. Baby Noelle cried joyfully at the sound of her sisters. Elise and Killian sighed and admonished the girls gently for interrupting. Ryan turned and waved at them, grateful for the reprieve.
