“We are with our father,” Ryan cut in, speaking over her sister. “I’ve sorely missed Papa and am delighted to find him so lucid. We’ve not seen this from him in more than a year. Maurice will not attack us at breakfast—in fact, the pattern of his last visit was to sleep very late and have a tray sent up midmorning. We will have until noon before we encounter him again, at least. We should all get some rest and I’ll show him the marriage license tomorrow. Perhaps it will be enough.”
“It won’t.” Gabriel sighed. “But I think you’re correct. I should keep myself concealed until the most impactful moment. However we play it, whether you’re married to Gabriel Rein or...” he exhaled “...Gabriel d’Orleans, the revelation of a living, breathing husband should be timed correctly.”
The sister called Charlotte sucked in a little breath, presumably because of the ease with which his name and title rolled off his tongue in perfectly accented French.
“What can I bring to make you more comfortable?” Ryan asked. “Are you well?”
“Nothing. I’m alright. There’ll be no howling at the moon or sacrificing your sheep, never you fear.”
“Right,” Ryan said. “Well, I’ll leave the lantern. And the dinner...”
Charlotte crept forward and settled the basket in the center of the aisle and scurried to the safety of her sisters.
“Forgive me,” Diana began, “but ifthisis the marital regard the two of you intend to demonstrate to the imposter, we’re doomed. Are you certain you’remarried? To each other? You are newlyweds? You speak to each other like colleagues.”
“Yes, Diana.” Ryan said on a sigh. “I’ve told you we’re married, and it’s true. I’ve also told you our situation is complicated. Also we’re both exhausted. And the fate of this family and a bloody princedom rests on Gabriel’s shoulders. Please be gracious.”
“Remind me never to marry a prince,” Diana said.
“Diana,” scolded Charlotte, eyeing Gabriel like this statement might be the final insult; likenowhe would lash out.
Ryan rolled her eyes.
“Not impressed,” sang Diana, turning away. “Notimpressed.”
Charlotte hurried after Diana. Ryan stood a moment more, staring at him.I’m sorry, she mouthed.
“Go,” he whispered tiredly. “Stay together and near your father. We’ll talk again in the morning.”
Chapter Thirty
When morning came, Ryan hurried to the stables to find that Gabriel and the horses they’d hired in St. Peter, weregone.
She stood in the center of the paddock, holding a tray of poached eggs with beans and a cup of black coffee. She stared at the milling sheep.
He’d gone.
She’d dragged him from his sanctuary, and he’d come along as far as he could tolerate, and now he was gone.
Their chance at a real marriage was over. She was alone again. Everything from here, she would manage on her own.
As ever.
The phrase “remarkablyunchosen” echoed in her head.
Not everything revolves around you, she reminded herself, lowering the plate to a passing sheep. The ewe eagerly lapped up the steaming eggs.
He has his own demons, and they are significant.
With trembling hand, she took a sip of the coffee, and then poured out the rest. Swiping away a tear, she trudged back to the house.
Chapter Thirty-One
“If only they’d had a white horse,” said Bartholomew, trotting along beside Gabriel on the road to Winscombe. “Think of how princely you would look if you rode in on awhitehorse.”
“There were no white horses,” Gabriel said, shrugging his shoulders in the tight waistcoat beneath the even tighter jacket. Everything he wore was constricting and hot. His brother-in-law, Killian, was a tall man, but he wasn’t as thick as Gabriel. Even Agnes could only do so much when there wasn’t enough fabric.
“But shouldn’t you have a crown or some other headpiece?” Bartholomew continued. “The hat looksalmostbetter on you than it does on me—almost, but not quite—but if we’re meant to send a message, and that message is ‘The prince has come,’ I think perhaps a crown might be more obvious. I could fashion you a sort of ancient Grecian halo out of olive leaves. Are there olives, do you think, on this island?”
