“It was Ryan’s sister Diana who convinced me,” Gabriel said. “Last night. Do you know what she said when she met me?”
“That you were large and hairy and frightening?”
Gabriel snorted. “‘Not impressed.’ That’s what she said. I’d spent years descending into this bearded, muscled, imposing man, but in the end, I made no impression at all. Not as a forest-dwelling woodsman, and certainly not as a prince. She saw me only as a lackluster husband for her sister. And, she wasn’t mistaken.”
“Do not deceive yourself,” said Bartholomew, “my friend Denny and his brothers were terrified of you. You are worthy of a passing glance, I assure you.”
“I don’t care how I appear,” Gabriel said. “Truly. But, I can be compelled to make the necessary impression, if only for a day. I can do this for Ryan.”
“Brilliant,” sang Bartholomew. “Will there be fighting?”
“No there will not be,” said Sister Marie from behind them.
Ryan was seated at the breakfast table, her marriage license laid out before her, the d’Orleans signet ring on her finger. She’d dressed in clothes from her own wardrobe; a pale pink day dress that had beenher mother’s, the fabric turned, the darts removed, and the waist raised to be less old-fashioned. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon. Her mind was clear of Gabriel Rein. She would deal with his abandonment and her shattered heart later—after she’d saved her family and restored order to her home. There was something about a broken heart that helped put this business with the childhood betrothal into perspective. She was not afraid of Maurice, not anymore. After the chaos of emotions she’d experienced in the last month, fear had moved to the back of the line. She was resolved.
She heard Maurice’s two dogs before she saw them; their claws tapping on the stone floor and ravenous sniffing. Ryan closed her eyes. The dogs preceded him to any room; he would be moments away. It was time. She would not, she vowed, indulge the pretense of small talk. There’d been too many shows of mannerly reserve when he’d first come. Manners made most things easier, even unlawful subjugation. But the takeover of a family should not be easy for Maurice. It should be very, very difficult. As someone who’d devoted her life to making things easier for everyone, Ryan was long overdue to be difficult.
She would say the words the moment he entered, no preamble—not even a hello. She would invite him to see for himself; to study the license. She would extend her hand and offer the ring for his scrutiny.
She would say,This will not happenagain, and again, and again. If necessary, Diana waited in the next room with a musket.
“Ryan!” called a breathless voice from two rooms away. It was Charlotte, racing down the stairs. They’dtucked her safely away with Papa and bade her not to come down for any reason. And yet—
“Pardon me, er, Highness,” Charlotte could be heard saying next, her voice surprised and excited. Ryan head footfalls on the marble in the great hall. Next came dogs barking and Maurice’s snarl.
“Pardon me, pardon me, pardon me,” sang Charlotte. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Ryan looked to the door that concealed Diana and her musket. Her sister poked her head out, confused and worried.
What?Diana mouthed.
Ryan shook her head.
“Shepromisedto remain with Papa,” Diana hissed.
“Ryan!” Charlotte called breathlessly—and then she was there, skidding to a stop in the dining room doorway with Maurice’s hateful dogs on her heels. She clung to the doorjamb, panting.
“Look out the window, Ryan!” cried Charlotte. “Someone is coming! Look!”
“Either stop shouting or stand on a chair, Charlotte,” Diana called to her. “He’ll not call off his dogs and they become agitated when voices are raised.”
“The dogs,” came Maurice’s voice from the corridor, “have done no wrong. They are perfectly well-mannered unless provoked. What is the fuss—”
“Look!” insisted Charlotte, pointing to the window as she climbed onto a chair. “Out the window. Ryan, you must look!”
Ryan glanced at Diana—and then, heart in her throat, she stepped to the window. Diana crowded in beside her, musket in hand. With shaking fingers,Ryan pressed back the sheer drapery. The day was cloudless and bright; she blinked in the morning sun.
“My God,” whispered Diana.
“Whatisit?” Maurice snapped from behind them. “Lady Charlotte, get down from there. You girls have the manners of rabble, I swear it.”
Ryan ignored him. She ignored the sun in her eyes, and the dogs sticking their pointed noses into her skirts. She ignored the laughter bubbling from Diana beside her. She saw only the man riding slowly, proudly, mounted tall on a gray stallion, to the gates of Winscombe. Behind him, the grooms and coachmen of Maurice’s caravan bowed on bended knee, faces to the earth.
“But is thathim?” whispered Diana in disbelief.
“Who?” demanded Maurice, striding to the next window, yanking back the drapes.
Maurice drew breath to make some comment, but he fell silent at the scene outside the window. He gaped.
