Danielle Allard stared at them, a little confused, a little suspicious, a little annoyed. Silent questions darted through the room like crows. The assembled cats looked back and forth between the old couple and the young woman.
“Dani?”warned Miriam Dinwiddie.
“Yes, yes, alright,” Danielle Allard finally said. She gestured to her friend. Amelia Broom looked as if she’d been chosen by King Arthur to take a seat at the Round Table. Danielle Allard looked as stiff and trapped as the sword in the stone.
“There’s a good girl,” praised Silas Dinwiddie. “Off you go.”
“I make it a rule never to decline tea,” proclaimed Fernsby, wiping his nose, “if it’s not too much bother.”
“No bother at all,” assured Silas, smiling after the young women. When they had gone, he spun to Luke. “I beg your pardon, sir, but are you a good man? A fair man? Just and kind?”
“What?” Luke said on a cough. His hand froze over the cat and tiny teeth dug into his glove.
“Forgive my plain speaking, sir,” whispered Silas Dinwiddie, his voice frantic, “but we must know. Before another word is said. Are you a good man?”
“I...” Luke was completely at a loss. He’d considered his “goodness” about as much as he’d considered his ability to fly to the moon. Although, when it came to this man’s daughter, Luke’s intentions were not, to the point, “ideal.”
“If you’ll permit me, sir,” said Fernsby, cutting in, “I can vouch for Captain Bannock and will do ’til my last breath. You’ll find him to be the very best of men. Accounts of his bravery and valor have not been exaggerated, nor has the praise heaped upon him by my cousin, the future king. Cast your worries aside, sir, madam, I’d wager to say there isnobetter a man than Luke Bannock.”
Slowly, Luke turned to stare at James Fernsby. Never let it be said that the viscount did not repay a life debt. And with an unnecessary level of hyperbole. Fernsby knew Luke intended to use Danielle Allard d’Orleans as bait and barter to get revenge on Vincent Surcouf. And yet, here he was, proclaiming Luke’s goodness to her parents. Luke felt his face go red. The backs of his wrists tingled. These were lies, and Luke was prisoner to all of them. If he wanted the princess, he could not contradict.
And Lukeabsolutely had to havethe princess. There was no other way to rescue Linus.
“Oh, thank God,” Silas Dinwiddie was saying. “I knew the palace would not send a dishonorable man. When I read the letter from St. James’s, I said to myself, ‘Prince George would send only the very best.’?” He was nodding hopefully at Luke.
“A letter, was it?” Luke said carefully. Luke expected the princess to know of the betrothal; of course the palace would send word. He meant to only fill in his motives. But something was missing from this introduction. There was far more to fill in here than simply what Luke required from this girl.
“And Dani also knows that she is to become your wife,” added Miriam. “Although only just. We’d managed to tell her about the betrothal the moment you knocked, if you can believe it.”
“I cannot say what I believe.”
“But sir,” whispered Silas, “we must confess to you that the betrothal is theonlything Dani knows.” He cast a glance at the kitchen door.
“Meaning...?” Luke asked slowly.
“I mean, Danielle has been raised in our care without the knowledge of her true identity.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Dani’s rank and title,” explained Silas, “they are unknown to her. She has no notion that she is a princess. Or that she’s French, for that matter.”
“You’re joking.”
Miriam drew in a watery breath and dropped her face in her hands. Silas Dinwiddie closed his eyes. Slowly, he shook his head.
“Oh dear,” said Fernsby. “But how has she—”
Luke cut him off with a raised hand. “Forgive me. I would like to comprehend. Are you saying that Danielle Allard d’Orleans has been raised here in this village—in this very cottage—under the impression that she isyourdaughter? The natural-born daughter of you lot?”
“Oh no,” Silas rushed to say, “she knows that we are not theactualparents of her birth. We have cared for her—we have loved her—as if she is our own, but she is aware that her true parents are members of an esteemed family of rank...” He petered out.
“?‘...an esteemed family of rank,’?” repeated Luke, his mind spinning.
“...that’s right, a high-ranking family whose duties and obligations placed her in... in harm’s way,” Silas continued. “It was impossible to safely bring up a daughter among such a threat—that is what we’ve told her. We told her she was given to us for safekeeping.”
Luke blinked. “And this is the only version of events she’s been told? For her entire life?”
Miriam Dinwiddie shook her head back and forth. Silas looked at the floor. “I’m afraid so.”
