“Good man. So where, exactly, will you situate the girl once you’ve married her?”
Luke considered this. After Luke used the princess as leverage with Surcouf, he’d thought he would take her to Paris and leave her. Once in Paris, she could annul the marriage, or divorce him, or pretend he never existed. He didn’t care. Butbeforehe embarked on the rescue? There would be several weeks of planning and provisioning. Luke had given no real thought to where he’d stash her during this time. If he was being honest, he’d never believed they would grant him the betrothal.
He didn’t really want anything more from the prince than the girl. When she was in hand, he could use her as bait to recover his old friend. But he could feel Fernsby thrumming beside him, willing him to accept the prince’s generosity. And damn if Prince George didn’t have a point.
“How wise you are, Highness,” Luke finally said. “And generous. Perhaps some property to contain the princess might be useful. If it pleases you, sir.”
“Very good,” said the prince. “Wilcox?” he called to one of his advisors. “Expedite the betrothal between Captain Bannock and the French princess—and also arrange for the deed to whatever available property might be near to the girl’s current situation?”
“Thank you, Highness,” Luke said, marveling at the ease of it all. After nearly dying. And losing his crew. After seeing his oldest friend captured and his boat set ablaze and sunk. In the end, the bit about marrying a French princess had been so very simple.
“One more question, Captain,” called the prince.
Luke froze. Or perhaps it had not been so very simple.
“Have you no aspirations to marry later in life? To a woman who is, perhaps, not a stranger?” Prince George asked.
Luke blinked. He wasn’t prepared to explain his philosophy on marriage. Chiefly because he had no philosophy beyond,Why bother?But the man was giving him a house and a princess; the least Luke could do was indulge his curiosity.
“If I’m being honest, Highness, I’ve no aspiration to marry at any time in life, even now. I’ve encountered few truly happy unions between husbands and wives, and my work as a sea captain makes me a terrible candidate for home and hearth. Marrying a girl for my strategic reasons is more incentive than might otherwise present itself. To me, at least.”
“Hmmm,” mused the prince. “So you say. If only I was free to enjoy the same emancipated view. Well, off you go, then. Oh but, Jamie?” the prince called to Lieutenant Fernsby.
Fernsby shot forward. “Yes, Highness?”
“We have rejoiced in your deliverance and homecoming. Enjoy this victory; you deserve it. And you may tell your mother that my debt to her has been paid.”
Fernsby’s face took on a very strange expression, but he said, “Very good, Highness.” Luke glanced at the prince, but he’d already turned away, beckoning to a servant.
A footman appeared and Luke and Fernsby were hustled from the room.
Chapter 2
Danielle Allard removed the books from her marketing basket and replaced them with apricot tarts. Perhaps she’d have time to read and perhaps she wouldn’t (she would not), but the committee would welcome the tarts, this was guaranteed. Everyone loved Miriam’s tarts, especially Dani herself, and she popped one in her mouth as she breezed from the bedroom.
“Dani?” came a call from the kitchen. It was Whittle, his voice gentle but expectant. Speaking through the pastry, Dani shouted a muffled farewell.
“May we bend your ear for a tick?” Whittle pressed.
Dani waved over her shoulder, determined to reach the St. Andrew’s church before the others. There was no time for ear bending. Giles Stinchcomb would be at the meeting, and Dani should be seated at the head of the table before the battle royale commenced. Quiet authority was borne of poise and preparedness. Nothing was achieved in a blind rush.
“Moppet?” Whittle called again, his voice louder now.
Dani turned back, pulling the tart from her mouth. She saw them then—her surrogate parents, huddled together in the kitchen doorway. Their faces were ashen and dark circles ringed their eyes. They held to the door as if heading a strong wind.
Dani paused. “What’s happened?”
“But will you sit, Moppet?” asked Whittle.
“Yes,” agreed Miriam stridently. “Let us all sit.”
Sit?
Dani frowned at the sofa and four chairs in the small parlor of their cottage.Sit?It was not their habit to cease the activity of an otherwise busy morning tosit. They were not a family of choreographed sitters. They shouted through windows, and leaned against kitchen counters, and reclined on the rug in front of the fire. Even lectures (or on the rare occasion, scoldings) came with no preamble or formality. Miriam, in particular, could informally lecture Dani for a good quarter hour and no chair was required.
Now Miriam and Whittle Dinwiddie bustled to the sofa like guests in their own home.
“Has someone died?” Dani asked slowly.
