“I can’t believe you remained topside so long. There’s hardly room to stroll about the deck of a punting boat. Are you hurt?”
“No.” She rested her face against his heart. The crown of her head was just beneath his chin. Soft tendrils of her hair floated inside his cravat and tickled his throat. He felt her skirts wrap about his legs.
“Here you are again,” she said weakly, “rescuing a royal cousin from the depths.”
“You believe me, then?” he said, kicking.
“No. I don’t believe you. But there is no denying this rescue.”
“You’re far less bulky than Fernsby. And you complain less. The events don’t compare, really.”
“Where are we going?”
“That island is the closest,” he said. “I want you to catch your breath. You should peel off your shoes. Your hat is lost, I’m afraid.”
“What of the boat?”
“I’ll go for it in a moment. For now, empty your lungs of water and recover your wits. Hold tight.”
He made the island in ten strokes, giving a final, hard kick and drifting to the little beach. He caught hold of a tree root and pulled, anchoring them on the sand.
“Careful,” he said, tipping to roll her off. “Can you grab hold of a tree root? That’s right. Scoot upward. Again—keep going. Your skirts will weigh five stone, use your arms to pull yourself. If we can make it to the small ledge where the sod leaves off, we’ll be out of the water.”
She crawled, dragging her heavy skirts. Her hair was stuck in black tendrils to her face. She left tracks in the sand like a mermaid. Luke crawled after her, yanking his neckcloth free.
When she was entirely out of the water, she curled her legs beneath her and hugged her arms. She began to tremble.
“You’re cold,” he said.
Through chattering teeth, she said, “When the wind blows.”
He unbuttoned his waistcoat, gave it a shake, and draped it over her shoulders. She folded herself inside it, curling up. “Thank you.”
He moved away. He eyed her, his heartbeat finally slowing.
He asked, “You’re certain you’re not hurt?”
She shook her head. He nodded, still watching her. He reached for his feet and peeled off his stockings. He loosened two buttons on his shirt. He came up on one knee and squinted across the pond. If she was safe, he would swim for the boat before it was too mired in—
“It cannot be true,” she said.
“What?”
“I am not a princess. I am not.”
Luke dropped back down. “It is true, I’m afraid.”
“Well, there’s no proof, is there?”
“Your parents will have proof. I’ve shattered the secrecy—or dunked it, as it were. They’ll have no more reason to hide the fine details. When you ask them, they will tell you.”
He paused, allowing her to consider this. She shivered in silence. He itched to pull her against him.
“They know all about the Orleans family,” he went on. “If Miriam and Silas feel certain of their place in your heart, they’ll find the courage to tell you.”
He moved closer—just a bit. He could smell her. Honeysuckle, and water grass, and wet. “You might also think on your childhood in Ivy Hill. Your education. Compare it to what your friends had. You’ve said the Dinwiddies gave careful consideration to tutors—especially French language. Were there other privileges? Wardrobe? Musical instruments or the means to pursue other artistic endeavors?”
“Perhaps I did have more than most.”
