“And think of your natural penchant to lead.”
“To lead?”
“You’ve a passion for serving your community that I’ve rarely seen in someone so young; certainly in a woman. Solving problems for the larger group seems inherent to you and, if you’ll permit me to generalize, not traceable to the old couple who raised you. When I came upon you, you were endeavoring to save the bloody town. When you were presented with a small castle, you launched yourself at the great pile of it with absolutely no trace of intimidation. In fact, you seemed right at home; if possible, you would have moved in that very day. It was as if you’d been waiting your whole life to manage an estate.”
“Stop,” she begged softly, shaking her head. “I am strong-willed and motivated to help—this hardly means I’m royalty. A better test would be, where are these French relations? Why haven’t they come in search of me? Are princesses so easily cast aside?”
Luke swallowed. This was the second time she’d asked this. Her priorities were clear. The value of being royal was secondary to the heartbreak of being forgotten. He wanted to touch her so badly, he felt pain in his arm. He looked out across the pond.
After a long beat, he said, “I cannot guess how long it might take for you to reckon with this, admittedly, startling news, Danielle.”
“Don’t you mean Princess Danielle?” she asked bitterly. “At least I understand your confusion about how to address me. ‘Princess.’ Honestly, of all the preposterous—”
“Perhaps some time should be devoted to denying your true history. However, eventually, you will move beyond disbelief into whatever emotion comes next. If there’s any useful advice I might impart, I’d say you’ll find more peace in acknowledging the love of your surrogate family rather than speculating on the motivations of your birth family. Do you see?”
“I know, I know, Miriam and Whittle are dear—the very dearest. But—”
“In the end, you may discover that’s all that matters,” he said. “My surrogate father was—first and foremost—present when the parents of my birth were absent. But he also provided for me in ways that many parents, even blood relations, don’t bother. As I said, in the end, this is what matters.”
“But surely you understand how one might wonder what became of the family of her birth? Why they’ve not come for her? I’ve done as you suggest for years—I didn’t allow myself to speculate. I convinced myself that Miriam and Whittle were enough. And they are enough. But surely there is room to love them and also to wonder why and where and how? Especially in light of this... thisassertationof yours.”
Luke nodded. Of course she wondered. And rightly so. “Something you don’t know about me,” he said, scooting closer, “is that the course of my life was, years ago, transformed by the simple act ofknowing things. Researching. Discovering.Learning.I came up in an environment of what I’d call casual illiteracy. I was surrounded by impoverished fishermen and sailors mostly. I ran with a group of boys who were little better than dock rats. But from the moment I was taught to read, I was able to change my path.”
“Perhaps I took my London tutors for granted,” she said.
“If you never knew the shame of illiteracy, then you should take them for granted. Reading is a right owed every child.”
“Who taught you?” she asked.
“My surrogate father. When I stumbled upon his camp on the beach, I was underfed, clothed in rags, surviving on my wits and sloppy pickpocketing. And I could not read or write, as I’ve said. But he worked with me patiently, filling first my belly, then sorting out a winter coat. Boots. Finally, teaching me. He had a little dog, and I would pretend to visit only to toss a stick for the dog. But the real enticement was the lessons. Here. Look.” And then he was rummaging in the pocket of the wet waistcoat he’d draped over her. She laughed and squirmed, tickled by the effort. The sound sent a lick of desire through him, and his hand lingered, just a bit, inside the pocket. Finally, he produced the fossil.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“A section of jawbone and teeth.” He held it up. Never had he shown this to anyone.
She propped herself on her elbows, examining it.
“You keep it in your pocket?”
“I do. It came from the skull of a prehistoric creature, and I found it on the beach some twenty-five years ago. Despite my wildness, I was a curious boy, and I had a collection of marine ephemera from tide pools and dunes.”
“Did you?” she whispered, fingering the fossil. He hadn’t meant to say so much, but she sounded so enchanted, he simply kept talking.
“Indeed. I’d just begun to lurk about the camp of the man who would become my surrogate father, when he saw me studying this fossil. I tried to hide it—I nearly chucked it back into the sea. I’d been teased by other boys for my collection of shells, and driftwood, and sharks’ teeth. Curiosity is not prized along dockyards. But this man—Linus, he’s called—did not make fun. He sat on a rock beside me and studied it with me; and then he did the most life-changing thing. He demonstrated how I might use my newfound literacy to research the age and source of the bone. As gifts go, it was very simple, but it was revolutionary for me. And I keep the fossil with me always as a reminder of the life-altering act of being able toknowthings.”
“I understand,” she said quietly, tears in her voice.
“Yes,” he said, tucking the fossil in the pocket again. He rolled back, lying shoulder to shoulder beside her on the beach. “On the one hand, I urge you to revel in the incredible good fortune of having the Dinwiddies as parents and to not overthink the others. On the other hand, I can see your frustration with not knowing more about the Orleans. It’s fitting and natural to want to know. And you should have a clearer understanding. It pains me very much to admit that I know so little about your exile. I can help you uncover it, but in the meantime...”
He let his sentence trail off. It was true, he didn’t know much about her exile.Except for one thing.The French captain Vincent Surcouf. Who wanted to marry her for her ancestorial lands in Western France. Was he her family? No, he was not. He was an opportunist neighbor with so few connections to her, he’d failed to locate her. And she’d already absorbed so much. She’d fallen into the bloody pond. She was overwhelmed.
He also knew she had siblings (which shedidask)—a sister for certain, but he’d not yet learned anything about the woman. He’d hired a man to look into it, but there was nothing yet to report.
The spirit of his declaration was true. He’dhatedriding into this quagmire knowing so little. Hewassorry. He understood the frustration ofnot knowing. Eventually, he would help her. If she was still speaking to him by the end, he would help her.
“Tell me again,” she said. “The name, the title. Can you say it all again?”
“Your Serene Highness, Danielle Allard d’Orleans, Princess of the Blood.”
