In the end, a young smuggler had approached him and offered Luke his pick of three. The lad claimed he would acquire the crowns in France, with delivery by the end of the week. Luke committed to buying his favorite of the three, sight unseen.
Fortunately, the boy had delivered; and to Luke’s discerning eye, the three crowns he’d offered appeared genuine. Luke had chosen the oldest, most tarnished of the trio. It was thin and light, shaped like a tiara rather than a full crown, understated in design but embedded with hundreds of semiprecious stones.
With the crown in hand, Luke needed only a silversmith to restore it. He’d found a jeweler instead, and he’d paid the man double for a rush job. With the crown sorted, he’d returned to Ivy Hill to deal with the workers restoring the parish house and with Princess Danielle and Abbott opening Eastwell Park. He did not see the crown again until the day of the wedding, when a messenger, flanked by an armed guard, had delivered the thing.
Standing now in the rear of St. Andrew’s church, Luke cursed his frenzied search for the tiara. Why hadn’t he sat down with Danielle and explained her role in the rescue mission instead? Because now he’d run out of time. There was no other excuse or distraction. He must say the words. All of them. Immediately. Here at the church. Before she married him. In a half hour.
Luke swore in his head and tugged on his cravat, forcing himself to walk. It would take some maneuvering to gain access to the bride immediately before the ceremony, but what was sneaking past Amelia Broom compared to saying the things that he absolutely must... without fail... no excuses...say to her.
Sweating, cursing, hating Surcouf more now than before—a sentiment Luke thought impossible—he walked around the church.
For Linus, he reminded himself, tapping the fossil in his pocket.
Because there is no other way to rescue him.
For Linus.
The princess waited in a withdrawing room on the west side. The door to the corridor stood ajar, a yellow cat sitting in the step.
Miriam, Luke thought. It had been too much to hope Danielle would be alone. The pounding of Luke’s heart doubled. He wished he was in the Atlantic Ocean, treading water with an unconscious Fernsby on his broken shoulder. He wished he was on the bottom of the sea.
For Linus.
He told the cat to bugger off and was nearly through the door when a carriage, very fine, pulled by powerful horses, trundled into the churchyard at a breakneck pace. Luke turned back, squinting at the monogram on the door. Ivy Hill was devoid of fine carriages, and nearly all of Princess Danielle’s guests would walk to the wedding.
The coachman yanked on the reins and called to the horses. Surprised wedding guests hustled out of the way. Before the man had secured the animals, the door to the vehicle flew open and excited voices spilled from inside. He heard a woman, children’s laughter, a man, the bark of a dog. Luke stepped to the cemetery gate.
The coachman hurried to the carriage door with steps, but a dog had already leaped free; it was pursued by two girls in frilly dresses, a young man, and, oddly, a tall woman dressed as a nun. Finally, a middle-aged man emerged, and behind him, a beautiful woman close in age to Luke himself. She held a toddler in pink ruffles, and the couple traded the child back and forth as they descended. The woman wore an orange-y dress and smart hat; the man was tall and broad-shouldered, also finely dressed. The baby let out an inhuman screech and reached both hands in the direction of the two girls and dog. The woman spoke calmly to her and offered some treat. The man surveyed the churchyard, his expression curious but skeptical.
What the devil?Luke wondered. Everyone in this family wore clothes that had come from London, if not Paris. Their gloves matched their hats. Hems were clean, shoes polished. They were scattered and a bit chaotic, and they approached the scene with the easy confidence of affluence. The woman and the young man made a half-hearted effort to corral the girls and the dog. The screeching toddler was released and she waddled after the animal. The nun followed. Luke looked more closely. The woman in orange looked like she was trying to determine—
Oh God.Luke almost dropped the box that contained the crown.
No.
The woman turned to face him, and there was no denying it. Her eyes, her nose; the texture of her hair. They were the same as Danielle’s. Honestly, there were ten or twelve different matching features that reminded him... strikingly...blindingly...of his soon-to-be wife. This woman was shorter, with chestnut curls rather than ebony, but the resemblance was uncanny. And she had an air of anticipation about her—she looked like someone who’d followed a map around the world to this precise spot.
But could it be Danielle’s lost family? Here?Now?Was this Elise d’Orleans Crewes?
Luke glanced again at the man. Hands clasped behind him, eyes narrowed, he studied the churchyard, studied the building, studied the parish house, looked up and down the high street. Before Luke could look away, he turned his gaze to Luke and locked eyes. Luke’s heart stopped. This was Killian Crewes—it could be no other. He appeared very much like his portrait in the broadsheets. He looked like a gentleman, but not a soft, idle gentleman; a gentleman who knew how to handle himself.
Luke gave a slight nod. It would be an insult or an act of cowardice tonotacknowledge the man’s direct look. Mr. Crewes tipped his hat. Then he began a slow, casual stroll in Luke’s direction.
Bloody, bleeding hell, Luke thought.No.
And then suddenly Fernsby was there, huffing up behind him, blotting his forehead with a kerchief. “There you are, Bannock,” Fernsby said. “The vicar would have us—”
“James,” Luke said, not looking at him. “Here. Take this box—it’s the crown for Princess Danielle—give it to her, will you? I’ve got— Something’s come up. Tell the vicar I’ll be there...” an exhale “...when I get there.”
Shoving the box at Fernsby, Luke raised his chin and squared his shoulders and walked to intercept his future brother-in-law.
Chapter 15
“It’s Lord Fernsby,” Amelia Broom said excitedly, spinning from the door. “He’s a package for you, Dani. It’s been sent by Captain Bannock but the viscount has brought it to us. Shall I let him in?”
“Amelia Broom, come away from the door,” scolded Miriam. She was fussing with the hem of Dani’s wedding dress. “No one may see the bride before the wedding. Are you mad?”
“But Lord Fernsby has something that Dani is meant to wear when she walks down the aisle,” Amelia insisted. “It’s been sent from London. It only just arrived.”
