She knew these words, “...something I must tell you.” She also knew this tone—in fact, she knew this precise, terrible expression. He looked strained and cautious andguilty.
“No,” she whispered.
“Princess...” he said on a sigh, cocking his head.
“Whatever it is, no.”
He opened his mouth to speak but Dani would not hear it. It would be another secret. A wretched, life-upending secret. All secrets were wretched in their own way. Oh, and he was the purveyor of them, a peddler of secrets. He revealed, and she discovered—always the last to know. Duped. Made the fool.
She started again to walk. Their arms were linked so she pulled him along. If she walked quickly enough, perhaps he would not repeat it. Perhaps she could literally run away from his weighty, burdened tone. Perhaps—
No.
She’d heard enough secrets in the last fortnight to know when her life was about to take a blow, it made no difference if she was running or standing still.
The overgrown garden was bisected by a path that led to a hedge wall. An uneven gap in the hedge formed the entrance to a small labyrinth. Years of neglect had left the trail thick with tall grass and the walls of the maze uneven. Dani had always known Eastwell Park’s garden boasted a labyrinth; and she’d seen the border hedge from the ballroom on the first day. How delighted she’d been at the prospect of refurbishing it. Now it only represented a complicated gauntlet she must run while hearing yet another damnable secret.
“Danielle?” he asked, sounding wary.
“I’m going in,” she told him.
He made a noise of frustration but held out his hand. “After you,” he said.
She released his arm and strode into the maze, pushing branches aside. The tall grass stained her slippers, but she didn’t care. She came to the first intersection and turned left without thinking. Miriam had removed her veil, thank God, but the crown remained. Branches and leaves snagged on the little spires, and she yanked her head free.
“The crown suits you,” he called from behind her. “It was a pleasure to see you wear it.”
“I don’t want to talk about the crown,” she said. They came to another intersection and she chose right. “Tell me. Whatever it is. Tell me.”
“But you said—”
“Let’s be realistic, shall we? I don’t have the freedom to deny any of these great truths you’ve placed at my feet. Just... say it.”
He gave a heavy sigh. “Princess Danielle—”
“Do not refer to me as Princess Danielle again. Do not.”
“Miss Allard—”
And now she stopped walking. They stood in a little clearing. Paths stretched in four directions. In the center, an algae-crusted birdbath fermented dead leaves in six inches of brown water.
“Am I not Mrs. Bannock now?” she asked, tears choking the voice. “Is that your next revelation? That we’ve not actually been married today?”
“We are married,” he said, the words so bleak, he might as well have said,We are condemned.
“Then do not refer to me as Miss Allard.”
He walked a slow circle around the birdbath.
“You’re pacing,” she observed. “Whatever it is, it’s so terrible, you mustpace?”
“I’m gathering my thoughts.”
“Don’t craft some candied version of it, Bannock. Simply tell me.”
He made another circuit of the birdbath. She let out a noise of frustration and charged down the nearest path, running from the silence. So it was very bad, indeed. He must gather his thoughts to say the words; he must pace in circles.
“Princess Danielle,” he called after her. “Wait.”
