A small, painful notch in the broken bone of her heart pulsed.
“And every minute,” he went on, “I was aware that my father was growing older and sicker in a dungeon. So I kept thinking, if we could simply set a date for the wedding, if we could become legally wed. When the ceremony was set,thenI would tell you. At the last minute. I would tell you with enough time for you to say no. Meanwhile, I was also hoping you’d grow attached to the house. I wanted you to love Eastwell Park enough to make it an irresistible incentive, one you could not resist.” He turned away. “A smuggler through and through. It was always a shite plan.”
“Yes,” she said, “it was.”
“I’m sorry, Princess.”
“I would have helped you,” she said, her voice flat. “If only you’d told me, I would have helped you.”
He stared at her, looking guilty and defeated and miserable. Dani turned away. She strode up the path. The maze was a green blur through her tears.
“How do we get out of this?” she asked.
“It’s left, I think.”
She turned left at the next gap. A frond of shrubbery lashed her head, catching a spire of the crown. She let out a frustrated shout and reached up to tear the thing from her head. It came loose in a rain of hairpins. Her bun dissolved and hair fell over her face. She shoved it back.
“Is this real?” she asked, holding out the crown. She came to another gap in the hedge and ducked through. Looking right and left, she saw open grass ahead. She trudged toward it.
“Real?” he asked.
“Did it belong to the family of my birth? Was it sent by St. James’s Palace? An heirloom?”
“No,” he said. “You had so little from France, and this pained me. I arranged for it. It is a gift. You may keep it. Everything is my gift to you, Danielle. The house, the land, the crown, the sapphire ring. You have earned all of it for your trouble. We’ll annul the marriage, obviously. In a year, this can all be a distant memory. You’ll be mistress of Eastwell Park. You will have your sister and brother in your life. Please, do me this one mercy—undeserved, I know, but please—accept these gifts and move ahead with your life.”
“An estate, and a crown, and a long-lost family. That’s quite a consolation prize. What a fool I’d be not to scoop it up gratefully.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“May I inquire, have you ever thought of asking me what I want?”
“I— I don’t suppose I have.”
“Well. Perhaps you are a coward after all.”
Chapter 20
It would be impossible, Luke knew, to leave Eastwell Park tonight. The staff would talk, her parents would return in the morning and not understand. He should have at least one more conversation with Danielle. He couldn’t stay at Eastwell Park for long—not another week, to be sure. But he could put off leaving for a day or two. They would devise an excuse about an out-of-town errand tomorrow, and he would go.
At the moment, Danielle didn’t seem to care what he did. She had walked from the garden in slow, defeated strides. He’d called to her but she refused to look. He expected no less. She was furious and hurt, and there was nothing left to say. He’d followed behind her, his feet heavy. The sail of his heart hung in tatters. Wind blew clean through.
When she mounted the grand staircase, Abbott materialized, a small pot containing a dead vine in his hands. Danielle’s shoulders sagged when she saw him, and she reached for the banister.
“No, Abbott,” Luke called. “No questions for Mrs. Bannock tonight.”
She let out a relieved exhale and cast a look over her shoulder. “I’m exhausted,” she said. “I’m retiring.”
“Shall I have Abbott send up a tray?”
She shook her head.
On the top step, she tripped on her skirts. Luke wanted to go to her, but he dared not. He was reminded that there was no one to help her with her dress. She intended to consider ladies’ maids after the wedding.
“Abbott,” Luke called, summoning the servant. “Can you locate the three most proficient maids and send them to me?”
“Very good, sir,” the man said, vanishing with his potted vine.
Moments later, three nervous young maids found him in the library. Bobbing curtsies, they huddled in the doorway.
