I respect your urgent mission in France.
I hope you may soon have Mr. Welty out of harm’s way.
All my best,
Dani
August 8, 1813
Lumbres, France
Princess,
Please do not read letters from Cornwall. Please do not write to Viola Nancarron.
My God, Danielle, I waited nearly two months for something more from you than roof repairs and sheep, but this is not the discussion I envisioned.
I implore you: Leave it.
Our mission is set for the early morning hours of 15 September. We’ve learned that Surcouf’s house party will culminate with a ball on the 15th. We’ll move in after the candles are gutted, the dogs are asleep, and the guests are drunk. I’ve no idea if Welty can run or climb or even stand upright; we’ll improvise this bit when we discover him. There are other risks; Surcouf’s guest list abounds with French military officers, and where there are officers, there are security detachments.
Even so, I am confident this is our best opportunity for success. I should like to add that I’m horrified at my own poor judgment in ever thinking that I should bring you to France for any part of this. It will be almost entirely unscripted and very dangerous.
Finally, I should like to make one thing clear: I am not cross with you, and I do not view you as a stranger. You feel as known as any person in my life. Aspirational, perhaps, but entirely known. What I do not yet know, I consider the happiest research of my life.
With love, your husband,
Luke
August 20, 1813
Eastwell Park, Kent
Dear Luke,
What quarrel have you with Lady Viola Nancarron?
Also, please find enclosed a wedding ring—my gift to you. It was not simple to find a man’s ring with a sapphire embedded in the band, but I received a similar piece once upon a time, and I treasure it. I’ve been determined to find a matched ring since you’ve gone.
Love,
Dani
August 30, 1813
Lumbres, France
Danielle,
If I don’t survive France, please know that my last hours were spent answering your demanding questions about bloody Viola bloody Nancarron.
Here is the truth: There is no quarrel with Lady Viola Nancarron. In fact, I don’t really know Lady Viola Nancarron. I’ve only encountered her face-to-face once or twice in my life, and that was years ago. I have, on occasion, seen her from afar—also years ago. Could I pick her out from a crowd? Not likely.
Lady Viola Nancarron lived high on a cliff, not five miles from the beach where I was, quite literally, snatched from the jaws of starvation and neglect by Linus Welty. She is an indulged heiress who lives on an estate called Fern Vale, the finest home on Cornwall. While Linus scraped together sustenance for the two of us, while he taught me everything from maths to sailing, she provided nothing and cared not at all. I knew that she was the mother of my birth because my grandmother mentioned it—frequently, she mentioned it—as part of the narrative that no one, including my grandmother herself, wished for me to have been born.
After Welty taught me to read and look things up, I investigated how a boy might be the son of a fine lady but also live in squalor on the docks. In hindsight, this should’ve been left unexplored.
What I learned is that Lady Viola is the only daughter of a powerful aristocrat called the Earl of Canham. I learned that she loved her family’s estate so very much, she chose to remain a spinster and grow old there rather than to ever leave. And being an unwed mother would have, certainly, forced her to go.
