“Tell me, Francois.”
“He asks Grandfather to send us to him,” Francois said in a quiet voice. “He also writes that the messenger carries enough money to pay for our journey—or for our upkeep, should Grandfather refuse again.”
“Again?”
“Apparently, these are not all of the letters,” Francois said. “Only the ones he sent to London.”
Francois pulled a bulging leather bag out from under the bench and untied the strings that held it closed. Gold coins glimmered and clinked as he poured them onto the low table in front of them. Two or three lone coins spilled over the side and rolled across the floor.
“Grandfather had this much gold here in London?”
Francois nodded, his expression grim.
“But… we could have paid our debts. We would not have had to flee in the middle of the night. We…” She closed her eyes and touched her fingertips to her forehead. All that suffering for naught.
“Grandfather was a wealthy man and did not need our father’s money—not for a long time, anyway,” Francois said. “By the time we did need it, he likely forgot he had it.”
She nodded. “His memory grew worse and worse those last two years.” After a long moment, she said, “But why did Alain never tell us he did this?”
“Pride, perhaps.” Francois shrugged. “He may not realize we did not have the benefit of the funds.”
Linnet rested her hands on the letters scattered in her lap. If she had known, how would her life be different? She had been angry for as long as she could remember. Angry that her father left their mother pregnant without a backward glance. Angry that he did not deem his bastard children worthy of his notice, much less his support.
She would not trade her early years with her grandfather for the constrained life of a nobleman’s daughter. But if she had known about the letters, surely she would have made different choices these last years. If she had known of his attempts to support them and to bring them into his household, she would not have felt compelled to punish him for failing her.
Perhaps she would not expect everyone important to her to desert her. Everyone except for Francois, of course. He was the one person she had always believed loved her enough not to leave her.
Perhaps she would have trusted Jamie.
“He told me he tried to find us after Grandfather died,” Francois said. “When he could find no trace of us, he assumed we died during the siege.”
“Where did you find the gold and the letters?” she asked.
For the first time since he gave her the letters, Francois grinned. Eyes twinkling, he said, “Do you recall that curly-headed little girl you found in Mychell’s house?”
“Aye, his daughter Lily.”
“Well, Lily and her sister Rose appeared at your door while you were in Leicester,” he said. “They had your ring.”
Linnet laughed. “Lily found the letters, didn’t she?”
“Aye, she did. They were hidden in a hollow in the wall of the shop, behind a brick.”
“What a sharp-eyed girl.” Linnet shook her head. “How did she know they belonged to us?”
“Her sister can read, if you can believe it.”
“Not half as surprising as her thieving father naming his daughters after flowers.”
“Lily, the little scoundrel, wanted to return the letters and keep the gold. She tried to convince her sister that you had so many coins you would not miss these.”
Linnet laughed and clapped her hands. “Is she not wonderful?”
“Rose, however, insisted that all be returned.”
“I hope you rewarded the girls.”
He nodded. “I gave them half.”
