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Rodrick nodded. "And Conrad understands the return voyage?"

James's mouth altered by perhaps half a degree. "He understands that once the Count of Wagram has relieved a certain minister of his daughter, conditions in the Channel may render northern France temporarily inaccessible."

"Terrible waters."

"Unpredictable, my lord."

Rodrick looked through the branches toward the campfires. "You are going with him."

"But my lord, I always accompany—"

"I cannot go to the trouble of removing Gaetan from French artillery merely to deposit him beneath the sabers of the Horse Guards. You know London. You know our contacts. If this turns into a spectacular stupidity, you can get him out."

James said nothing.

Rodrick continued because silence had once again become intolerable. "You will also ensure Conrad does not accidentally rediscover France before I give permission."

"My lord, Captain Reventlow is perfectly capable—"

"James."

The moon caught enough of James's face for Rodrick to see what years of service had taught him to hide. Concern. For him.

Rodrick cleared his throat. "The fact is, I can no longer afford your war supplement."

James stared at him. "A sudden reversal in your finances, my lord?"

"Catastrophic. I may have to reduce the quality of your claret."

James gazed at the house. "That would indeed explain your recent instability."

Rodrick's mouth twitched. There. Veiled insults he could navigate. Civilization restored.

"My lord—"

"Pack, James." The words came quieter than he intended.

James held his gaze.

For a moment Rodrick wondered whether the man would disobey him.

James inclined his head. "Very good, my lord."

The answer landed somewhere beneath Rodrick's ribs.

Rodrick nodded. "Try not to let Gaetan abduct anyone entirely unsuitable."

"I shall endeavor to limit him to the lady already selected."

"A reassuring standard."

James turned toward the house. Rodrick watched him go. The orchard became larger after he disappeared between the trees. Interesting. Gaetan would leave. James would leave with him. Louise would reach Napoleon.

Montmorency waited somewhere ahead, the endpoint of a road Rodrick had spent fifteen years building one compromise at a time.

This was what he had wanted. No ties. No obligations that could be used against him. No person whose loss could alter the shape of his life.

Freedom, according to every principle he had built since Charlotte's death.