“Aye, Your Majesty.” Alistair gladly drank.
The king set down his glass, cocked his head, and said sotto voce, “We trust that was the outcome you were aiming for, Munroe?”
Alistair looked into the king’s amused blue eyes and permitted himself a small smile. “Your Majesty is as perceptive as ever.”
King George nodded. “Finish that book, Munroe. We look forward to inviting you to another tea.”
“To that end, I’ll take leave of this lovely luncheon with Your Majesty’s permission.”
The king waved a lace-draped hand. “Go, then. Just make sure you don’t stay away from our capital so long this time, what?”
Alistair stood, bowed, and turned to leave the room. As he did so, he passed the back of Hasselthorpe’s chair. He hesitated, but when, after all, would he have another chance to ask the man?
He bent over Lord Hasselthorpe’s chair and said, “Might I ask you a question, my lord?”
Hasselthorpe eyed him with disfavor. “Haven’t you already done enough for one afternoon, Munroe?”
Alistair shrugged. “No doubt, but this won’t take long. Nearly two months ago, Lord Vale wanted to talk to you about your brother, Thomas Maddock.”
Hasselthorpe stiffened. “Thomas died at Spinner’s Falls, as I’m sure you know.”
“Yes.” Alistair met the other man’s gaze without blinking. There were too many questions left to let a grieving brother’s anger stand in the way of finding the answers. “Vale thought Maddock may’ve known something about—”
Hasselthorpe leaned into Alistair’s face. “If you or Vale dare to insinuate that my brother was a part of any treasonous activity, I shall call you out, make no mistake, sir.”
Alistair raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t meant to insinuate any such thing—it’d never occurred to him that Maddock had been the traitor.
But Hasselthorpe hadn’t finished. “And if you have any feeling for Vale at all, you’ll dissuade him from this course.”
“What do you mean?” Alistair asked slowly.
“He and Reynaud St. Aubyn were good friends, were they not? Grew up together as lads?”
“Yes.”
“Then I very much doubt Vale would truly want to know who betrayed the 28th.” Hasselthorpe sat back, his mouth grim.
Alistair leaned so close, his lips nearly brushed the other man’s ear. “What do you know?”
Hasselthorpe shook his head. “I’ve heard only rumors, ones bandied about in the higher ranks of the army and in parliament. They say the traitor’s mother was French.”
Alistair stared into the other man’s watery brown eyes for a moment, and then he swung around and walked swiftly from the room. Reynaud St. Aubyn’s mother had been French.
HELEN WAS TURNING a hand-bound book over in her hands when Alistair entered the sitting room. She dropped the book from nerveless fingers and stared at him.
“He’s denied claim to the children,” Alistair said at once.
“Oh, thank God.” Helen closed her eyes in relief, but Alistair took hold of her elbow.
“Come, let’s leave. I don’t think it wise to tarry.”
Her eyes flew open in alarm. “Do you think he’ll change his mind?”
“I doubt it, but the faster we act, the less time it gives him to think about it,” Alistair muttered as he hustled her to the sitting room door.
Helen’s gaze fell on the portrait of Lord St. Aubyn. “I should write Miss Corning a note.”
“What?” He stopped and frowned at her.
“Miss Corning. She’s Lord Blanchard’s niece and quite nice. Do you know she binds books by hand? She told me.”
Alistair shook his head. “Good Lord.” He again started striding to the front door, so fast she had to trot to keep up. “You can write her a letter later.”
“I shall have to,” she murmured as they got in the carriage.
Alistair banged on the carriage roof, and they started forward with a lurch. “Did you tell her who you were?”
“I was in her home,” Helen said. She felt heat invade her cheeks, because she knew that Alistair meant her connection to Lister. She tilted her chin. “It would’ve been rude to lie.”
“Rude maybe, but there would’ve been less chance of you being thrown from the house.”
Helen’s gaze dropped to her hands in her lap. “I know I’m not respectable, but—”
“You’re plenty respectable to me,” he growled.
She looked up.
He was still frowning, scowling really. “It’s just other people.” He glanced away and muttered quietly, “I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I came to terms with what I am—what I made myself—a long time ago,” she said. “I can’t change the past or how it affects me and my children now, but I can decide to live my life despite my terrible choices. If I was afraid of being hurt by others and what they say to me, I would have to live all my life in hiding. I won’t do that.”
She watched as he thought that over, still not meeting her eyes. That was the problem still between them, wasn’t it? She’d made her choice about how she would live her life.
He still had not.
She glanced away, out the carriage window, and then frowned. “We’re not going to Lister’s house.”
“No,” he replied. “I hope to catch Etienne’s ship still in the harbor. If we hurry and luck is with us, I might be able to.”
But when they arrived at the docks a half hour later and inquired about the ship, a rather grimy fellow pointed to a sail disappearing down the Thames.
“You’ve missed her, guv,” the fellow said, not without sympathy.
Alistair tossed a shilling at the man for his help.
“I’m so sorry,” Helen said when they’d once more entered the carriage. “You missed your opportunity to talk to your friend because you were rescuing my children.”
Alistair shrugged, looking moodily out the window. “It couldn’t be helped. Had I to make the same decision again, I wouldn’t change my mind. Abigail and Jamie are more important than any information I could’ve gotten from Etienne. Besides”—he let the curtain fall and turned to her—“I’m not sure I would’ve liked the news he might’ve given me.”
Chapter Eighteen
Now, Princess Sympathy had long ago made it safely back to her father’s castle, but still she worried. Had her rescuer, Truth Teller, escaped the sorcerer? Worry for the soldier so filled her thoughts that in time she no longer ate or slept and spent entire nights pacing. Her father, the king, became concerned for her welfare and sent for all manner of healers and nurses, but none could tell him what was wrong with the princess. Only she knew of Truth Teller, of his bravery, and of her secret fear that he had not escaped the sorcerer’s clutches.
So when a swallow flew in her window one night and presented her with the leaf from a yew bush, she knew exactly what it meant. . . .
—from TRUTH TELLER
“Do you think he’s really Sir Alistair’s friend?” Jamie whispered to Abigail.
“Of course he is,” she said stoutly. “He knew Puddles’s name, didn’t he?”
Abigail knew better than to go with a strange man. But when the tall man with the funny face had burst into the duke’s nursery, he’d seemed to know exactly what to do. He’d ordered the footmen to leave and had told them that he was Sir Alistair’s friend and that he would take them to Sir Alistair and Mama. Most importantly of all, he’d said that Sir Alistair had told him Puddles’s name. That had settled it in Abigail’s mind. Better to go with a stranger than to stay in the duke’s prison. So they’d followed the tall gentleman, sneaking down the back stairs and into a waiting carriage. Jamie had seemed happy for the first time in days. He’d nearly bounced out of the carriage seat as they’d driven away.
Now they sat side by side on a satin settee in a very grand room. They were alone, since the gentleman had left for some reason, and only now did Abigail think about all the terrible things the funny-faced gentleman might do to them if he wasn’t Sir Alistair’s friend.
She was careful, of course, to keep her fear from Jamie.
Jamie squirmed now and said, “Do you think—”
But he was interrupted by the opening of the door. The gentleman came in again, followed by a straight-backed lady. A small terrier dog rounded the lady’s skirts, gave one sharp bark, and raced toward them.
“Mouse!” Jamie cried, and the little dog leapt straight into his arms.
Abigail recognized him then. She and Jamie had met Mouse, the dog, and his mistress at Hyde Park. She rose and curtsied to Lady Vale.
That lady stopped and inspected Abigail while Mouse bathed Jamie’s face with his pink tongue. “Are you well?”
“Yes, my lady,” Abigail whispered, and a great weight lifted off her heart. It was going to be all right. Lady Vale would make it so.
“We ought to send for some tea and biscuits, Vale,” Lady Vale said. She gave a very small smile, and Abigail smiled back.
And then something even more wonderful happened. There were loud voices in the hall and Mama rushed in.
“My darlings!” she cried, and went to her knees, her arms outstretched.
Jamie and Abigail ran to her. Mama’s arms were so warm. She smelled so familiar, and suddenly Abigail was crying into Mama’s shoulder, and they were all hugging, even Mouse. It was wonderful, really.
They stayed like that for a long time before Abigail saw Sir Alistair. He stood by himself, watching them with a small smile on his face, and her heart gave a happy hop at the sight of him, too. Abigail stepped back from Mama.
She dried her eyes and walked slowly to Sir Alistair. “I’m glad to see you again.”
“I’m glad to see you, too.” His voice was deep and gruff, but his brown eye smiled at her.
She swallowed and said quickly, “And I’m sorry that I let Puddles make water on your satchel.”
He blinked and then cleared his throat and said quietly, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, Abigail lass. It was but a satchel.” He held out his hand. “Forgive me?”
For some reason, her eyes filled with tears again. She took his hand. It was hard and warm and large, and when she held it, she felt safe.
Safe and as if she were home.
AN HOUR LATER, Alistair watched as Helen and the children said their farewells to Lady Vale outside the Vale town house.
He turned to the viscount, standing and watching beside him. “Thank you for rescuing them for me.”
Vale shrugged carelessly. “It was no trouble. Besides, you were the one who realized that if you and Mrs. Fitzwilliam went to the luncheon at Blanchard House, it would draw away your watcher and perhaps leave Lister’s town house with fewer guards.”
Alistair nodded. “But it was still a risk. He might’ve had a much larger force guarding the children.”
“Might’ve, but as it turned out, he didn’t. As it was, the only one who put up any fight was your old manservant, Wiggins.” Vale looked at him rather sheepishly. “I do hope you don’t mind that I knocked the fellow down the stairs?”
“Not at all,” he replied with a grim smile. “I only wish he’d broken his neck in the fall.”
“Ah, but we can’t have all our wishes, can we?”
“No, we can’t.” Alistair watched as Helen smiled and shook hands with Lady Vale. A lock of golden hair blew across her pink cheek. “In any case, I do owe you, Vale.”
“Think nothing of it.” The viscount scratched his chin. “Any chance Lister will come after them again?”
