Chapter 19
“Princess Danielle . . .” the captain began, leading her down the terrace steps.
“Surely you may refer to me as Danielle now that we are married.” She gave a little laugh. She was glad he’d suggested they
go for a walk. The rushed wedding had consumed their lives these last five days, and they’d had no time alone together. She’d
missed him; at the same time, she was jittery with nerves. She craved the kinship and intimacy of a walk.
“Princess Danielle,” he repeated, “there is something I must tell you.”
Dani stopped like she’d been yanked by a rope.
She knew these words, “. . . something I must tell you.” She also knew this tone—in fact, she knew this precise, terrible
expression. He looked strained and cautious and guilty.
“No,” she whispered.
“Princess . . .” he said on a sigh, cocking his head.
“Whatever it is, no.”
He opened his mouth to speak but Dani would not hear it.
It would be another secret. A wretched, life-upending secret.
All secrets were wretched in their own way.
Oh, and he was the purveyor of them, a peddler of secrets.
He revealed, and she discovered—always the last to know. Duped. Made the fool.
She started again to walk. Their arms were linked so she pulled him along. If she walked quickly enough, perhaps he would
not repeat it. Perhaps she could literally run away from his weighty, burdened tone. Perhaps—
No.
She’d heard enough secrets in the last fortnight to know when her life was about to take a blow, it made no difference if
she was running or standing still.
The overgrown garden was bisected by a path that led to a hedge wall. An uneven gap in the hedge formed the entrance to a
small labyrinth. Years of neglect had left the trail thick with tall grass and the walls of the maze uneven. Dani had always
known Eastwell Park’s garden boasted a labyrinth; and she’d seen the border hedge from the ballroom on the first day. How
delighted she’d been at the prospect of refurbishing it. Now it only represented a complicated gauntlet she must run while
hearing yet another damnable secret.
“Danielle?” he asked, sounding wary.
“I’m going in,” she told him.
He made a noise of frustration but held out his hand. “After you,” he said.
She released his arm and strode into the maze, pushing branches aside. The tall grass stained her slippers, but she didn’t
care. She came to the first intersection and turned left without thinking. Miriam had removed her veil, thank God, but the
crown remained. Branches and leaves snagged on the little spires, and she yanked her head free.
“The crown suits you,” he called from behind her. “It was a pleasure to see you wear it.”
“I don’t want to talk about the crown,” she said. They came to another intersection and she chose right. “Tell me. Whatever it is. Tell me.”
“But you said—”
“Let’s be realistic, shall we? I don’t have the freedom to deny any of these great truths you’ve placed at my feet. Just . . .
say it.”
He gave a heavy sigh. “Princess Danielle—”
“Do not refer to me as Princess Danielle again. Do not.”
“Miss Allard—”
And now she stopped walking. They stood in a little clearing. Paths stretched in four directions. In the center, an algae-crusted
birdbath fermented dead leaves in six inches of brown water.
“Am I not Mrs. Bannock now?” she asked, tears choking the voice. “Is that your next revelation? That we’ve not actually been
married today?”
“We are married,” he said, the words so bleak, he might as well have said, We are condemned.
“Then do not refer to me as Miss Allard.”
He walked a slow circle around the birdbath.
“You’re pacing,” she observed. “Whatever it is, it’s so terrible, you must pace?”
“I’m gathering my thoughts.”
“Don’t craft some candied version of it, Bannock. Simply tell me.”
He made another circuit of the birdbath. She let out a noise of frustration and charged down the nearest path, running from
the silence. So it was very bad, indeed. He must gather his thoughts to say the words; he must pace in circles.
“Princess Danielle,” he called after her. “Wait.”
She kept going. The path curved and she followed the arc, holding her skirts high.
“Do you remember when you asked why Prince George arranged for me to be married to you?” he called. “To you in particular?”
Dani stopped. Do I remember . . . ? She sagged against the hedge. Do I remember? How many times had she asked this?
“Of course I remember,” she said. She’d backed against the unruly hedge; sticks and thorns jabbed her like pins in a pincushion,
but she didn’t care. “You said he wanted to match you with a local girl with a stake in the success of your new estate. You
said he wanted to see the errant French princess settled.”
“There was another reason,” he said, coming up to her. “And I failed to say it to you. But I am prepared to tell you now.
If you will hear it.”
“You’re prepared to tell me?”
“Yes.”
She fell silent. She waited. She raised her eyebrows. What?
He said nothing. He stared at the ground, a bitter look on his face. A muscle in his jaw pulsed. He looked like he’d been
ordered to drink a dram of poison.
“The longer you do not say it,” she whispered, “the more horrible I think it will be.”
“Sorry.” He took a deep breath. He removed his hat. He put one hand on the back of his head. He was breathing hard.
“Bannock?” This was horrible—whatever it was must be horrible.
“The reason we were betrothed,” he bit out, “is because I asked for it to be done. I asked to have the marriage arranged. To you. Or rather, I asked to marry the exiled princess from France, who is you. It was my primary request when I was granted a reward for rescuing Viscount Fernsby. I was also awarded Eastwell Park, but that was the prince’s idea, which I accepted. ”
Dani sagged against the prickly hedge and gaped at him. His words wound their way through her mind like she’d run through
this maze. She was lost.
“Why, Bannock?” she asked. “Why did you ask to have the marriage arranged? Why me? Or, as you’ve clarified—why the exiled French princess? Why?”
“Are you alright?” he asked, frowning at the unpruned hedge holding her upright. “Will you—?”
“Why?” she demanded.
He cleared his throat. “On the night my boat was sunk and my crew killed or captured, the French captain leading the attack
asked about you. By name. Again and again, he asked about Princess Danielle Allard d’Orleans. He made threats and demands,
insisting that we tell him where the English royal family had hidden the exile, Princess Danielle d’Orleans. He beat Fernsby
senseless, trying to get him to reveal your location. Of course we’d never heard of you; we knew nothing of princesses or
French exiles in England.” He exhaled. His expression was barely concealed misery.
“As the night wore on,” he continued, “my crew tortured, Fernsby tortured, I— Well, I managed to survive, didn’t I? You know
the next bit. I fished Fernsby from the water before he drowned. We floated for two nights and then were recovered by the
Royal Navy. When, finally, I made it back to England and recovered, I began to research the princess that the French captain
had asked about again and again. I began to research you.
I needed to know why this French naval officer was obsessed with a princess hidden in England.
And what I discovered was—is—the captain was not simply an officer in the French Navy, he’s also a member of the French aristocracy—the Comte d’Moulac—and
his family lands border property belonging to the Orleans family. Those lands, I learned, are part of your dowry. When you
marry, your husband will receive significant acreage, timber, and a length of river in the Hauts-de-France region of France.
Surcouf wanted to find you so he could pluck you from exile, marry you, and claim these lands. Surcouf’s existing estate has
dwindled—overtaken and reclaimed during the Terror. Marrying you and receiving your land as dowry would return him to majority
landowner in the region.”
Dani could but stare at him. It wasn’t just one thing—there was so much he hadn’t said to her. He’d lied about why, and who, and how much. And it wasn’t over.
“Go on,” she managed, sinking deeper into the hedge.
“This man has become my sworn enemy. He attacked a ship I built by my own hand, he ignored every rule of engagement and tortured my men. He captured a man on board who is like a father to me. I’ve mentioned this man, Linus Welty.
The man who raised me. Surcouf would’ve taken my life if I hadn’t been too stubborn to die—Fernsby’s, too.
Now I am safely in England, and he has returned to France, but with my surrogate father as his captive.
And I want the old man safely returned. For the better part of a year I have begged and bartered—I’ve mounted nighttime raids and tried to steal Welty back.
But I have failed. Surcouf refuses to negotiate—not for money, not by threats.
The dungeon—for there is no better word for it—where Welty is being held is impenetrable.
Please believe me when I say there is no hyperbole here.
This is what has happened—my motivation for all of it.
” He exhaled. “The reason I wanted to marry you is—well, was—because the Frenchman wanted to marry you.
This French captain. You were the thing he wanted the most, so I endeavored to
have you, so that he could not.”
“You married me out of spite?” Her words were barely audible.
“Well—no. Yes. No, not entirely. There’s more.”
“You’ve just said that was your motivation for all of it,” she cried.
“I mean to fill in the details. But will you allow me to extricate you from that hedge? You’re spoiling your beautiful gown.”
“Finish,” she demanded.
He swallowed hard. “As I’ve said, the captured man, Linus Welty, was . . .” and here he faltered, “. . . is very dear. He raised me from the age of seven, educated me, protected me. I built my boat only because he taught me. I captained