Chapter 19 #2
that boat because he taught me to sail. He’s not in good health; seventy-five years old, with poor eyesight and a bad hip.
His lungs are weak. He has a myriad of health problems. Every voyage, I implore him to stay behind, but he prefers to sail.
He’s a grown man and, selfishly, I enjoy having him with me—and so where I have gone, so has he.
“On the night of the attack,” he said, “after the fighting was underway, it became obvious that Surcouf had the advantage and that things were rapidly going to hell. I extricated myself from the fighting and went to Linus, begging him to surrender. He was too old and feeble to fight, and there was a chance Surcouf would have mercy on an elderly man who submitted. By some miracle, Linus complied, and—unlike the rest of the crew—his life was spared. There was no torture; the French sailors simply took him prisoner. And,” Bannock finished, “a prisoner he remains. To this day. Assuming he’s still alive.
He’s being held captive in the dungeon of Surcouf’s crumbling French castle.
For six months, I’ve endeavored to negotiate with Surcouf for the return of this old man.
The blaggard will not make a deal. And, because England is at war with France, it is extremely difficult for me to travel inside France to endeavor to rescue him myself.
And even when I am in France, the castle is formidable.
Surcouf is a military man in addition to being a comte, and his home is, literally, a fortress.
The War Office will not help me recover Welty—they’ll not risk resources to rescue one old man who wasn’t even a solider at the time of the attack.
“Considering all of these closed avenues to recovery, I knew only one thing for certain. Surcouf wanted the dowry attached
to Princess Danielle Allard d’Orleans—that is, I knew he wanted you. He wanted your dowry. So, my plan was to marry you, claim
your dowry, and try again to negotiate. This time, coming to the bargaining table with something he could not refuse.”
“I was to be offered in a bargain?” Her voice was breathless.
“No, no,” he assured her, turning away. When he spoke again, he said the words to the sky. “You asked if I married you to
spite the French captain. The answer is, ‘Not entirely.’ I married you to use you as bait—to pretend to trade you for my old friend—”
“What the devil does that mean? To pretend to trade me?”
“Excellent question.” He had the decency to look more uncomfortable and guilty with every admission.
Dani ignored his discomfort. “You’ve no real plan,” she realized. “You don’t even know what this means—pretend to trade me.”
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I knew he must clap eyes on you, even for ten minutes. I knew he must have authentication of your lineage from some other, surviving member of your family. I’ve a man in Paris procuring this. When you’d been, er, secured—”
“Just to be clear, when you say ‘secured,’ you do mean ‘married’? When I’d been married to you?”
He swallowed hard. “Yes, when we’d been married, I intended to lie about the union to Surcouf. Instead I would claim you were
perfectly available. I meant to portray you as available for marriage to him and offer to trade you in exchange for the release
of my friend. When Surcouf agreed—that is, when some verbal agreement happened—I meant for you to be safely spirited away while I received my friend. When Linus was in my care, I meant
to reveal the double cross.”
“The double cross,” she repeated.
“Yes. I would tell him that you were, in fact, not available to marry him because you’d already been married to me. I meant to tell him that he could not have you; that he
would never have you.”
“So the recovery bit of this plan was to show my face and pedigree; and my marriage to you was to be the revenge?”
“Loosely. That is, I’d not thought of every detail, obviously. It is accurate that the mechanics of the bait and switch had
not been fully orchestrated. My priority was to marry you. Please understand, acquiring you was the unbelievably challenging
part. I had no notion if Prince George would grant you as my reward. A bastard smuggler marrying a princess? And please remember,
all of this was conceived before I’d met you—”
All at once, Dani shoved from the hedge. Her dress clung to branches and she yanked free. She started walking—nay, running—up the path; stumbling, shoving, escaping.
“Danielle—wait,” he called, but she did not wait. She increased speed, satin shoes slipping on wet grass. She came to an intersection;
two paths that formed a narrow X. Staying the course, she darted to the right.
She ran because it hurt too much to remain still. She ran to outpace the lies and manipulation. She ran because she must engage
her brain to navigate the maze; and she wanted to solve problems rather than to feel. She ran to do something rather than to accept that he’d never wanted her except to use as bait. He’d intentionally taken
advantage of her cluelessness and her blind affection for him. She ran because she was married to him now and it couldn’t
be undone. He’d actually gone to the effort of marrying her rather than reveal any of this. Despite her asking. Repeatedly. Even though he’d kissed her and held her and suggested they
might make a real life together. And her parents! He’d lied to them, too! They would be devastated. And her new sister; he’d
lied to her. What a fool they would believe her to be—what a fool she was.
He’d lied to all of them.
“Danielle—stop!” He was suddenly there, stepping in front of her from the opposite direction. She collided with his chest
with a tearful gasp. It was like running into a tree.
He wrapped his arms around her and Dani’s composure fell away. She pressed her face into his chest and sobbed. She balled
her fists and planted them on his shoulders. Her knees gave out, and he held her up.
“I’ve a solution,” he told her gently. “Listen to me. Are you listening? There is a solution. It doesn’t erase everything that’s happened, but it rectifies it.
If you’ll allow me to repair the damage I’ve done to you, this can be rectified.
And Eastwell Park is yours, by the way. I always meant to give it to you, free and clear.
With all the money you need for taxes and staff and repairs.
I will support the house and lands until it can support itself—hell, I will support it always.
I would never ask you to help me in this way without giving you something in return. ”
Dani gave a wrenching shout and pulled away. “I don’t want to be given something,” she exclaimed, rounding on him. “All I
want is for the lies to stop. Do you know how many people in my life have misrepresented my history—my very existence—to me?
For years? Do you know?”
“I’m sor—”
“The French royal family,” she said, cutting him off. She held up one finger. “The British royal family.” Another finger.
“My surrogate parents.” Two more fingers.
Finally, a note of bitterness so painful in her voice, she said, “You.
“Can you imagine, Captain,” she went on, “what it feels like to learn you’ve been lied to about who you are, and why you live
where you do, and with whom? Can you imagine being lied to about something so foundational? And by people so very close to
you or so powerful?”
Dani paused for a second, imagining it herself. She was saying the words and experiencing the hurt at the same time.
“At least Miriam and Whittle lied because they loved me,” she realized. “They lied because they were afraid of losing me.
And the parents of my birth? They lied because they feared for our lives. The English royal family lied because . . . because,
well I assume they couldn’t be bothered. But you. You were so very intentional. You lied not to keep me, but to give me away. To . . . to a French aristocrat who you’ve freely admitted tortures and kills people.” She began to back away.
“No. No—Danielle, no.” And now his voice broke. He held out a desperate hand to her.
He closed his eyes and exhaled. “Stop.” When he opened his eyes, the look on his face was so fearful he appeared almost panicked.
He took off his hat and threw it.
“I never intended to give you to the Frenchman,” he said. “Never—my God, please believe me in this. I am desperate, but not
ruthless. I would never put you in danger. It wasn’t meant to be an actual trade. I simply meant to . . . boast of you, to gloat that I’d married you. To sort of . . . show you off—to dangle you, if I must put a term on—”
“To dangle me?” Her voice was a tearful rasp.
“He has my father,” he stated plainly, almost angrily. “I could not recover him without proof of you. I would’ve revealed
you to him—perhaps across a room. I would show portraits of your parents, show documents proving your lineage and dowry. But
I would offer these things—I would show you—without him getting near you. Never would he do more than observe you, and then only for a matter of moments. He didn’t even
want you, he only wanted your land.”
“Well, that makes two of you, I suppose,” she scoffed. “And what was to become of me? After you recovered your friend and
gave him my land?”
And now his expression went from wretched to evasive. He looked away. He appeared—was he embarrassed?
“Just to be clear, I would never give him your land. Part of the—” He paused and dropped his head. Speaking to the ground,
he said, “The plan was to marry you so that the land could never go to him.”
“Oh my God,” she said, her voice thin, “I’m like a plaything held between two boys, each who would have her for himself. And not even because you value me, simply for . . . land?”
“I care bollocks about the land,” he told her, looking up. “I was always going to give the land to you.”
“Perhaps I’m the real winner after all,” she said miserably. “First Eastwell Park, and now my own bloody lands.”
“Princess—”