Page 90 of A Prince Among Pirates
Henry lifts his gaze to meet mine and frowns. “The envelope?”
“The one Renard—er, Mr. Campbell used to turn me in.”
“Ah. You… never looked inside?”
“No. I never had the chance.”
I watch Henry’s face as he considers this and seems to come to some kind of decision. “Ah, it was nothing. Merely a few old letters.”
“From her?”
“From the viscount and me. Nothing to worry yourself with, Christopher-Henry.”
“But—”
“Come now, your wine is cooling.”
I narrow my eyes and lift my cup. If he won’t tell me, I’ll just have to find out for myself.
Thomas makes no complaint when I announce my need for a lie-down. I don’t know how long I slept, but I feel rested when I do wake. The fire in my bedroom is crackling, and Thomas is closing my bedroom door and making his way over to me.
“How long did I sleep?” I ask.
“Quite a while. Your supper is in the drawing room.” He picks up a pair of stockings from where they lie draped on the trunk at the foot of my bed.
“I can eat in my nightshirt,” I say, shaking my head.
“You have company, Your Highness. Lady Katherine and Lord Francis Stuart.”
“Ah—yes, that changes things.” I let him help me into mystockings and a pair of green breeches. He dresses me quickly, choosing a white shirt and gold waistcoat, with a green cravat to match my breeches. We don’t bother with a jacket. I slide into a pair of shoes as he makes quick work of smoothing and retying my hair back with Sharpe’s ribbon. Then I step out into the drawing room to join Kitty and Francis.
Francis jumps to his feet and bows to me. I join them at the table the servants set up in front of the fireplace and reach out to shake his hand. “No formalities in my apartments,” I say. Then I take Kitty’s hand and kiss her knuckles with a smile, before Francis and I both sit.
“You look well,” she says. “Thomas said you were under the weather.”
“Just a headache,” I say as I start in on my dinner. “The king told me he has a box of my mother’s things.”
Kitty perks up and smiles. “Does he?”
“So he says,” I say with a sigh. “But I’ve yet to see them. Or the envelope I told you about the night of my return.”
“Envelope?” Francis asks.
“An old envelope with my name on it. I found it in my fath—Viscount Falmouth’s desk under lock and key.”
Kitty frowns at me. “Can you not ask the king about it?”
“I asked him this morning. He avoided answering at first, then insisted I stop asking.”
“What do you think is inside, Christopher-Henry?” Francis asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “But there’s something my fatherisn’t telling me. Something he’s going to great lengths to keep from me.”
“You have your father. You have the crown. You’re going to be king someday. Can you not be happy with what you have now?” Francis says.
I know he means well. A small part of me thinks I should be content and let my past remain a mystery for the sake of my own happiness. But I can’t stop thinking about the look in Captain Sharpe’s eyes when he said, “Men like Henry take what they want.”
Those were the words of a man speaking from experience, and they haunt me—just as Billy’s story haunts me. Men like the viscount, and mytruefather, do take what they want. Men likemetake what we want.
