November 1793

“Is it dangerous?” Eleanor asked her husband’s unacknowledged brother.

They had been friends for close to a decade, since he first rescued a drunken Haverford from footpads one evening, and dragged him home to Haverford House.

He had said, in exasperation, “I do not know why I bother. He never changes. I should have left him in the gutter to rot.”

She had replied, “I wish…” and then had caught the rest of the words back. They were not true, in any case. She wished her husband at the other end of the country. She wished him on a five year diplomatic mission to Asia. But she did not wish him dead. She had not descended to that level.

Tolliver had somehow understood all of that without her saying it, and after that often kept her informed about her husband’s activities. He had taught her how to use this information to manage the distance that she needed to keep from Haverford in order to stay sane.

She was mother to the duke’s two sons, his official hostess, the chatelaine of his houses, an asset to him in his political campaigning, but other than that, he largely left her alone. She owed much of that to Tolliver.

He was testing her gratitude now. Bad enough that he risked his own life in missions into the horror that France had become now that the Committee for Public Safety was sending dozens, hundreds, perhaps thousands of people to the guillotine.

But he wanted to take David. The boy she had taken into her house and into her heart was twenty, barely a man. She would fear for him every day he was over the channel. He was eager to go, and Eleanor had no power to stop him.

“Is it dangerous?” Tolliver asked. “I will not lie to you, Eleanor. It is. We take every precaution, but there is always danger. I can promise you that I will watch over David. He is my nephew, after all.”

That was true. Tolliver, the base-born brother of Haverford, and David, Haverford’s base-born son. “He is very young…” she began, but David answered her from the doorway.

“Not so young. I am a man, Your Grace.” He stepped cautiously into the little parlour, as if he expected Haverford to emerge from a corner to berate him. Haverford had got it into his head that David was a danger to Aldridge, his eldest legitimate son. It was ridiculous, but Haverford had made the claim and would not back down.

Still, he had come to Haverford House at her request, bless the boy.

“The duke is away in Brighton with the Prince of Wales,” Eleanor assured him. “Yes, David, I know you are a man. I hope you will forgive me for worrying about you.”

“I shall be as careful as I can, Your Grace,” David assured her. “But this has to be done, and I am able to help do it. Wish me well, Your Grace, and let me go with your blessing.”

“You have my blessing, David, and I shall pray for you every day until you return to England,” said Eleanor.