‘Then why aren’t you drunk in some gaming hell now?’ she asked tartly, to cover up the fact that she felt so sad about the young man he was describing. In nine years Freddie would be that age.
‘Nothing was expected of me,’ Jack went on, gazing out of the window as though he were looking back ten years at his younger self. ‘Nothing except to spend money and to decorate society events. I did my best. I can spend money quite effectively, I scrub up quite well, I can do the pretty at parties—but I was bored. Then I found myself helping a friend whose former valet was blackmailing him over indiscreet love letters. One thing led to another and I found that I liked Jack Ryder far more than I did Lord Sebastian Ravenhurst.’
‘Aren’t they now the same person, just with two different names?’ Eva asked. ‘Hasn’t Lord Sebastian grown up with Jack Ryder?’
‘Perhaps.’ He shifted back from the window to regard her from under level brows. ‘It makes no difference to you and me. The Grand Duchess Eva de Maubourg does not have an affaire with a younger son any more than she does with a King’s Messenger.’
‘That was not why I wanted to know.’ Oh, yes, it was, you liar. It was curiosity, certainly, but something was telling you that this man was an aristocrat and that would make it all right. ‘It was curiosity, pure and simple. I dislike secrets and mysteries.’ She said it lightly, willing him to believe her.
The way the shadow behind his eyes lifted both relieved her and hurt her. He did not want their affaire to continue. Why not? She thought he would be as sad as she at its ending. But then, by his own admission, he was a rake. Loving and leaving must be as familiar as the chase and the seduction. Only he had neither chased nor seduced her, when he very well could have done.
‘What do I call you, now we are back in England?’ she asked. ‘Mr Ryder, or Lord Sebastian?’
‘I am Jack Ryder. As I said, you will not meet my alter ego.’
‘You are not invited to the best parties?’
‘Duke’s sons are invited everywhere, even if fond mamas warn their sons against playing cards with them or their daughters against flirting. I do not chose to accept, it is as simple as that.’ He looked out of the window again. ‘And here is Greenwich. Another hour and you will be almost at your London house.’
Eva sighed. Even if she could persuade him, it was too late to set out to Eton now—there was the whole of London to traverse before she could be on the road to Windsor.
‘Don’t sigh—it is a very nice house.’
‘How do you know?’ Eva sat up straight and found her shoes. Time to start thinking and behaving like the representative of the Duchy in a foreign country, not an anxious mother or a sore-hearted lover.
‘I chose it.’
‘Really? You were very busy before you left.’
‘I mean, I had bought it, for myself. I was finding my chambers in Albany a touch small these days. But I am in no hurry to move in. The staff are all highly trustworthy, employed by the Foreign Office for just such eventualities.’
‘So you have never lived there?’
‘No.’
That, at least, was a mercy. The thought of living in the midst of Jack’s furnishings, the evidence of his taste, of his everyday life, was disturbing. Eva set herself to talk of trivia, of London gossip, and the last hour of the journey passed pleasantly enough. It was as though, she thought fancifully, they were skating serenely on a frozen sea, while beneath them, just visible through the ice, swam sharks.
‘Here we are.’ Jack opened the chaise door and jumped down, flipping out the steps for her before the postilions could dismount. She lay her hand on his proffered arm and walked up to the front door, gleaming dark green in the late afternoon sunshine. Jack lifted his hand to the heavy brass knocker, but the door swung open before he could let it fall.
‘Your Serene Highness, welcome.’ An imposing butler, with, she was startled to see, the face of a prize fighter, ushered them into the hall, then stood aside.
Facing her across the black-and-white chequers was a boy, sturdy, long-legged, with a mop of unruly dark hair. Hazel eyes met hers and for a moment she was frozen, unable to believe what she was seeing. Then Eva flew across the hall and fell to her knees, her arms tight around her son. ‘Oh, Freddie, you’re here!’
‘Mama!’ The pressure of his arms around her almost took her breath away. This was not the little boy she had last seen—he was so grown she could glimpse the young man he would become. And they would not be separated like that again, never, that she vowed. Disentangling herself with an effort, Eva sat back on her heels and stared happily at her son.
‘You’ve grown,’ she managed to say. ‘How you have grown!’
‘Well, the food’s pretty grim,’ he confided, startling her with his perfect English accent. ‘But I stock up in the shops in the High—Uncle Bruin keeps me well supplied with the readies, you know.’ He stared at her, his eyes solemn. ‘You look just as I remember, Mama.’
‘Good,’ Eva said, fighting to keep the shake out of her voice. ‘You have been very good at answering all my letters.’
‘I missed you.’ He was biting his lower lip, the desperate need to maintain his grown-up dignity fighting with the urge to hug his mother and never let her go. ‘Are you going away again soon?’
‘We are both going back to Maubourg together, just as soon as the situation in France is calm and we can travel safely.’ She hesitated. ‘You know Uncle Philippe has been ill?’ He nodded. ‘I don’t know if he is better yet, or worse. And I am afraid that Uncle Antoine might have been…hurt in all the confusion with Bonaparte invading.’
Too much information. She was pouring it out, kneeling here on the hard floor, her hands tight around his upper arms, terrified of letting him go in case he proved to be a dream after all.
Awkwardly Eva made herself loosen her grip and tried to stand. Her legs felt shaky. Two hands reached for her and she placed her own, one in each. ‘Thank you, Freddie, Ja…Mr Ryder.’ For a long moment they stood there, linked. Like a family group, she thought wildly, releasing Jack’s hand as though it were hot. Then Freddie let go, as well, and held out his hand to Jack.
‘Mr Ryder. Welcome back. Thank you for looking after my mama.’
Jack shook hands solemnly. ‘Your Serene Highness. It was a pleasure. I am glad to see you so well. You were a trifle green when we last met.’
‘Mushrooms, Mama,’ Freddie explained.
‘I know. Mr Ryder kindly told me all the horrid details.’
Her son chuckled. ‘I was very sick. Did you know this is Mr Ryder’s house?’
‘Yes. It is very kind of him to lend it to us.’ She looked around. The pugilistic butler was still standing, statue-like, in the corner. A pair of equally large footmen were at attention at the foot of the stairs and a small covey of female domestics were gathered behind them. ‘Have you been here long?’
‘Long enough to know everyone; I arrived yesterday morning,’ Freddie said importantly. ‘This is Grimstone, our butler.’ It suits him, Eva thought. ‘And Wellings and O’Toole, the footmen. And Mrs Cutler is a spiffingly good cook. And Fettersham is your dresser.’
A tall woman dressed in impeccable black