and that Micheline will not have cause to regret her choice."
"My lady is for Lord Sandhurst?" Andrew inquired, his brows flicking upward.
"She heard that he is everything wonderful in a man." Thomas shrugged. "And I'm sure that if you care for Micheline, you also must wish her happiness in her marriage."
Sandhurst watched as the other man went to the table and took up a quill to write a brief message to his sister. On another sheet of parchment he wrote her name, address, and directions to help Andrew find the house.
"Don't look so angry, Selkirk," Thomas admonished when he put down the quill. "After all, the lady had already given her word to marry Lord Sandhurst before she ever met you!"
When Andrew spoke, there was an unmistakable edge of steel in his voice. "You're right, and I do hope that Micheline will be happy, but it won't be with the Marquess of Sandhurst. Of that much I'm certain."
"Why do you say that?" St. Briac demanded, utterly taken aback.
"Forget it. I was just raving."
Andrew laughed then, but Thomas felt uneasy. After they exchanged farewells again and he took his leave, he walked only a few paces down the corridor before stopping. Raking a hand through his crisp hair, he ran the Englishman's words through his mind over and over. Sangdieu! What could he have meant?
"Greetings, my lord!"
St. Briac looked up to see Jeremy Playfair, weaving slightly as he approached.
"Playfair!" he exclaimed softly, elated. The young man looked more than slightly intoxicated, which was just fine. Taking Jeremy by the arm, he drew him farther away from Andrew Selkirk's door. "I have something to ask you, and I must demand that you give me an honest answer."
This Frenchman had always appeared merry enough to Jeremy, but now he towered over him in a manner that seemed altogether menacing. "Certainly, my lord! If I can!"
"A few minutes ago your master said that he wished that Micheline Tevoulere might be happy, but that it wouldn't be with the Marquess of Sandhurst. He emphasized that he was certain about that. What did he mean?"
"Why—why—it's because he don't intend to go through with the wedding!"
St. Briac's confusion grew. "Who doesn't?"
"Lord Sandhurst!" As soon as this was out, Jeremy's eyes nearly crossed as he realized what he had said, but Thomas was still in the dark.
"How would Andrew Selkirk know that?" An absurd notion occurred to him. "That is, unless... you don't mean—"
"I can't say another word, my lord! If he finds out, he'll see me hanged! He'll have me drawn and quartered! I must go now."
St. Briac caught the young Englishman by the collar of his shirt. "Be easy, my friend. I give you my word that I will not betray your confidence."
"Do you swear? Swear that you won't tell a soul in all the world that it's been Sandhurst himself here at Fontainebleau!"
So there it was, a truth that left Thomas stunned. "I swear," he sighed.
"He meant no harm! The marriage was being forced on him by the king and the Duke of Aylesbury. He considered refusing outright, but the stakes were high, and so we thought it might be prudent to at least have a look at the chit. You see, I'm not Playfair, either; I'm Sir Jeremy Culpepper, Sandhurst's friend."
"I think I can guess the rest. Your friend fell in love with Micheline, and his pride was stung when she continued to choose a stranger over him. I can imagine how he must feel."
"Sandhurst's always been cynical about love and marriage, but now I think he'll never take a wife. A shame, isn't it?"
"Yes, M'sieur Culpepper, it is a shame. I must be off now. Thank you for your time."
"You won't forget?"
"My oath? Rest easy, m'sieur; my word is good."
* * *
Before Chateau de Fontainebleau awoke at six o'clock, Andrew and Jeremy mounted their horses and clattered over the moonlit Oval Courtyard.
"God's toes!" exclaimed Culpepper. "I don't know about you, but I shall be bloody glad to be back in England. France is well enough, I suppose, but there's no place like home."
Sandhurst looked up at Micheline's darkened windows and expelled a harsh sigh. "Indeed..."
* * *
It was still dark when Micheline awoke. She had tossed fitfully all night, not because of illness but because she was feeling herself again and had had enough sleep to last a lifetime.
As soon as the first pink streaks stained the eastern sky, Micheline roused Suzette and told her she wanted a bath. This was soon accomplished,