to Freddie.’
‘I doubt he sits still long enough to read anything except his schoolbooks,’ Jack said.
‘Oh, of course. I forgot, you actually spoke to him.’ How could she have forgotten that? She had been fighting her fears about Freddie, fretting over how he was, and here was someone with news of him that was only weeks old. ‘Tell me how he looked.’
‘As well as any lively nine-year-old who has just had a severe stomach upset,’ Jack said. ‘A touch green round the gills, but so far recovered that he was able to enjoy describing exactly, and in minute and revolting detail, how his mushrooms had reappeared and what they had looked like.’
‘I am sorry.’ Eva chuckled. ‘Little wretch.’
‘He’s a boy. I was one once—I am not so old that I cannot remember the fascination of gory details.’
‘How tall is he?’ Eva asked wistfully. ‘Hoffmeister writes me pedantic reports on a regular basis. “HSH has attained some competence with his Latin translation, HSH has been outfitted with new footwear, HSH smuggled a kitten into his room. It has been removed.” But it doesn’t help me see Freddie.’
Jack stood up, braced himself against the lurching of the carriage with one hand on the luggage rack and held the other hand palm down against his body. ‘This high. Sturdy as a little pony now—but any moment he is going to start to grow and I think he will be tall. His hair is thick, like yours, and needs cutting. His eyes are hazel, his face he is still growing into. But I saw he was your son when I first set eyes on you.’
He sat down again and Eva felt the tension and fear of the past hour ebb away into relief and thoughts of Freddie. ‘Oh, thank you so much, I can just picture him now! He was such a baby when Louis insisted he went to England. The first thing I am going to do when I am settled there is to have his portrait painted.’
‘With his mother, of course?’
‘No,’ she said slowly, thinking it out. ‘Alone. His first official portrait. I will have engravings done from it and flood Maubourg with them. It is time people remembered who their Grand Duke is.’
‘Ah.’ Jack was watching her, sizing her up again in a way that made her raise her chin. ‘The Grand Duchess is back.’
‘She never goes away,’ Eva said coolly. ‘It would be as well to remember that, Mr Ryder.’
His half-bow from the waist was, if one wanted to take offence, mocking. Eva chose to keep the peace and acknowledged it with a gracious inclination of her head. Then she let her shoulder rest against the corner squabs and closed her eyes. One could never take refuge in sleep in public as a grand duchess, but she was coming to see it was a useful haven in everyday life.
‘Grenoble.’ Jack spoke close to her ear and Eva came fully awake as the sound of the carriage wheels changed and they hit the cobbles.
‘What time is it?’ She sat up and tried to stretch her neck from its cramped position.
‘Nearly eight. We made faster time than I feared we would.’
‘And where are we staying?’ Water glinted below as they passed over a bridge. The Drac or the Isère, she could not orientate herself.
‘Another eminently respectable bourgeois inn. And this time we have a private parlour adjoining our bedchamber, Madame Ridère.’
‘So that’s who I am, is it? I suppose it is easy to remember—Ryder or Ridère. And this was all booked in advance for tonight?’ He nodded. Eva could make out his expression with some clarity, for the streets were well lit. ‘You were very confident that we would get here, were you not?’ Jack smiled, looked as though he would reply, then closed his lips. She added sharply, ‘I suppose you were about to say that you are very confident because you are very good.’
‘It is my job.’ Infuriatingly he did not rise to her jibe. Eva was stiff, hungry and tense, for all kinds of reasons. A brisk exchange of views with Jack Ryder was just the tonic she needed. It seemed she was not going to get one. ‘We are here.’
‘Bonsoir, bonsoir, Monsieur Ridère. Madame! Entrez, s’il vous plaît.’ The innkeeper emerged, Eva forced herself to think in French again, and the ritual of disembarking, being shown their room, ordering supper, unwound.
‘That bed is smaller,’ she observed as they sat down in the parlour to await their food. ‘In fact, it is very small.’
‘Indeed.’ Jack was folding a rather crumpled news sheet into order in front of the fireplace. ‘No room for the bolster, then, which is a good thing—you nearly pushed both it and me out last night.’
‘I am not sleeping with you in a bed that size. There is a settle in here.’ She pointed to the elaborately carved example of Alpine woodwork on the far side of the room.
‘That is a good foot shorter than I am, as narrow as a window ledge and as hard as a board. And it appears to be covered in very knobbly artistic representations of chamois. I am not forgoing a comfortable bed.’ She bristled. Jack snapped the newspaper open and regarded her over the top of it. ‘Do I appear to you to be crazed with lust?’
‘I…You…What did you say?’
At this critical juncture the waiter appeared with a casserole dish, followed by various other persons bearing plates, bread, jugs and cutlery. Eva folded her lips tightly and went to take her seat at the table.
Jack put down his newspaper and joined her. ‘Du pain, ma chère?’
‘Don’t you my dear me,’ she hissed, only to subside as the waiter returned with a capon and a dish of greens. ‘Merci, c’est tout,’ she said firmly.
‘Non, non, un moment, la fromage.’ Jack wielded the bread knife and passed her a slice.
‘Coward! You cannot hide behind the servants for ever.’ She forced a smile as the waiter brought the cheese. The door closed. ‘How dare you?’
‘I thought the my dear added verisimilitude. Some wine?’
‘Yes, please.’ A stiff drink was what she really needed. Brandy at the very least. ‘That was not what I was referring to and you know it. How dare you refer to lust in my hearing?’
‘I apologise for my choice of words.’ Jack passed her a glass of white wine and took a thoughtful sip from his. ‘Amorous propensities? Uncontrollable desire? Satyr-like tendencies? Ardent longings? Any of those any better?’
All or any of them involving Jack would be sinfully wonderful, as would throwing the cheese board at him. Eva gritted her teeth and persisted. ‘It would be highly improper for us to share that bed. It is far too small.’
‘And you expect what, exactly, to occur as a result?’ Jack began to carve the legs off the capon. Something about his very precise knife work suggested repressed emotion at odds with his dispassionate tone.
‘We might touch. Inadvertently.’ Eva took a deep swallow of wine, nearly choked and took another. A capon leg was laid on her plate. ‘Thank you.’ Even when discussing lust one could maintain the courtesies, she thought hazily, reaching for the decanter and refilling her glass. ‘Some greens?’ She lifted the serving spoons competently.
