Aunt Constance, seated to Pru’s left, gave a witchy little cackle. “Oh, sweet boy. He’s forgotten.”
“Forgotten what?” Rhys said warily. He hadn’t spent much time around these two batty old spinsters, but his brief experience had taught him that they just loved to meddle.
“Why, theotherMontgomerys, of course.”
Rhys suddenly found it hard to swallow. A nasty, tingling sensation that felt horribly like premonition made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“There are more of you?”
Constance nodded and started another row of her knitting. “Well, of course there are more. It’s just that we don’t often speak of them.” She sent Pru a laughing, sidelong glance. “Not inpolitesociety, at any rate.”
Rhys’s heart began to pound. He absolutely did not believe in fate, or destiny, or any of that rot, but there was something about this conversation that was making him decidedly uneasy.
“Why don’t you speak about them?” He was intrigued, despite himself.
“Because they’re thewildbranch of the family.” Pru chuckled. “I swear, our Caroline could give your Carys a run for her money. And as for her sisters—”
Constance shook her head sadly. “Well, the less said about those two hoydens the better. Twins.” She sent Rhysa meaningful glance that managed to convey both disapproval and reluctant admiration.
Rhys took a deep swig of his champagne. “How come I’ve never heard of them?”
“Oh, they’re the Wessex branch of the family, but they haven’t been in England for years. Their father, Rollo, is a famous lepidopterist.”
“Investigates moths and butterflies,” Constance explained.
Pru frowned at her sister for the interruption. “They’ve been gadding about the world with him ever since they were old enough to hold a butterfly net. They were in Brazil last year. And somewhere in Africa before that. But I do believe they’re finally headed for these shores. Cousin Letty had a letter only recently.”
Rhys slid a finger inside his cravat and gave it a tug. The room was decidedly warm. “Well, I’m sure I’ll make their acquaintance if they ever decide to reenter polite society.”
Pru’s beatific smile was disconcerting, to say the least. “Oh, yes, dear. I’m sure you will.”
The day after their wedding Harriet and Morgan received an unexpected visit from Lord Melville. The older man presented them with a handsome etched-glass bowl as a belated gift from Anne and himself, but that was only part of his reason for coming to call.
“I have a proposition to put to you, Davies. You too, Harriet.”
Harriet glanced at Morgan and raised her brows in interest. “Go on.”
“Since you’re now a free trader, with a handsome ship of your own, the Admiralty would like to engage your services for a rather sensitive project.”
Morgan tilted his head. “What’s the destination?”
Melville’s eyes took on a laughing twinkle. “We were hoping you’d take a trip over to Martinique. I’ve heard there are plenty of opportunities for trade. Cocoa, coffee, sugar—”
He reached into his coat and withdrew a folded piece of paper and Harriet’s heart jumped as he laid it flat on the table. It was the map De Caen had left in her shop on the night he’d confronted her.
“And while you’re there, you might retrieve another valuable cargo,” Melville finished.
“You want us to try to find the French gold?” Harriet tried and failed to hide her excitement.
“Who better to head up the expedition than a captain who knows the waters and a mapmaker who knows how to read the charts?”
Harriet stared down at the circle of pencil De Caen had drawn around the tiny island dot far out in the ocean on the other side of the world. Her heart began to thump in anticipation.
She looked up and found Morgan watching her, a wicked smile of understanding on his face. He raised his brows in silent question, even though he must know her answer.
“Sounds like quite the adventure,” he said. “What do you say, Mrs. Davies? Think you’re up for the job?”
Harriet straightened and sent him a playful scowl. “Of course I am.”
