“That I’d heard as well,” he replied.
Strange to think that Emeline was now married to a man Reynaud had known in the army—a Colonial. Once again he felt that nauseating sense that his world was in motion, past and present conflicting, warring for his soul.
Tante Cristelle continued. “She ’as taken herself to live with her husband far, far overseas in the city of Boston. I do not know if such an action was wise on her part, but you know your sister. She can be quite the stubborn mule when she wishes.”
“And my nephew, Daniel?”
“Petite Daniel is fine and strong. Naturally his mother took him to live with her in America.”
Reynaud contemplated that. Ironic that he was now farther from his sister than he’d been before he’d sailed for England. Would he have delayed his return had he known she was in New England? He wasn’t sure. The need to regain his former life—his lands and title—had driven him for seven long years. Had in fact kept him alive and sane during the endless days and nights of his captivity. Nothing, not even the love for a sister, could keep him from his goal.
“Where have you been, Reynaud?” Tante Cristelle asked softly.
He shook his head, closing his eyes. How could he tell her, this gently bred aristocrat, what had been done to him?
After a moment he heard her sigh. “Bien. There is no need to speak of it if you do not wish.”
At that, he turned around. Tante Cristelle was watching him patiently. She was the elder sister of his late mother. Both women had grown up in Paris and had immigrated to England on his mother’s marriage. Tante Cristelle was in her seventh decade, but her snapping blue eyes were sharp, her mind one of the clearest he’d ever known.
“I intend to get my title back, Tante,” he said.
She nodded once. “Naturalement.”
“I have petitioned parliament to form a special committee to hear my case. When it is convened, I will have to appear before the committee in Westminster and plead my case. The current earl will present his side at the same time.”
Tante sniffed. “This usurper will not let go of his stolen title so easily, eh?”
“No,” Reynaud said grimly. “He’ll hold it for as long as he can, I’m sure. And he may ask to retain the title on the grounds that I’m mad.”
“Mad?” The old lady’s thin eyebrows rose.
Reynaud looked away. “I was delirious with fever when I arrived. I’m afraid there was a roomful of people to witness me raving like a lunatic.”
“And is that all?”
Reynaud grimaced uncomfortably. “There was an… incident yesterday. I was shot at—”
“Mon dieu!”
He waved away her concern. “It was nothing terrible. But I forgot myself somehow. I thought I was on the battlefield again.”
Silence.
Then Tante Cristelle drew breath. “Ah. Unfortunate. We will need good solicitors and men of business to combat the usurper.”
Reynaud looked up, hope making him feel suddenly weak. “Then you’ll help me.”
“Mais oui.” Tante Cristelle scowled. “And did you think otherwise?”
Reynaud helped her stand, feeling the fragile bones of her arm beneath his hand. “No, but it has been a very long time since I’ve had an ally.”
She shook her skirts into order. “We must plan a campaign, I think. I shall seek out these men of law, for I have maintained the estate of le petite Daniel whilst he sojourned in the Colonies and thus have many contacts. And you, you shall shave.”
“Shave?” Reynaud’s eyebrows shot up in amusement.
Tante Cristelle nodded sharply. “But of course, shave, and also you will need the new clothing, the proper wig, and the elegant shoes. For you must regain the aspect of the so-boring English milord, must you not? Thusly we shall confound our enemies with your very placidity.”
Reynaud clenched his jaw. He hated to ask, but he forced himself to. “I have no monies, Tante.”