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“No, thank God, Your Majesty,” Alistair replied silkily. “They are only kept apart from their mother, perhaps in honest mistake.”
Lister shifted in his seat. His brow had begun to shine with sweat. “What are you implying, Munroe?”
“Implying?” Alistair opened his eye wide. “I do not imply. I merely state facts. Do you deny that Abigail and Jamie Fitzwilliam are being kept at your London town house?”
Lister blinked. He’d no doubt counted on Helen not knowing where he’d hidden the children. Alistair had, in fact, only learned of their whereabouts this morning, via the simple expedient of sending a boy to bribe one of Lister’s footmen.
Lister visibly swallowed. “I have every right to keep the children within my house.”
Alistair was silent, watching the man and wondering if he saw the trap gaping wide.
The king shifted in his seat. “Who are these children?”
“They are—” Lister began, and then cut himself abruptly off when he finally saw where Alistair had led him. He shut his mouth and glared while Alistair smiled and sipped his wine, waiting to see if the duke was angry enough to throw caution to the wind. If he acknowledged the children in the presence of the king, they would have a claim on him and, more importantly, on his estate.
Kimberly turned to face his parent fully and murmured, “Father.”
Lister shook his head as if coming out of a daze, and his face assumed a polite mask. “The children are nothing to me—merely the offspring of a former friend.”
“Good.” The king clapped his hands together. “Then they can be returned immediately to their mother, eh, Lister?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lister muttered, and then turned to Hasselthorpe. “When do you propose to submit this bill to parliament?”
The duke, Hasselthorpe, and Blanchard leaned together in a political discussion, while Kimberly merely looked relieved.
The king waved for more wine and when it was poured, tilted his glass slightly to Alistair and said, “To maternal love.”
“Aye, Your Majesty.” Alistair gladly drank.
The king set down his glass, cocked his head, and said sotto voce, “We trust that was the outcome you were aiming for, Munroe?”
Alistair looked into the king’s amused blue eyes and permitted himself a small smile. “Your Majesty is as perceptive as ever.”
King George nodded. “Finish that book, Munroe. We look forward to inviting you to another tea.”
“To that end, I’ll take leave of this lovely luncheon with Your Majesty’s permission.”
The king waved a lace-draped hand. “Go, then. Just make sure you don’t stay away from our capital so long this time, what?”
Alistair stood, bowed, and turned to leave the room. As he did so, he passed the back of Hasselthorpe’s chair. He hesitated, but when, after all, would he have another chance to ask the man?
He bent over Lord Hasselthorpe’s chair and said, “Might I ask you a question, my lord?”
Hasselthorpe eyed him with disfavor. “Haven’t you already done enough for one afternoon, Munroe?”
Alistair shrugged. “No doubt, but this won’t take long. Nearly two months ago, Lord Vale wanted to talk to you about your brother, Thomas Maddock.”
Hasselthorpe stiffened. “Thomas died at Spinner’s Falls, as I’m sure you know.”
“Yes.” Alistair met the other man’s gaze without blinking. There were too many questions left to let a grieving brother’s anger stand in the way of finding the answers. “Vale thought Maddock may’ve known something about—”
Hasselthorpe leaned into Alistair’s face. “If you or Vale dare to insinuate that my brother was a part of any treasonous activity, I shall call you out, make no mistake, sir.”
Alistair raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t meant to insinuate any such thing—it’d never occurred to him that Maddock had been the traitor.
But Hasselthorpe hadn’t finished. “And if you have any feeling for Vale at all, you’ll dissuade him from this course.”
“What do you mean?” Alistair asked slowly.
