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AN HOUR LATER, Alistair watched as Helen and the children said their farewells to Lady Vale outside the Vale town house.
He turned to the viscount, standing and watching beside him. “Thank you for rescuing them for me.”
Vale shrugged carelessly. “It was no trouble. Besides, you were the one who realized that if you and Mrs. Fitzwilliam went to the luncheon at Blanchard House, it would draw away your watcher and perhaps leave Lister’s town house with fewer guards.”
Alistair nodded. “But it was still a risk. He might’ve had a much larger force guarding the children.”
“Might’ve, but as it turned out, he didn’t. As it was, the only one who put up any fight was your old manservant, Wiggins.” Vale looked at him rather sheepishly. “I do hope you don’t mind that I knocked the fellow down the stairs?”
“Not at all,” he replied with a grim smile. “I only wish he’d broken his neck in the fall.”
“Ah, but we can’t have all our wishes, can we?”
“No, we can’t.” Alistair watched as Helen smiled and shook hands with Lady Vale. A lock of golden hair blew across her pink cheek. “In any case, I do owe you, Vale.”
“Think nothing of it.” The viscount scratched his chin. “Any chance Lister will come after them again?”
o;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.
“He and Reynaud St. Aubyn were good friends, were they not? Grew up together as lads?”
“Yes.”
“Then I very much doubt Vale would truly want to know who betrayed the 28th.” Hasselthorpe sat back, his mouth grim.
Alistair leaned so close, his lips nearly brushed the other man’s ear. “What do you know?”
Hasselthorpe shook his head. “I’ve heard only rumors, ones bandied about in the higher ranks of the army and in parliament. They say the traitor’s mother was French.”
