Page 144 of The Duke's Dream
"I'm aware." William was actually counting on that. Some institutions outlived their utility. The committee had served its function to curb the spilled chaos of the French Revolution. But now became a hindrance to progress.
"Have the Silent Sovereign lost his patriotism?" Rodrick asked.
"No. I love England." But change was needed, and one had to know when to step back. William knew everything about tradition, restraint, and keeping the status quo. "But now I need to learn more about freedom."
Rodrick sneered. "You’re ten years too late if you think France can teach you—"
"No, not France."
But a girl with no wings, but who could still fly. William gazed at the expanse of dark waters separating her from him. He hoped she could be his teacher. If she would still have him.
"Helene de Beaumont?" Rodrick whistled. "So the Duke of Albemarle had to partake of the poet's opium. It must be potent stuff for you to give up your power as The Silent Sovereign and run after a dancer."
William didn't smile. "Won't you ask me about my sanity? You would be the third soul that would have done so in twenty-four hours."
"Au contraire, mon ami. To this date, this has been the sanest decision I ever saw William Harcourt undertake."
William cleared his throat, uncomfortable to see the light of friendship shining again in Rodrick's eyes. "Did you bring the passport?"
Rodrick pulled an envelope from his coat.
William caught his passage to Helene, and a long breath escaped his lungs. Water lapped against the river bank, calling him. He gazed at the yacht's deck. The captain's voice rose, summoning the crewmen to their posts. William hoped Baines had readied everything.
A sense of urgency gripped him. He wanted to be cast off.
Rodrick cleared his throat. "Won't you look inside?
William leafed through the Swiss passport and lifted a brow. "Judson Stern?"
Rodrick shrugged. "Seemed like an apt name. You'll land in Honfleur. From there, avoid garrison towns like Calais, Rouen, and Le Havre—where military presence is thick, inspections worse. Stick to back roads, travel by night, and don't linger. If they stop you, remain calm. The forged documents appear authentic… enough."
William nodded and was storing the passport in his pocket when Rodrick handed him a note.
Frowning, William opened it. An address. "What is this?"
"The location of Wagram's Chateau in Saint Cloud."
William sucked in a breath. His plan had been to arrive first and ask questions later. He had expected to comb Paris, the whole of France, if necessary, searching for The Count of Wagram and his sister.
He glanced at Rodrick, but before he could say a word, Rodrick lifted his hand.
"Don't think for one second I'm doing this for your sake." Rodrick gazed at the yacht's mast, his voice deeper than usual. "If you're caught nosing around in enemy territory with passports forged by the Foreign Office, it would create a mess I'm not willing to clean up."
William nodded. "I thank you regardless."
Rodrick extended his arm, his hand opened. "Your turn."
William removed the chain from his pocket. It coiled in his palm, rusted and dull. Strange how it didn't weigh anymore.
"Do you ever regret it? All my life, this has been a reminder of the power of passion to derange us, to make us do abominable things."
After a last glance, William poured the chain into Rodrick's palm.
Rodrick went still, staring at the necklace. An expression of grief passed over his sharp features, and it could be the somberness of the wharf or the long day, but Rodrick looked like a mourner clutching a keepsake at a grave.
Why was it so important to him?
A shudder made Rodrick's profile waver, and then he closed his hand, his knuckles turning livid in the watery light. "I'm sorry to impart to you, Will, but all your life, you've believed a lie."
