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“No. Not yet. But I’ve been doing more research about his time at university now that I’m there, too. His professors remember him. He was part of certain social groups and clubs, and…well, it’s almost like following a ghost. Everywhere I go, a part of him is there.”
I rest our joined hands on his chest, directly above his heart. It’s racing, and I don’t fully understand why. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He smiles, but it’s weary. “Maybe there were never any answers to be found. But I do have to try.”
“When I start in October, I’ll help you,” I offer. “If you’re still looking, I mean.”
He draws my hand to his lips and kisses it. “I’d like nothing more.”
We fall asleep early that night, and it’s a damn good thing, too, because there’s a tap on my door well before the sun rises. Though the knock isn’t loud, it sends a jolt through me, pulling me from my dreams so quickly that I’m dizzy, and I mumble a curse as Lady Tabitha Finch-Parker-Covington-Boyle strides into the room.
“Good morn—”
As light floods the room, she stops dead in her high-heeled tracks, her eyebrows climbing nearly to her hairline.
“Well, then,” she says, and it takes me a beat to realize what’s grabbed her attention.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Tibby,” I grumble as Kit shifts beside me, rubbing his eyes in the unexpected light. “What are you doing here?”
“What your father pays me to do,” she says, and she resumes her stroll to my armoire, where she starts to rifle through a selection of designer dresses. “Doesn’t your new term start in a few days, Kit?”
“I’ll be there when it does,” he says, his voice thick with sleep. “Does she always wake you up like this?”
“Every morning except Sundays,” I mutter.
“I feel like I understand so much more about your relationship now,” he says, and he gives me a quick peck. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”
Both Tibby and I watch as he rolls out of bed in his flannel pajamas, and once he’s pulled on a robe and left my apartment, I turn the full force of my glare onto my smug private secretary.
“It’s not a big deal,” I say, and she hums in agreement.
“If anything, it’s about bloody time. I expect the precautions I included in your luggage to Sandringham were put to good use, then?” she adds, and I flush.
“That’s definitely none of your business.”
“Everything you do is my business, Evan. It’s my job to know the details, so I can help keep your private life private and prevent any sordid affairs from becoming public knowledge.”
“Yeah? Then Helene probably needs you more than me right now.”
“Mm. The staff at Kensington Palace is going through a rather brutal restructuring at the moment, but you’re a far better long-term prospect. Speaking of,” she adds as she pulls a burgundy coatdress from my closet, “His Majesty has decided to go ahead with your and Maisie’s scheduled joint appearance today at the Royal London Children’s Hospital.”
“Really?” I say, still trying to digest the compliment I think is in there. “I thought everything was canceled.”
“Yes, well, it seems the monarchy is currently in desperate need of good press, and Doyle believes that you and Maisie are the best bet. She’s universally adored, and you provide…well, a distraction, shall we say?”
I narrow my eyes. “Is this about the hunting accident?”
“If you’d like to call it that. The public will no doubt be relieved to see you whole and well. You are whole and well, yes?” she says with something that sounds suspiciously like concern, and she studies me more intently now.
“I probably won’t be able to wear strapless or low-cut dresses anymore,” I say, pulling aside the collar of my shirt to show her the healing scar. “But that’s Louis’s problem.”
As Tibby takes in the sight of the bullet wound, her throat contracts. “I see,” she says quietly. “I was led to believe it was a shoulder injury, but that is…very close to…”
“Missed by a couple inches,” I say, straightening my shirt. “The bullet nicked an artery, so there was a lot of blood, but itdidn’t hit anything else important. I keep asking if I can haveitas a souvenir, but Jenkins ignores me every time I bring it up.”
“I will see what I can do,” says Tibby a bit shakily, and it might be the lack of sunlight, but her face has a slightly gray cast to it now. “In the meantime, it would be good for…for the people to see that you’re all right.”
“And you think the best way to do that is to send me to a hospital?” I say, and she sniffs.
