Page 47 of The Swindler’s Daughter

Emeline continued to speak quietly from the doorway. “You don’t want to be like your father, and for good reason. But your father never lifted a finger for anyone but himself.”

Hunter crossed to his wife and pulled her to his chest, bending to place a kiss on her head. “You’re right.”

“I usually am.”

He smiled down at her and then turned to me, his face morphing from unsure to determined. “Be safe,” he finally said to me. “Be smart. Ask me for help if you need it.”

I grinned and crossed to him. “You know I will.” I threw my arms around his waist and squeezed. “Thank you, Hunter.”

“You’re welcome.” He returned my squeeze and then let go. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go exercise a horse,” he said, wiping at his face before giving us both a wave and heading to the stables.

“What he really means is that he needs to talk with a creature who won’t argue with him,” Emeline said.

I shrugged. “I don’t mean to be argumentative.”

“I was talking about me,” she said with a proud smile.

I studied my brother’s wife, the girl who had found me on the verge of death. The girl who had agreed to teach me to wield a sword before I realized my love of archery. She’d looked out for me, taken care of everyone who came through her kitchen, protected those who needed it. My brow furrowed. “How is it that you aren’t anxious to join me? I would have expected you to be the first to take up the cause.”

Her smile was genuine, even though I sensed some disappointment from her. “I’m afraid this is a battle I’ll have to let the rest of you fight.”

It was then that I realized the way she stood. How her hand rested against her abdomen. How she looked more content than I’d ever seen her. Was she…? But I kept the thought to myself. If Emeline was expecting, I knew Hunter would want to be the one to tell me.

“But,” she said, “I’m more than happy to advise in any way I can.”

I knelt down beside the basin of dishes and started scrubbing. “I’m happy to help Rowan with his ideas, but I can’t help but think there is a better solution. If the duke only knew…” But I couldn’t write, and even if I could, the duke was never going to listen to someone like me. “Couldn’t we ask Beatrice to write to Her Highness? Princess Marilee has status and influence. If she were to contact the duke, perhaps he would do something or send the high magistrate to look into things.”

I turned to Emeline, expecting her to think the idea was a good one, but she only looked sadly skeptical. “I doubt any letter from Her Highness would receive a positive response from the duke.”

“Why not?” I asked in dismay. “She’s a royal. She was married to their son, wasn’t she?”

She gave a solemn nod. “Exactly. And you know that marriage was not a good one.”

“Yes, but would they really hold that against her?” After all, there were plenty of marriages that were less than ideal.

She gave a sad smile. “Princess Marilee didn’t even attend her husband’s funeral.”

My eyes widened in surprise. Such things were not done. The insult of such an action… “Oh dear…I didn’t realize…”

“As I said, I have no faith at all that a plea from Marilee would garner a sympathetic response.”

I cast about for another idea. “Does Sir James have enough status?”

Emeline shook her head. “Sir James and the duke’s eldest son, Edmund, were childhood rivals. There is continued animosity between them.”

I stopped scrubbing and slumped down on the ground. “Well, what good is it to be working for powerful people if they don’t have any power?”

“Miri,” Emeline scolded.

“I’m sorry. You know I don’t mean it. And I know the only reason the magistrate has left us alone here is because he doesn’t dare harass the servants of a princess.”

Emeline smirked. “No one wants to antagonize Dalthia.”

“Could the Bridgefield servants write a letter? Surely a message from the housekeeper or butler would at least be read.”

“You can ask, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up.” She gave an apologetic shrug before returning to the kitchen.

I wasn’t ready to give up, though. There had to be a solution, or at the very least, there was more we could do.