Page 38 of The Royal Art of Revenge

“Are you sure she’ll speak to me?”

“She has to speak to someone, and she’s spent the most time with you so far. Now that we know, we can’t simply ignore her presence.” Mum meets my gaze. “You said that you thought she was lying about knowing who you are when you met for the second time. We can deduce that’s probably the truth, but she hardly schemed her way in here. I requested her presence, don’t forget.”

“Maybe she didn’t want to be here and that’s why she lied about recognising me?” I suggest, tapping my fingers against the table. “It’s not unreasonable. If she’s being threatened with money—”

“A lot of money,” Mum says. “Enough to ensure that three generations of her children would never have to worry about finances even with a lavish lifestyle, let’s put it that way.”

“That’s even more of a reason for her to lie to me. She may have only played along today because of who you are.”

“No. She wanted me to know.” She presses her lips together and gets up. The chair squeaks against the hardwood floor, and she walks to the window where she clasps her hands behind her back and gazes outside at the gardens. “I could see it in her eyes. She broke the moment I mentioned Franny. It was like… I don’t know. It was as if she’d been waiting for it, Finn. Hoping for it, almost.”

I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, then sit back in my chair. “What do you want me to do?”

“Find out everything you can, as I said. She’s most likely to talk to you. Find out the truth about how she got here and what she wants.”

“What she wants?”

“Yes. Does she want to claim the original agreement? Does she wish to marry you?”

“That’s a heavy question for a first date,” I say dryly, making her laugh despite her heavy emotions. “What if she says no? That she’s just happy to live her life, take her trust fund, and disappear? Then what?”

“Then I’ll assist her in any way possible. The entire Royal Household will,” Mum answers without missing a beat. “And your marriage to the Sinclairs will be cancelled. After they’ve lied so thoroughly, I refuse to grant Royal Assent for your marriage to Jasmine Sinclair.”

I sit up straight. “And what excuse will you give? If Harriet doesn’t want them to know she’s been found out, it could harm her more than anything if they do.”

“I suppose. Fine. In that event, I’ll arrange a fake partner for you—you’ll have a nine-month courtship before you mutually break it off. Everyone will believe it’s a love match. That’s a condition both Franny and I agreed on. If either of you met someone you truly wished to spend your life with, we would happily give our blessing. Lying about you meeting someone isn’t a big deal. It wouldn’t be the first time our family has done such a thing, and whoever she is will be well compensated. Whatever happens, we’ll figure something out to protect Harriet.”

“All right.” I rub the back of my neck and stretch it side to side. “There’s no guarantee she’ll tell me anything. She was tight-lipped in here.”

“She’ll tell you enough. At least find out what she plans for the future.”

“All right, fine, fine.” With a sigh, I stand up and wipe my hands on my trousers. “I’ll see what I can get out of her, but don’t get your hopes up.”

“Every hope I’ve ever possessed has been fulfilled today,” Mum says softly, still gazing out of the window. “She’s alive. She’s healthy. Now, my only wish is for her to be happy. Your job is to find out how we make that happen.”

Something tells me that’s easier said than done.

There’s a twenty-year hole in Harriet’s life. Twenty years we know nothing of. Not of her health, her whereabouts, her wellbeing. We know nothing of what she might have went through during that time.

Where was she, really? How did she get there? Who took her there? Who cared for her after? Did she escape whoever took her? How did she get back here? Did someone help her, and if they did, then who?

It truly is nothing short of a miracle that she’s returned home.

How do you make a stranger happy?

All I can do is listen to her. Ask her what she needs. Ask her how we can help, what she’d like to do from here, where she’d like to go. Does she want to stay as Hannah Porter, continue her photography, and build her own studio? Does she want to reclaim the name given to her at birth and the things that come along with it?

Does she want to leave here, create a new identity, and live her life a million miles away from it all?

None of those choices are wrong. Every one of them is right in their own way.

The problem I have is that I’m not buying what she’s selling. Now, I’m certain that she knew exactly who I was the moment our eyes met. It’s why she went along with everything—me bursting into her room, the vague work offer, the confidentiality agreement, everything.

She knew she was safe with me.

The Crown Prince of this nation poses no threat to her, and she knows it. She’s always known it.

So, why not tell me the truth? Why lie? What was her goal? What is her goal? Was it gaining entry to the palace this whole time? Did she somehow know that my mother would look at her and recognise her? Was it all a desperate act by a desperate person?