“Mirabelle, my sweet.” The man dove to catch her, but was a trifle too late. He grabbed her arms just as she landed on her knees. He came down with her, kneeling before her. “Are you well?”

“You can’t be my father,” she whispered as tremors billowed through her. “He died.”

“I thought so sometimes,” he said with a faint smile. “I was captured, but they did not execute me.”

She searched his face, looking for any resemblance. There was the blue of his eyes, the same as hers and Heloise’s. And something about the position of his eyes and nose—the way they interacted. It reminded her of Heloise. Could he really be him? “Where have you been?”

“In prison, mostly. Upon my release, I came here to look for you, your sister, and your mother.”

“How were you able to do that?”

“I had a great deal of help. There are gentlemen here in London who assist those of us who were imprisoned. They help us find our families and establish new lives.”

That sounded like something Lucien would do. But Lucien would have told her. And he wouldn’t have involved the duke. The duke! No, it couldn’t be him.

“Why are you on the floor?” The Duke of Evesham had come into the drawing room without them noticing.

“Come, ma fille,” the man—no, her father—said as he rose and guided her along with him. He released her and started to edge away, but she grabbed his hand and held it between both of hers.

“No, don’t go,” she said, tears threatening as her throat tried to close.

“This has been a shock for her,” Evie’s father said to the duke. “You should have prepared her.”

Evie stared at Evesham. “How did you find him?”

“I and a few other gentlemen are alerted when noblemen are released from prison. We provide for their transport here and ensure they find any missing family.”

Lucien’s father did this? “Why?”

“I should think it would be obvious. They were treated quite badly by their homeland. We show them how much more dignified the English are.”

Her father chuckled. “The duke is full of bluster. These Englishmen like to reunite families. I have heard stories about them.”

Evie had great difficulty reconciling this information with the man Lucien had told her about for years. There was no way Lucien knew anything about this. Which was a shame, because the duke could find no better partner in such work.

“Lucien has no idea what you do,” she said softly, but with a slight accusatory edge.

The duke shrugged. “I’m new to this. Someone in the group died last year, and I was merely filling in while they searched for someone new.” He cocked his head. “It was Lord Witney, if that interests you.”