“Oui. I find I am tired of French shores and long for my beautifully English homeland.”

Suzanne’s face wrinkled. “But how did you come to be here?”

The comtesse chastened, “Suzanne.”

The young lady bowed her head. “I did not mean to pry.”

Lady Cavendish smiled indulgently at her. “You will find, ma fleur, since the passing of my dear Rupert, may he rest in peace, most things I do are a bit eccentric; but I am harmless, I assure you.”

Andrew and Simon coughed into their sleeves.

She narrowed her eyes. “You see, I was here visiting France, but my dear friends were in need of transportation, so I asked the staff to arrange it, and here we are. Now, shall we be off, then?”

The passengers turned to see where she pointed. The side of a ship, with a rope ladder dangling down, appeared out of the darkness. Their small craft sidled up to it, and Lord Devereaux helped each person grab hold of the rungs and make their way up the side of the boat.

As soon as all other passengers and Simon were up and over the top, Lady Cavendish stepped nimbly onto the ladder and, with a great shove of her foot, pushed their jolly boat away, toward shore. She knew that someone would be along to collect it and anchor it once again amongst the trees. Then, hoisting her skirts with one hand and flinging them over her shoulder, she climbed up the ladder herself and onto the deck. As she breathed in the ocean air with great satisfaction, a smug smile found its way to her lips.

“Thinking of Bibot?” Simon arrived at her side.

“How did you know?”

“The first aristos to sneak past his eminence. This deserves a celebration.”

Lady Cavendish smiled. “I saw the boy again.”

Simon’s gaze sharpened. “Did he recognize you?”

“I think he did. He looked right at me and grinned his impish smile.”

Simon shook his head, staring out at the dark rolling water. “How does he do it?”

She shrugged delicately. “He is observant.”

“He is dangerous.”

Lady Cavendish clucked her tongue. “Nonsense. He is a dear child. They call him Abelino.”

“Well, he has me worried. It is uncanny how he can find you in a crowd no matter what you look like. Your own mother wouldn’t recognize you in one of your disguises, but this child can. How old is he?”

She thought for a moment. “He can’t be more than nine or ten. But there is nothing for you to worry about in him. Spend time instead helping me think of more creative ways to save our dear brothers and sisters in France. We must get word of the denouncements earlier. We save all we can, but news of many of the condemned reaches our ears too late.”