“Still,” the countess said, “he did not much complain, and seemed to keep himself well occupied. I found him very quiet.”

“Not like me, ye mean?” The colonel grinned. “Aye, John does keep his thoughts and feelings to himself, for all he feels them deeply. He was like that as a lad, and in the years he’s been a soldier he’s grown harder in the habit of it.”

“Where is his regiment now fighting?” asked the earl. “Are they in Flanders?”

And Sophia tried with downturned eyes to hide her own fierce interest in the answer.

“Aye, they are, but John’s not with them. Hooke has kept him close, in Paris. They’ll let no one who kens anything about the young king’s plans stray far from Saint-Germain, these days, for fear the word may spread.”

The countess drily told him, “They are fools if they believe that it is not already in the wind. Faith, it does seem from the reports we hear that half the court of Saint-Germain are Queen Anne’s spies.”

“Aye, very likely. Which is doubtless why your brother thought to send his message using this”—he tapped his head—“and not a pen and paper.”

“And what is his message?”

Through this last exchange Sophia had been listening with only half an ear, so great had been her feeling of relief to hear that Moray had not been these months in danger on the battlefield as she had feared, but safe somewhere in Paris. Not, she thought, that he’d be happy to be once again confined to what would seem, to him, a soft-barred prison, but at least she knew for certain he was well, and still alive.

No other news but that had seemed important. Only now she sensed the shift of expectation in the room, and brought her own attention back to what the colonel was about to say, because she realized suddenly it might be what they’d hoped to hear these many weeks.

It was.

“I’m sent to tell ye to expect a frigate out of Dunkirk that will soon arrive to signal all is set for the invasion to begin.”

The countess clapped her hands together like a girl. “Oh, Patrick! When? How soon?”

“Your brother thinks the time is measured now in days, and that you should be ready. They’ll be sending Charles Fleming as the messenger. Ye mind young Fleming?”

“Yes, I do remember him,” the countess said.

“A good man,” Colonel Graeme called him. “He’s to carry with him your instructions from the king, who will be following not long behind.”

Sophia’s mind withdrew again, and let the others carry on their animated talk. She turned her head towards the great bow window and the sea beyond, and found in all that endless view of water nothing to contain her swelling happiness. The time is measured now in days… The words played like a melody repeating in a joyful round that drowned all other noises.

The countess started laughing at a comment Colonel Graeme had just made, and to Sophia’s ears the outburst caught the spirit of her mood, and she laughed, too.