"Oh, are you still set on that fancy?" She gave a contemptuous laugh.
"Prithee, Harry, shall I like you the better for waiting till you have
French lace at your neck and a frenchified air?"
"You'll please to wait till I bring Miss Lambourne a fellow who has done something more than snuffle over a servitor's books. I want to prove myself, Alison."
"You have proved yourself on me, sir. What, am I a lean wench in despair to hunger for a snuffling servitor? If you were that, I were not for you. But I know you better, God help me, my Lord Lucifer. Why then, take the goods the gods provide you and say grace over me." Harry shook his head, smiling. "Lord, it's a mule! Pray what do you look to do in France?"
"I am pledged to my father and his policies—to go poking behind the curtains of the war and deal with the go-betweens of princes."
"So. You talk big. Well, I like to hear it. What is the business?"
"My father, if you believe him, has Marlborough's secrets in his pocket and is sent to chaffer for him. You may guess where and why. Queen Anne hath a brother."
Her eyes sparkled. "You like the adventure, Harry?"
"Egad, I begin to think so."
"I love you for that!" she cried, and it was the first time she spoke the word. "Why then, first go with me to church and call me wife!"
He drew in his breath. "By God, do you mean that?"