were like sisters when they were young."
His profile was unreadable. "I'm surprised your father let you come, into the lion's den, as it were."
Van looked straight ahead of her. "My father was under the impression that I would be visiting a Jacobite family." She paused and then added, "So was I."
There was a distinctly startled pause. Then he gave a short laugh. "Your mother was indeed anxious to get you away."
Van said a few Gaelic curses under her breath. Then a thought struck her. "How do you know my father is a Jacobite? Your mother had quite forgotten."
"My mother, bless her, is completely oblivious of politics. As your mother must be too, or she would never have arranged this visit. I thought it was suspicious the moment I heard about it."
Van's fine lips turned slightly down. "Suspicious?" she asked dangerously.
He stared at her, his blue eyes cold. "If not suspicious, than certainly odd."
"If you have such objections to my visit, then why did you allow me to come?" she asked. Her chin had lifted in a gesture of perfectly unconscious arrogance.
"Because my mother was so pleased at the thought of having you," he replied grimly. "I was serious last night, you know. She has been planning for this visit for months."
Van's eyes fell to her own narrow hands on the reins. "Oh," she said.
"And if you do or say anything to upset or embarrass her," he continued evenly, "I will murder you, Vanessa."
Van's head jerked up. "I have no intention of embarrassing your mother!"
"Then you are really here just for social purposes?" He was pushing her relentlessly, his blue eyes cold and piercing.
Van's long lashes came down. "Of course," she said out of a suddenly constricted throat.
"It has nothing to do with the Chevalier's recent busy visits to France?"
"He is a prince, cousin, not a chevalier," she said defiantly.
"What he is," Edward returned grimly, "is a damn nuisance."
Van flung back her head. "He is the rightful heir to the throne!" she flared. "His father, King James, is our rightful king. The elector is nothing but a... a usurper."
"King George," he replied very deliberately, "is the duly chosen king of Great Britain."
"Chosen by whom?" Van shot back.
"Chosen by Parliament."
"Parliament doesn't have the right to choose a king," Van said fiercely. "That right is God's."
"And that, my dear Vanessa, is where we differ."
"Don't call me your dear Vanessa," Van snapped.
"It's true, you're not at all like a Vanessa," he agreed cordially. "However did you get the name?"
"It was my grandmother's," she replied reluctantly. Then, "At home they call me Van."
"Much more suitable," he agreed, and she glared at him. She did not want his approval.
"We differ in that I think the king should be responsible to Parliament and you think he should be responsible only to himself," Edward continued impeturbably. "It is the difference between an absolute monarchy and a constitutional monarchy. We in Britain want a constitutional monarchy, and so we have King George."
Van knew nothing of absolute versus constitutional monarchies. She knew only one thing. "King James has the right." He didn't reply and Van frowned in thought. He had not, she realized, answered her original question. "How did you know my father was a Jacobite?" she asked again.
"It's my business to know those things," he replied briefly.
Van's face was aloof and reserved. "You have a position in the government, I believe your mother said."
"Yes." He was riding bareheaded and a breeze blew up and stirred the thick golden hair at his forehead. He looked over at her austere, beautiful profile. "I know that the Chevalier has been in France. I know that there has been activity in the Highlands. I know about Murray of Broughton's visits."
Van felt a stab of fear. "My," she said with an effort at lightness, "I had no idea we were objects of such flattering interest."
"And I wondered very seriously, when my mother received Lady Morar's request, if perhaps you
His profile was unreadable. "I'm surprised your father let you come, into the lion's den, as it were."
Van looked straight ahead of her. "My father was under the impression that I would be visiting a Jacobite family." She paused and then added, "So was I."
There was a distinctly startled pause. Then he gave a short laugh. "Your mother was indeed anxious to get you away."
Van said a few Gaelic curses under her breath. Then a thought struck her. "How do you know my father is a Jacobite? Your mother had quite forgotten."
"My mother, bless her, is completely oblivious of politics. As your mother must be too, or she would never have arranged this visit. I thought it was suspicious the moment I heard about it."
Van's fine lips turned slightly down. "Suspicious?" she asked dangerously.
He stared at her, his blue eyes cold. "If not suspicious, than certainly odd."
"If you have such objections to my visit, then why did you allow me to come?" she asked. Her chin had lifted in a gesture of perfectly unconscious arrogance.
"Because my mother was so pleased at the thought of having you," he replied grimly. "I was serious last night, you know. She has been planning for this visit for months."
Van's eyes fell to her own narrow hands on the reins. "Oh," she said.
"And if you do or say anything to upset or embarrass her," he continued evenly, "I will murder you, Vanessa."
Van's head jerked up. "I have no intention of embarrassing your mother!"
"Then you are really here just for social purposes?" He was pushing her relentlessly, his blue eyes cold and piercing.
Van's long lashes came down. "Of course," she said out of a suddenly constricted throat.
"It has nothing to do with the Chevalier's recent busy visits to France?"
"He is a prince, cousin, not a chevalier," she said defiantly.
"What he is," Edward returned grimly, "is a damn nuisance."
Van flung back her head. "He is the rightful heir to the throne!" she flared. "His father, King James, is our rightful king. The elector is nothing but a... a usurper."
"King George," he replied very deliberately, "is the duly chosen king of Great Britain."
"Chosen by whom?" Van shot back.
"Chosen by Parliament."
"Parliament doesn't have the right to choose a king," Van said fiercely. "That right is God's."
"And that, my dear Vanessa, is where we differ."
"Don't call me your dear Vanessa," Van snapped.
"It's true, you're not at all like a Vanessa," he agreed cordially. "However did you get the name?"
"It was my grandmother's," she replied reluctantly. Then, "At home they call me Van."
"Much more suitable," he agreed, and she glared at him. She did not want his approval.
"We differ in that I think the king should be responsible to Parliament and you think he should be responsible only to himself," Edward continued impeturbably. "It is the difference between an absolute monarchy and a constitutional monarchy. We in Britain want a constitutional monarchy, and so we have King George."
Van knew nothing of absolute versus constitutional monarchies. She knew only one thing. "King James has the right." He didn't reply and Van frowned in thought. He had not, she realized, answered her original question. "How did you know my father was a Jacobite?" she asked again.
"It's my business to know those things," he replied briefly.
Van's face was aloof and reserved. "You have a position in the government, I believe your mother said."
"Yes." He was riding bareheaded and a breeze blew up and stirred the thick golden hair at his forehead. He looked over at her austere, beautiful profile. "I know that the Chevalier has been in France. I know that there has been activity in the Highlands. I know about Murray of Broughton's visits."
Van felt a stab of fear. "My," she said with an effort at lightness, "I had no idea we were objects of such flattering interest."
"And I wondered very seriously, when my mother received Lady Morar's request, if perhaps you
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