“William!”

Will put down his satchel. The footman who had opened the door to the Saunders’ family home in Dover Street moved swiftly to one side as Caroline Saunders launched herself at her older brother. She flung her arms around Will and held onto him with grim determination. He groaned as he felt the air in his lungs being squeezed out of his body.

“I missed you. Where have you been? Your trunk arrived yesterday. Mama is so very cross with you. Why didn’t you come home?”

Caroline’s words tumbled out, she didn’t bother pausing to draw breath. Will's home coming was never going to be a quiet one. His first reception home earlier in the year had been marked with tears and long emotional hugs on all sides. When he had returned home in May it had been nearly five years since he had left England. Even his brother Francis, a young man renowned for his lack of emotional display had been in his own words a blubbering mess.

Now he was home for good.

As his father gently prised Caroline off her brother, he and Will shared a grin. Will offered his father his hand, which was promptly seized as Charles Saunders pulled his first born into his own welcoming embrace.

“So good to have you safely home mon fils, so good,” he said.

“We were expecting you home yesterday. Mama sent notes to half of London demanding to know where you were,” Caroline noted.

Will shrugged his shoulders, there was no point in going into details.

“The ship was delayed in the English Channel due to bad weather. I had a couple of errands to run after we docked, and by the time I had finished them, it was late. I stayed at Bat and Rosemary's house last night,” he replied.

He felt obliged to explain the circumstances of his journey back to England fully to his father, but now was not the time. Now was the time for allowing his parents and siblings to rejoice in his return. To embrace the beginning of his new life back in London.

“Is mama out? The house is far too quiet,” he asked.

He had not heard the excited squeal of his mother, which knowing Adelaide Saunders was most uncustomary.

Caroline rolled her eyes, at which her father gave her a disapproving glare.

“They are at Rosemount House paying a house call to Countess Rosemount,” his father replied.

“Dearest sister, Eve has gone and got it into her muddled head that she wants to marry Freddie Rosemount. Daft idea if you ask me,” said Caroline.

Eve was in love? Will paused, taken aback by this unexpected revelation. Nowhere in Eve's regular correspondence had she confided in him news of her heart. It would be disappointing to have his sister married and move out of the family home just as he returned. He had assumed that for at least the next few years he would be able to see the whole of his family whenever he visited home. Eve’s pending engagement was a sharp reminder that during the years of his absence, his brother and sisters had grown to adulthood.

Eve, always thinking of her brother had obviously decided not to tell him of her future happiness. Not when she thought him still to be carrying a broken heart over the loss of Yvette.

A matter of months ago she would have been close to the truth, but things had changed in his life. A late summer visit in Paris from their cousin Lady Lucy Radley and her new husband Avery Fox had opened his eyes to the possibility of love once more.

The days spent with Hattie had made that notion now seem real. The ghost of Yvette was letting him go. Pushing him toward the happiness he knew his late wife would so earnestly wish for him.

“Well I hope he is deserving of her and makes her happy,” replied Will.

Caroline raised an eyebrow. She had been all of fifteen when Will had left. In the intervening years Caroline had blossomed into a stunning beauty. Her maturity at times however lagged behind her looks. With luck he would still have time to see her grow into a sensible young woman before she too fell into the arms of love.

“I am not moving out of your old room. It's mine!” a voice bellowed.

Will looked up to see his younger brother, Francis waving at him from the top of the stairs. He hurried down to greet Will. His greeting consisted of several friendly whacks on Will's back and a bone crushing handshake.

Francis had been five feet eight inches tall to Will’s six foot when Will first departed. Now at well over six feet four inches tall, Francis towered over his older brother.

Will placed a hand on the back of his neck, feigning discomfort. “Is it snowing up there?” he joked.

Francis, who possessed a shock of white hair, laughed.

“Very funny. I cannot help it if you are a short chap. You would have fitted in perfectly with all those little Frenchmen. Any wonder they never discovered who you really were.”

Will chuckled. Whomever had started the rumor about Frenchmen being short in stature had never lived in Paris.

“Come now, let your brother get settled in and then you can tease him all you wish. He is not going anywhere,” said Charles.

Will noted the happy pitch in his father's voice. It was good to be home and among family once more.

In his room, just down the hall from his old room, Will emptied the contents of his satchel and placed them on his dresser. As he closed the dresser drawer, his gaze settled on the wall.

The same familiar wallpaper covered the walls of the room. Red, white, and blue stripes covered most of the pattern. In between there was a stripe with a red rose and gold fleur de lis intertwined. It signified the union of the Scottish house of Strathmore and that of the French Alexandre.

Charles Alexandre, had changed his family name to Saunders not long after the bloodletting of the terror had started in his home region of the Vendee. His father, Francois, had been an early and vigorous supporter of the French Revolution. Then seeing the madness which eventually gripped his beloved nation at the hands of Robespierre during his murderous rule Francois returned to being a royalist. Following the Battle of Savenay which saw the uprising in the Vendee brutally crushed, Francois Alexandre had met his end under the blade of the guillotine.

After the violent death of his father, Charles turned his back on his country and became as English as he could. It was the English born and raised Will who eventually succumbed to the pull of Mother France and vowed to help rid her of yet another tyrant in Napoleon.

Outside in the street Will could hear the cry of the street sellers. It was odd to hear the sound of an east London accent outside the window. He was home, but forever a part of his heart would remain in Paris.

Earlier that morning he taken a stroll down Duke Street, and stopped at the nearest pie shop. The shopkeeper had given him a disapproving look when Will replied to his morning greeting with a polite bonjour. So, ingrained in the ways of French life, Will still often found himself thinking in his father’s mother tongue.

Crossing to the window he looked down into the street. Wide and with well-maintained stone flagging, Dover Street was most unlike the tiny, narrow Parisian streets he knew so well. The houses had been so tightly packed together, a sure-footed man, or woman in Yvette’s case, could pass undetected over the roof tops. Many a time they had done just that to avoid the regular street patrols of the French army.

He was eager to see the rest of his family, sure in the knowledge that a few days at home would help to settle his mind. Bat had assured him that during that time he would make subtle enquiries as to the whereabouts of Hattie Wright.

“She let enough provable facts slip into her story, that we just need to follow the trail of breadcrumbs to find her,” his cousin reassured him.