Surprised at seeing him, I forgot how to apply the brakes. There was a flash of a white face and startled eyes before Lady Valentina opted for the safety of the grass. Meanwhile, the duke took the collision of my bicycle with his back. Since boulders do not bounce, I sadly lost the day.

“Madame Chalamet, may I assist you?” The duke’s voice was politely detached, as if he was asking a poor relation to partner him at a dance held at an inferior establishment.

As I gripped the duke’s hand to stand up, I heard a ripping sound. The chain held my skirt! So much for the safety guard; the manufacturer would get a strongly worded letter and a bill for damages tomorrow.

“Stop moving. You’re making it worse,” commanded the duke. He bent down to untangle the hem of my skirt. “You’re free now, but I fear your machine isn’t in good shape.”

Sadly, I looked down to find the front wheel crooked and bent. How would I get it back to the Crown?

“Tristan!” said Lady Valentina, who was being helped to her feet by a passing stranger.

He ignored her, asking me, “Are you hurt? That was quite a tumble.”

“No, I’m fine.”

This meeting threw me into confusion and I felt myself blushing. The last time we had seen each other was two months ago after solving the mystery of the king’s tiara, and this wasn’t the meeting I had fabricated in my mind. It was supposed to take place with me wearing an elegant evening dress and greeting him with a smooth laugh. Instead I looked an absolute fright, with grass and grease stains on my skirt and my hair trailing down my back.

As usual, he was impeccable in his turnout. Walking coat, frock coat, trousers, and vest, all tailored to perfection. His snow-white cravat was tied in the square knot style known as The Intellectual.

Lady Valentina came to his side and possessively put her arm within his own. “Since Madame Chalamet says she is fine, can we continue our way through the park? Or does she want to knock us down again?”
Archambeau absentmindedly patted her arm before dropping it.

“I think I must help a lady in distress, Valentina. I doubt she can get this thing home in the condition it is now.” Stepping to the curb, he hailed a passing quick-cab. As it pulled up, the duke asked me, “Are you still at the Crown Hotel, Madame Chalamet?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

One royal coin, joined with a few others, exchanged hands. “Would you take Madame Chalamet’s damaged vehicle to the Crown Hotel?”

“Eh?” said the man. Archambeau pointed to the Lady’s Safety Edition bicycle, now sadly crumpled, and, at the emergence of more coins, he speedily complied. In a moment, the two men had the bicycle on the back of the quick-cab.

I moved to leave with it, but the duke stopped me.

“Even a brave Ghost Talker must feel rattled after taking such a tumble. Come and sit with us before you return home. You can entertain us with tales about your latest haunts.”

Perhaps I would have said no, but the anger on Lady Valentina’s face at her brother’s words made me agree. Taking my arm with one of his own, and using the other for his sister, we left the park, crossing the road to the other side, where cafés bordered the canal.

He stopped at one and found us a table. Within seconds of us being seated, a waiter promptly appeared. Perhaps he recognized the duke, or maybe it was the expensive tailoring which gained us such exceptional service. Regardless of the reason, our table soon boasted hot tea and coffee.

“Put some sugar in that, Chalamet,” the duke ordered, and before I could comply, he dropped a cube into my cup and gave it a swirl with one of his own spoons. Normally I would have protested Archambeau’s high-handedness, but with a hot drink in front of me, I realized that sitting down felt good. The accident had shaken me more than I’d realized.

Some thin lemon biscuits appeared, as well as toasted bread points and a soft creamy cheese flavored with fresh herbs. It all was delicious, but this spread of hospitality did not appease Lady Valentina. She refused to sit down, even as more plates, knives, cups, and food continued to appear.

“I shall make my way home alone, then,” she said loftily.

Scraping a generous portion of cheese across a piece of toasted bread, the duke replied calmly, “That would probably be best. I shall see to Madame Chalamet.”

“I will let Mother know what delayed you.”

“Do whatever you think best, Valentina.”

The woman left, her back as flat as a brick, and I couldn’t stop myself from saying when she was out of earshot, “I hope I didn’t make your quarrel worse with my appearance.”

“I see your powers of observation remain as keen as ever, Chalamet, though perhaps not powerful enough to avoid hitting people walking a public footpath.”