" Our guest”—she gave Nicolas a hard look, willing him to behave himself—“is not bound because Monsieur le Comte de Brillac has expressed a desire to become our ally.” Miss Gwen snorted. “Oh, is that what he’s calling himself now?” Miles looked at Miss Gwen with interest. “Do you mean the count thingy, or ally?” Nicolas stepped into the middle of the room with the grace of a born performer. “Both, I assure you, are true. The title of Comte de Brillac comes to me from my mother’s husband. Ally, I hope, is a title I may earn.” He bowed towards the door, where four marines were staggering beneath the burden of an unconscious Braganza. “May Her Majesty Queen Maria be the first token of my good intentions.” “Rather a large token,” muttered Miles. “The size of the token,” said Nicolas, with a courtly bow, “is a representation of the sincerity of my commitment.” Or of Queen Maria’s fondness for biscoitos, but Jane decided not to press that point. "