She took his offer—her gloved hand wrapping warm and strong and sure around his own—and settled herself across from him, placing her bag on the floor beside her feet. She sat tense and silent in the shadows.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Her eyes flashed, a cold blue like a cloudless sky on a winter day. “Do I not seem the sort to know my mind?”
“Of course you do. But I am no fool. What you do, we do—it is perilously close to what we’re trying to stop.”
Her gaze drifted to her lap. “Our reasons for setting out together are entirely different. I understand the risks, but I have had a hand in this, and I will not sit idly by and let you shoulder all the responsibility. Lady Macintosh will simply tell everyone I am still ill and staying abed.”
“You are not, are you?”
She shook her head, and relief swamped him.
When had he ever shared the responsibility? Not since it had all at once been thrust upon him. But here, now, sat an indomitable woman, capable and caring. Relying on her gave him strength.
Outside, the streets were coming alive with the evening passersby stopping to chat, carrying joys and sorrows they hid behind bonnets and top hats. They wore anger in the billowing shirtsleeves below shaking fists and hesitance in the mincing steps of their boots. London was alive, and for the first time in years, he felt alive, too.
“How will we find her?” he asked.
“What did the note say?”
He reached into his pocket and passed along the slip of paper he’d not released since opening it earlier that morning. So long ago, but just a breath ago as well.
“Samuel,” she read aloud, “I am for Gretna Green. Do not be angry. I do this for love. You will understand. And no harm shall come to me. Your sister, Felicity.” She dropped the letter to her skirts with a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Youthful dramatics. But… she did not say it was with Bransley. I had assumed…”
“So did I, but you are correct. She does not name the man. Any chance she’s gone alone? Something other than marriage on her mind?”
“To Gretna Green?”
He covered his eyes.
And the touch of her fingers settled on his knee. “We’ll find her.”
“Why didn’t she speak with me? She can choose who she pleases, and as long as he is no harm to her, as long as he is who she wants, I will not stand in her way!” He tugged at his hair. Maddening. Every bit of this driving him mad.
“I cannot say. But we will find out.”
We. Yes, that helped. He was not alone in this frantic chase north.
The coach slowed, and he recognized the street, the building on it. “I’ll return shortly. Stay right here.”
“Where are you going?”
He opened the door and peered up at Hotel Hestia. “To ask for accommodations.”
Samuel entered the hotel as if he owned it, then made his way to the very top floor without being bothered. The staff knew him, knew his connection to the hotel’s owner.
He knocked on Trent's study door.
“Come in,” Trent said from the other side, and Samuel pushed through. Looking up from behind his desk, Trent set his quill down, tilted his head. “Clearford. This is a surprise.”
“Welcome!” A man sat opposite Trent, tilting his chair onto its back two legs, feet propped up on the desk. Lord Helston, another brother-in-law. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“What's he doing here?” Samuel asked Trent.
Trent shrugged. “He seems to think, because we have married twins, he and I are fated to be the closest of friends. He's here all the time now.”
Samuel stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He’d never been sure what to make of Helston. He and Imogen’s marriage was not made of romance but of practical amiability. “Can I trust you, Helston?”
