The driver opened his mouth to give a quick answer but paused when the passenger raised his eyebrows. At last, he spoke as if the words were forced out of him. “P’raps he’s got the right of it. The wheel’s hit a frozen rut and the axle’s broke. It’s only three miles to the last posting inn.”

He then surveyed her cloaked figure with interest. “We’ll jest unhitch these horses, and you can ride with me.”

The flash of revulsion that hit her was involuntary and instantaneous. “No, I don’t think I shall join you,” Selena said in a strong voice that surprised even her.

The portmanteau, which she had been cradling in her arms, she took securely by the handle. “I will seek shelter at the house over yonder, whose windows are lit. I am quite sure they will take pity on my plight and lend their assistance. You are to bring my trunk to the next stop as planned, and I’ll have Lady Harrowden send someone to pick it up at the posting inn there tomorrow.”

Selena spoke with a confidence she was far from feeling. “In any case, should brigands come to loot the carriage while you are away, goodness knows I have nothing of value to steal.” She did not wait for their reaction but turned and began to walk.

A few feet into the tree-lined path, and she could no longer hear their argument, which had sprung back to life in her wake. The silence was a relief. All too well did she know what a vulnerable position she was in, traveling alone with only two men of unknown morals to accompany her. The quicker they forgot about her the better. No, it was more prudent to head toward the manor she saw in the distance. It was of a decent size, which meant servants and respectability; and mentioning she was to visit Lady Harrowden would give her the protection she needed.

The silence became less friendly as she trudged on in the snow, and the house seemed farther than she had first judged. There was a movement in the trees to her right, which set her heart pounding, and her arms ached from the weight of her portmanteau and the books she had stored in it. Her feet burned from cold, and bits of snow slipped into the top of her boots as she sank into the white powder with each step.

Selena arrived at last and rapped the knocker on the front door, which echoed inside. She attempted to swallow the lump in her throat, as she waited in the cold silence, and she cast her gaze about the two-storied stone manor decked with eight windows on each floor. The hoot of an owl came from the trees to her right, and she jumped at the eerie, lonely sound.

Three years should have been sufficient to prepare her for this, but the stretch of time didn’t seem to be enough. One year to recover from the shock of her father having gambled away his entire fortune and plunged himself headlong into drink, for Matthew Downing to rescind his offer of marriage, and for the fickle attention of former friends in the ton to dwindle to nothing. One year to dash all hopes that a new life could be created at her mother’s small property in Bedford where enough of the gentry were connected to the pulse of London’s Society and its delicious gossip. One year to sink further into poverty as her father succumbed in his weakened state to the influenza and the collectors came to take what little there was left.