“Poor Belinda. It hit her especially hard when our mother died,” West said, some ways down the road. “Belinda was her favorite. Betsy has always been stoic, but Belinda was inconsolable for years.”

“It must have been so difficult for you and your sisters.”

“I should have told Blanche and Belinda what Laxton said about them. What if we’re too late? I’ll never forgive myself.”

“You haven’t forgiven yourself for too many things.”

“And now I may have to commit murder.”

Viola turned, her bonnet ribbons fluttering in the breeze. “Murdering, or being murdered, won’t solve anything. It will only make things worse. Violence is never the answer.”

“And yet sometimes it’s unavoidable.”

Even though they couldn’t see eye to eye on anything today except rescuing Belinda, West was very glad Viola sat beside him. Facing this alone would have been unbearable. He simply wanted to be with her. All of the time. When he wasn’t with her he thought about her constantly.

And now that she sat beside him, this horrendous situation seemed more bearable.

“We don’t know that he’s already ruined her,” she said. “We’ll deal with the situation when we know it. And we’ll take measured action. We’ll think about Belinda’s feelings first and foremost. She’ll be very frightened and very sorry right now.”

“Thank you for coming, Viola.”

“Of course. You know that I care for those girls like my own family.”

The road grew rougher and West had to concentrate on driving. A sudden wind whipped up and Viola clutched her bonnet to her head.

“Are we nearly there?” she asked sometime later, when the horses were beginning to flag and the wind had picked up even more.

He gestured into the distance. “The Coach and Horses is up ahead. We’ll try there first. If they’re not there we can ask if they stopped through.”

West threw the lead to a groom upon arrival and they entered the coaching inn. They followed a narrow passageway that opened into a large taproom. The first thing West saw was Belinda sitting at a table, her head cradled in her arms, sobbing as if her heart were broken.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Viola’s heart leaped into her throat. “We’re too late.”

“Where’s Laxton?” West roared. “I’ll murder him.”

Belinda lifted her tearstained face. “H-he’s not here.”

“Which way did he go?”

“West, calm down. Let Belinda explain.”

“Did he harm you?” West demanded.

“Not here,” said Viola, glancing around at the other patrons who were staring with open curiosity.

“A private sitting room,” West called to the innkeeper, as he helped Belinda to her feet. “And quickly.”