“Broadening the mind by travel—” Euphie started.

“I have no intention of touring the continent.” George cut Euphie off before she could gather wind and babble about traveling until they reached London. “Perhaps I could marry Cecil Barclay.”

“Cecil!” Violet gaped at her sister as if she’d announced her intention of wedding a codfish. One would think Violet would be a little more sympathetic, considering her own near predicament. “Have you gone raving mad? You’ll trample Cecil as if he were a fluffy bunny rabbit.”

“What do you mean?” George swallowed and pressed her hand to her belly. “You make me sound like a harpy.”

“Well, now that you mention it . . .”

George narrowed her eyes.

“Mr. Pye is quiet, but at least he never backed down from you.” Violet’s eyes widened. “Have you considered what he’ll do when he finds out you’ve run away from him? It’s the silent ones who have the worst tempers, you know.”

“I don’t know where you get these melodramatic ideas. And besides, I haven’t run away.” George ignored her sister, pointedly glancing around the carriage, which was presently bumping out of Yorkshire. “And I don’t think he will do anything.” Her stomach rolled at the thought of Harry finding her gone.

Violet looked doubtful. “Mr. Pye didn’t strike me as the kind of man to just sit back and let his woman find another man to marry.”

“I am not Mr. Pye’s woman.”

“I’m not sure what else you would call it—”

“Violet!” George clutched the tin basin under her chin. I will not cast up. I will not cast up. I will no—

“Are you feeling quite the thing, my lady?” Euphie piped. “Why, you look almost green. Do you know, your mother bore that exact same face when she was”—the companion leaned forward and hissed as if a gentleman might somehow hear her inside the moving carriage—“increas-ing with Lady Violet.” Euphie sat back and blushed a bright pink. “But of course that can’t be your problem.”

Violet stared at Euphie as if mesmerized.

Tiggle buried her face in her hands.

And George groaned. She was going to die before she made it to London.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE’S GONE?” Harry tried to keep his voice even. He stood in the front hall of Woldsly. He’d come here to see his lady, only to have the butler tell him that she’d left over an hour ago.

Greaves backed up a step. “Exactly that, Mr. Pye.” The butler cleared his throat. “Lady Georgina accompanied by Lady Violet and Miss Hope left quite early this morning for London.”

“The hell you say.” Had she received urgent news about a relative, maybe one of her brothers?

“Mr. Pye.” The butler drew himself up in offense.