George wished she could do the same. Alas, she was not built to sleep in a rattling, bouncing carriage. At every posting station she got out and stretched her legs while the postilion changed horses. Sometimes she purchased food or drink, and at others she had to convince Aunt Dottie that making a call of nature would not hold them up. Not that there was a choice.

*   *   *

“Where are we?” The voice startled her. Aunt Dottie was sitting up, yawning, but wide awake. She peered out of the window, rubbing the mist away with her glove.

“I’m not sure. I was miles away, not taking much notice of where we are, I’m afraid.”

Aunt Dottie nodded. She seemed calmer now. Perhaps because of the weeping storm and the sleep, or perhaps it was simply that they were on their way and there was nothing else to be done except wait to arrive.

George opened her mouth, then closed it. Would it upset Aunt Dottie to talk about Logan or not? She didn’t want to stir up her distress once more. Then again it might help pass the time if they talked.

Aunt Dottie took the decision from her. “I suppose you’re wondering. All this fuss for a butler.”

George nodded cautiously.

“You know, of course, that he’s not just a butler, that he’s much more to me than that, don’t you?”

George didn’t know what to say. She did think he was just a butler; he was clearly the kind of butler who was almost one of the family. “Like Martha was more to me than just a cook or housekeeper?”

Aunt Dottie gave a tremulous smile and shook her head. “Not quite the same.” She snuggled back into her corner seat, pulled the rug around her and settled down to tell her story. “I’ve known Logan since I was a young girl. He was one of my father’s grooms. I remember the day he first started work—I was almost fifteen. I’m talking about Ashendon Court—that was my home back then, of course.”

She gave a fluttery, reminiscent sigh. “So young and tall and handsome he was—he’s only three years older than I am, but three years seems an age when you’re not quite fifteen and he’s already turned eighteen.”

She smiled mistily. “Of course I fell in love with him. What girl wouldn’t? I wasn’t mad about horses back then—I rode, of course, but it wasn’t a passion with me, not like it is with you, dear. But once Logan started work, oh, my, yes, I positively haunted the stables. Papa was so pleased to think I was finally taking an interest in his horses. But of course my fascination was entirely with Logan.”