She sighed. “The Rutherford men have a great deal to answer for—all so selfish and so arrogant. All except for dear Cal—I wonder how he turned out so different? Protective and responsible and loving. Did his mother play Alfred false, I wonder?”

George opened her mouth to object, but Aunt Dottie shook her head. “I suppose not. All you have to do is look at the family portraits, and you’ll see his likeness looking back at you from a dozen frames. Yours too, my dear—anyone can see at a glance you’re a true Rutherford. But Cal is kind—which is not a male Rutherford trait. Interesting, isn’t it? I wonder who little Bertie will take after . . .”

Before George could suggest that with Emm and Cal as parents, young Bertie couldn’t go wrong, the carriage pulled into an inn yard, the wheels rattling loudly over the cobbles. Darkness had fallen. Ostlers ran out. The postilion dismounted and walked a little stiffly toward them.

Aunt Dottie peered out into the lowering gloom. “What is it, postboy? Why are we stopping?”

He opened the carriage door. “We’ll stop the night here, ladies.”

“No, no!” Aunt Dottie’s face crumpled worriedly. “We must go on.”

He gestured at the sky. “No moon tonight, and even if there was, see that there fog gatherin’ in the hollows? It’s good and thick and it’s only going to get worse. Can’t drive on a moonless night in the fog, m’lady. Too dangerous.”

“Light some lanterns then.” Aunt Dottie’s voice rose with incipient panic. “We have to go on.”

The postboy—he was about forty and no boy—shook his head. “Sorry, m’lady, but I won’t do it.”

“I’ll pay you extra to go on.” She clutched her reticule, and George wondered if it was a bluff. Aunt Dottie never usually carried money.

He hesitated, and shifted uncomfortably, but shook his head. “Not worth me life, ma’am, nor yours.” He glanced at George, a silent plea for her support. “Best stay the night, m’lady, safe and warm in the inn—it’s a good place, clean and honest—and we’ll go on first thing in the morning.”

George slid an arm around her. “He’s right, Aunt Dottie. You wouldn’t do Logan any good if you had an accident on the way. We’ll leave first thing in the morning, at dawn.”

“Dawn.” Aunt Dottie’s eyes filled with tears. “You know that’s when people . . . you know. Just before the dawn . . .”

George squeezed her gently. There was nothing to say to that. “Come along, Aunt Dottie.”

All the fight drained from the old lady. All the hope too, George could see. She seemed to have aged ten years in the last day. The last ten minutes.