Chapters (46)
- Front Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Epilogue
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- Back Cover
As promised, Morgan knocked and left the navy-colored livery of their household servants outside her door. Scooping it up, she said a brief prayer of thanks that her dress didn’t button up the back, making the solo costume change much easier. Once dressed in the breeches and buttoning the coat, she turned to the mirror and studied her reflection. The clothes were, thankfully, a little large, hiding her feminine form. Still, she took off the jacket and wrapped her chest with a long cloth, binding her breasts to make them even less noticeable under the coat. Approving of the change, she turned her attention to her hair. Morgan had left a top hat beside the clothing, and she fleetingly wondered if she could pin it in place. Surely it was similar to a ladies’ hat, was it not? If she could tuck her hair into a high knot, then pin the hat, it should work.
Several minutes later, she studied her reflection and decided it would have to do. The hat was tipped forward so that it would be easier to hide her face if she lowered her chin. This was an addlebrained idea, but it would prevent anyone asking questions about why Lord Penderdale would take her to the holding place of criminals.
Good Lord. A shudder rippled through her. She couldn’t imagine what the tattle papers would say about such an event. She tugged on white gloves and smoothed her pants much like she’d smooth her skirts. Then she rapped three times on her door and waited for Morgan to open it. Less than a minute passed before the door swung inward to reveal him waiting for her, and she followed him out the door, down the hall, and into the back alley of their home.
“You’ll sit here.” He pointed to the groom’s seat.
“Obviously.” Joan allowed a bit of dryness in her response as she took her brother’s offered hand and sat on the small seat.
“Now, keep your head down, and I’ll take a bit of a roundabout way to the holding place. We’ve not moved the culprit into the prison yet, which makes this easier. I wouldn’t dare take you to that hellhole.”
Joan nodded and adjusted her placement on the seat, keeping her eyes and face averted downward.
Morgan snapped the ribbons and directed the horse to the front. Soon they were traveling through Mayfair toward Whitehall. They passed Charing Cross of Central London, moving down to Horse Guards, the seat of the War Office. Joan kept her head lowered, only her eyes darting about, taking in the scenes of a bustling Westminster.