She sipped the brandy, and the fire burned straight into her stomach, mixing with the bile in bitter upset. “I am sorry—”

Mr. Dunkirk held up his hand to stop her and shook his head in silence. Sinking into the nearest chair, he covered his eyes with his free hand. They sat in silence a while longer, until at last he lifted his head, shewing his red-rimmed eyes. “It was not my intent to place you in this position. Nor Beth’s, for that matter. Your friendship has meant so much to her.”

“It is only natural that she blame me for betraying her trust. Even if she did not overhear me telling you about Captain Livingston, she surely must have suspected from his unwillingness to approach you.” Knowing this to be true did nothing to ease the pain in Jane’s middle.

He nodded. The only sound in the room was the mantel clock and Jane’s own breath, which tore against the sides of her throat. Mr. Dunkirk studied his brandy, turning the glass in his hands. At last he cleared his throat. “What will your family do?”

“My father has gone to fetch Melody and my mother home. Beyond that I do not know.”

Mr. Dunkirk pursed his lips. “Do you expect them soon?”

“I am not certain. I do not know how far they will have gone before my father catches them, nor how much difficulty he will have in persuading them to turn back.”

“He will not relay the tale there, I hope.” Mr. Dunkirk looked up quickly, his gaze narrowing again.

“He plans to tell them I am ill. Which is not far from the truth.”

“Let me see you home.”

“Surely you need to be with Beth.”

He snorted and set the glass down. “She will not tolerate my presence for hours yet. I have opportunity and a carriage; it is a small enough thing to make amends. Will you—” His face whitened suddenly, staring at the window, even as Jane heard the sound of hoofbeats.

She turned, rising out of her chair as if somehow that would transform the view from the window. Clear enough in the morning sun, Beth leaned close over her mare’s neck, riding away from Robinsford Abbey.

Mr. Dunkirk cursed and dashed to the door of the drawing room, then halted suddenly. “She has gone to him.” Breathing hard, he turned on his heel, strode across the room to the mantel, and snatched the inlaid box of dueling pistols.

“Mr. Dunkirk!” Jane held out her hand, as if that would stop him.

He bowed grimly to her. “It seems that none of us are keeping our promises today.” With that, he sprinted from the room, his face set and hard as stone.

Jane gathered her skirts and raced after him. Mr. Dunkirk shouted for his horse, cursing as he went. Though Jane called after him, pleading with him to do nothing rash, he paid her no more heed than if she were a terrier yapping at his heels. Her only confirmation that he was aware of her presence was when he snapped at a footman, “See to it that Miss Ellsworth is safely home.”