“Why did you say murder, Jane?”

“Mr. Dunkirk. He left Robinsford Abbey with dueling pistols.”

Mr. Ellsworth straightened at that, his jaw setting. “And you tried to stop him?”

“I had no time.” Had Mr. Dunkirk more regard for her opinions he would have paused. She could only hope that his ride might have given his heart time to cool from the rage and that her words might this time win their way with reason. Jane looked away from her father, down the road toward Bath, as if she might yet be able to spy Lady FitzCameron’s carriage and Mr. Dunkirk. But nothing lay in view but her family’s own carriage and the cluster of people tending her mother. The horses, untended, cropped the grass by the side of the road, utterly oblivious to the humans’ turmoil.

Mr. Buffington’s horse was a fine stallion, rangy, with bunched energy shewing in his every motion. Without being fully conscious of forming a plan, Jane walked to the stallion, took up his reins, and reached for the stirrup. Her father was by her side, helping her up. “I doubt he would listen to me, or I would go in your place. We will follow you, but be careful.”

Jane then faced Mr. Buffington’s saddle, and quailed as she realized she would need to ride astride the horse. Her dress, unsuited to the task, rode up to her knees, leaving her calves strangely exposed. If Mr. Buffington thought her a madwoman before, his opinion would be confirmed by the sight of her now.

Jane pressed her heels to the horse, and he surged forward, making her glad she was not seated sidesaddle. Mr. Buffington shouted as she rode past. She heard another shriek from her mother, which quickly faded under the sound of the horse’s hooves.

Faster than she thought possible, she galloped down the road toward Bath. She turned once in the saddle to look back, but a bend in the road hid her family from view.

Jane had barely had time to get used to the sensation of being astride a horse when she topped a rise in the road and spotted the FitzCameron carriage ahead of her. She could tell no more than that it was stopped before the horse plunged down the next slope and it passed from view.

Jane prayed fervently as she pushed the horse forward, and at last thundered around the final bit of landscape that masked her from the scene. The carriage stood in the road by a field, with Lady FitzCameron leaning out of it. Across the field from her, Mr. Vincent held Beth, who struggled in his arms. Between them, Mr. Dunkirk and Captain Livingston paced away from one another, holding pistols in their hands.

She was too late. She had arrived too late.

Not until Jane actually pulled her horse up on the scene did anyone register her presence; the two duelists were focused on their task, and Beth’s attention was fixed upon them.