We were, of course, not invited to a house party at Bertie’s, but his seat was in the opposite direction from the Davenport estate where, I hoped, Charlotte would be able to hide Hester and Miss Grant. And if that was not possible, then we must find somewhere suitable along the road. Whatever the case, we had to leave London as soon as we could. I reached under the table and caught Julia’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

She glanced at me: Is he safe?

I gave a small nod: Safe.

A knit of her brow: And Mr. Kent?

I lifted my brows: You’ll see.

Duffy sat back in his chair. “Cholton?” He looked across at Julia. “Surely you would come to us rather than go to Bertie Cholton.”

“It is a kind invitation, Duffy, but we cannot disappoint Bertie,” Julia said. I knew it pained her to refuse our brother and the possibility of our renewed family harmony. I squeezed her hand again—this time in thanks. And in preparation.

“Frankly, Duffy,” I said, “I would rather spend Christmas in a workhouse than with you and Harriet.”

“What?” He stared at me for a second, unable to comprehend my words, then collected himself into righteous indignation. “Am I to be refused with so little civility from my own sister?” He turned to Julia. “You asked me to forgive her, and here I am—as you asked, as you begged—offering the olive branch. But she is bent upon maintaining a grudge. You must see it now. And she is dragging you into her old-woman venom. Do not think this invitation will be repeated.”

He stood, making a jerky bow to Miss Grant and Julia. “I will take my leave, Julia, and of you, Miss Dashwood.” He glared at me. “I do not take my leave of you, Augusta. You will not receive my courtesy until you behave in the manner of a gentlewoman and a sister.”

On that, he walked from the room, Samuel scrambling to open the door for him.

“Oh dear,” Julia said softly as our footman followed our brother from the room and closed the door behind their departure. “I suppose that was necessary.”

I squeezed her hand again. “I am afraid so. He is too close to Deele.”

“Are we really to go to Lord Cholton?” Miss Grant asked, frowning. “If Lord Duffield mentions it to Lord Deele—”

“No, we do not go to Lord Cholton. We go to the Countess Davenport.” I held up my hand, forestalling any further discussion to listen to the sound of Duffy in the hallway, demanding his cane and hat from Weatherly, then the front door opening as Samuel ducked out to call our brother’s coach waiting farther down the square.