Two silent hours later, we approached the gates of Charlotte’s estate. The apprehension that had clenched my innards since London finally eased; we had found sanctuary. At least for a while.

I gently shook Julia’s shoulder. She opened her eyes, blinking away the haze of slumber.

“We have arrived,” I said. “It has finally stopped raining.”

Julia sat up and peered out the window as we passed the gray-stone Davenport estate gatehouse. The gatekeeper raised a hand in greeting to John Driver, then sounded his horn to herald our arrival. Our carriage crunched and splashed along the gravel driveway, the luggage coach lumbering behind. The old sentinel oaks on either side were still clothed in magnificent autumnal reds, and I spied the estate’s small deer herd in the distance springing away from the thud and clatter of our arrival.

“What time is it?” my sister asked, stifling a yawn.

I gathered my fob watch upon its chain and consulted it in the dwindling afternoon light. “Ten past three o’clock,” I reported.

“It feels later,” Julia said, faint irritation in her voice. She was, I think, more unwell than she wanted to admit.

“It gets dark earlier this far north,” I said. “We are just past Wales.”

Beside her, Hester stirred under Miss Grant’s gentle hand, her eyes fluttering open. She greeted the sight of her love with a smile. Lud, the sweetness of it was so like her brother’s expression.

My fear for Evan—never far from my mind or heart—surged through me. But I had been reminded over the last few days that there was no benefit in living a dread that had not yet happened. It only created exhaustion. I drew a deeper breath and focused on the immediate matter at hand.

“Remember, while we are here you are Mrs. Carter, convalescing widow, and her sister, Miss Dashwood, our dear friends from Bournemouth,” I said to them. “Only Countess Davenport knows who you truly are, and she—”

“I know,” Miss Grant said sharply. “I made a mistake before, but you do not need to keep reminding us.”

Admittedly, my coaching may have been a little too persistent during our journey, but we could not afford any more mistakes. Servants and neighbors liked to gossip, and the true names of a runaway lady and her companion might reach the ears of Lord Deele.

“Lady Augusta is merely concerned for our safety, Lizzie,” said Hester, taking Miss Grant’s hand in gentle remonstrance. She turned her Belford smile upon me. “We will remember and play our parts.”