For a wild moment, I considered herding everyone back into the carriage and departing, posthaste, before Tully and Leonard, our maids, unloaded our trunks and boxes from the luggage carriage with the help of Weatherly. But no—it was not feasible. Such a departure would be too odd, and besides, neither my sister nor Lady Hester would be able to manage it. They were at the end of their strength.

“You are all most welcome,” Charlotte said. “Hanford will show you to your rooms. Please join us in the drawing room after you have settled in, or do rest if you prefer, Mrs. Carter. We keep country hours here, so dinner will be at six.”

I moved to walk beside Evan, but he gave a small shake of his head.

Good Lord, what was I thinking? Or not thinking—it had been more an impulse from my heart than a rational decision. I had to take my own advice and exercise more caution.

I fell back beside Julia, who took my hand, her tight grip mirroring my own strained nerves.

And so the jolly house party moved indoors.

24

Julia paced across my bedchamber, turned on her heel at the window where I sat, and paced back.

“What are we to do, Gus?” she demanded.

“For the moment, nothing, my dear.” I would have liked to pace alongside her, but it was best if only one of us was in a whirl at a time.

We were not in our customary rooms; Charlotte, with her usual quick wits, had placed us all in the east wing, as far away from Mrs. Ellis-Brant as possible. I had been given the Chart Room, decorated in eggshell blue, with a pretty cornflower paper on the walls, and silk furnishings. More importantly, it looked out upon the stables, and I could see Evan down below in conversation with Porty, whose stringy stature was in stark contrast to my love’s muscular build. Look up, I willed, but of course he did not. One must always temper one’s romanticism with a dose of reality.

A knock upon the door halted my sister’s agitated progress back across the room. Since I had a fair idea who it would be, I said, “Come in.”

As expected, the door opened to admit Lady Hester, supported by Miss Grant. Neither had divested themselves of their outerwear and bonnets, and Lady Hester had wrapped a further two paisley shawls over her pelisse to counter the chill of the hall’s stone walls.

Miss Grant closed the door. “Are we alone?”

“We are, but—”