“If you must, I will arrange it,” I said. Although how a gentleman was to privately meet a widow to whom he had just been introduced without causing unwanted interest was, at that moment, a little beyond me. I pushed that problem aside and returned to the matter at hand. “For now, go back to your rooms. Do not come down to dinner if you do not feel safe.”

“You can take a dinner tray,” Julia said. “It will set up a precedent so that you will not need to come from your rooms very often.”

Lady Hester stepped back, out of her beloved’s supportive grip. “But I cannot stay locked in a room…No, no, I cannot.”

“You will not be locked in a room,” Miss Grant said soothingly. “We will walk the galleries and take the air, as you wish. There will be no locks.” She took Hester’s arm again and gently steered her to the door. “Come, we will walk now.”

As Miss Grant opened the door, Hester looked back, her face stony. “If I see Deele again—if he comes for me—I will kill myself. Or I will kill him.”

It was said with such quiet conviction that I was at a loss for words. Miss Grant tucked in her chin; she had heard that grim promise before.

The door closed behind them.

“Dear God, what a mess,” Julia said, digging her fingertips into the bridge of her nose. “I am getting a headache.”

She did indeed look pale. “Have you had something to drink?” I asked. “Maybe you need something to eat too. I can ring for tea.”

“Stop fussing!” She drew a deeper breath. “I am sorry, but I cannot abide fussing.”

“It is not fussing to be worried about you.” Her irritability seemed to be increasing daily. “Go, lie down. The journey has been taxing.”

“Do you really think she would kill herself? Or Deele?” Julia asked.

I did, and my sister saw it in my face.

“God help her,” Julia murmured. “And God help us.”

•   •   •

Once Julia had departed, I donned a woolen shawl and made my way out to the stables. I had guessed Evan would be waiting there, and I was right.

He was talking to John Driver with his back to me when I entered the cobbled stable yard, their conversation pitched for privacy. From the way my coachman was nodding, he was receiving instructions. But for what?