The stables and the coach house doors both stood open. Inside the coach house, Charlotte’s pride and joy—an unsuitable perch phaeton with its huge wheels and small double seat—was in prime position, waiting to be hitched on short notice. Inside the stables, the change horses that had brought us here and the Davenport purebreds were being fed in their boxes. I breathed in the familiar and pungent smell of manure and hay. If this had been a normal visit, Charlotte and I would already be planning our rides—including a few illicit gallops astride rather than sidesaddle—and phaeton jaunts around the estate and beyond.

John Driver saw me approach and touched his hat. “Milady.”

Evan turned, his smile a wry acknowledgment of the situation. I smiled back, trying to contain my desire to go straight to him. With remarkable restraint, I directed my attention to my coachman.

“You did well to get here so quickly, John. Thank you.”

“Helped that we had good teams out of Manchester,” he said gruffly. He eyed me and Evan with dawning comprehension—did he feel my longing?—then said, “Well, I’ll be getting along, then, milady.”

He sketched a bow and headed toward the tack room. Good man.

“Come, this way,” Evan said, gesturing for me to follow him into one of the larger outbuildings. He had news; I could tell.

Inside, a large number of hay bales, boxes of winter apples, and grain barrels were stacked in neat order. We made our way farther in, dust motes and tiny pieces of hay flying into the air around us as my gown swept the floor. Evan stopped beside a wall of bales and held out his hands. I took them, wishing I was not wearing gloves. I wanted to feel the warmth of his skin.

“I have found Dr. Lawrence,” he said, his excitement palpable. “Well, to be accurate, Dr. McLeod found two Dr. Lawrences: one in London, whom I have already visited and determined is not our man, and one in Blackburn. I have yet to see this Blackburn doctor, but I have every hope he is the right one.”

“Oh, Evan, so close!” I said. “But why are you staying here, at Davenport Hall? It is too dangerous.”

“Not as dangerous as traveling or sleeping rough around here. There are so many militias in the area.”

“I know, I saw them about ten miles from here.”