I looked out the stairwell window at the sodden garden. It had been my idea—no, in truth, my insistence—that brought us here for sanctuary, and now danger was closing in from all sides. We would, I think, have to flee soon. But to where?

Rivulets of water ran down the window glass. The rain had not eased at all. No miracle yet, and we sorely needed one. Hopefully tomorrow it would be waiting for us in Blackburn.

27

My next step, I finally decided, was to have a note delivered to Evan.

I sent a footman to find Weatherly for me, then returned to my room and wrote the message: a brief précis of what had happened in the gallery, the fear around the arrival of Lord Alvanley and Mr. Brummell, and most importantly a proposal to meet in the stables once again.

Before long, I heard Weatherly’s particular knock upon my door and bade him enter.

“Good morning, my lady.”

I turned from pressing the wafer upon the parchment to seal the note. My butler closed the door and stood watching me, his calm manner always bringing comfort. He had, I noted, dressed in his blue Sunday coat, not his butler black.

“How is it, Weatherly? Is Hanford deliriously happy to see you?”

Weatherly allowed a small smile at the long-standing joke. It was, admittedly, rather singular of Julia and me to travel with our butler, especially to houses that were presided over by their own senior man, but I trusted our safety and comfort to no one else. He had accompanied us on a number of occasions to Davenport Hall, but he was yet to receive any collegial warmth from Mr. Hanford. Two butlers in one house was clearly an affront to the man—especially, I think, a Black butler—thus Weatherly’s slightly less formal attire.

“Actually, my lady, this time I have made some headway,” he said. “Mr. Hanford has asked me if I would be willing to valet for Mr. Talbot since neither Lord Davenport’s man nor Mr. Ellis-Brant’s will see to him. He knows it is a step down so sees it as a great favor. I said I must obtain your permission.”

I sat forward in my chair. “Of course you can—it works to our advantage—but why will the other valets not dress Lord Evan?”

Weatherly tilted his head, an amused squint to his eye. “There is some notion among the staff that he is here under false pretenses and is Lady Davenport’s lover.”

“Good God, we only thought of that last night and it has reached the servants’ hall already?” An alarmingly fast transmission of gossip, which brought another concern hard on its heels. “Are they talking of anything else? What do they say about Mrs. Carter and Miss Dashwood?”