She narrowed her eyes at me, then expertly looped the offered reins in her left hand and took the whip in her other. “For heaven’s sake, Gus, you taught me yourself.”

Clearly, still annoyed with me. And she was indeed a competent driver, if not an enthusiastic one.

I waited until Weatherly had hold of the pair’s harness, then gathered the skirts of my habit and found the step down. It was a bad stretch of road: holes and rocks under a canopy of trees that, although autumn-leaf depleted, still blocked some of the meager moonlight.

Ahead, Evan was closing in on the horse. The animal stood alert, watching him approach. It was hard to judge color in the moonlight, but I saw a diamond blaze and no saddle. Without a doubt, Bruno.

I walked to Mr. Kent, still mounted and holding the reins of Evan’s horse as he studied the gloomy woodland on either side.

“Anything?” I asked.

“No signs of trampling through the undergrowth,” he said.

“May I take your lamp?”

He passed it to me and I continued onward, picking my way around the rocks and ruts in the warm circle of its glow. Evan had masterfully caught Bruno and was stroking the horse’s muzzle. I raised the lamp as I approached, studying Bruno’s legs and chest.

“He looks unhurt,” I said, glancing at Evan for confirmation.

“His gait is sound. His reins were hanging, but as far as I can tell he is not blown.”

I walked to the edge of the road and peered into the dark woodland beyond, holding up the lamp. The bright arc of my search swept across bushes, lichen-patched tree trunks and, beyond, a stone stacked fence.

“Any sign?” Evan asked. “Do you think they are walking now?”

“If I had a horse and someone who could not go far on foot, I would not abandon my mount. Even if he were spent. And Bruno is not spent.” I paced a few yards onward. The undergrowth here was undisturbed too. I swung around and studied the road but could find no sign of fracas: no churned dirt or new wheel ruts. The anticipation I had felt at finding the horse chilled into foreboding. I turned back to Evan. “Hester is not up to walking across the fields. I think Bruno has come back on his own. We need to ride on.”

With that decision made, we returned to Mr. Kent with the loose horse in tow. Kent volunteered to lead Bruno; he’d had a great deal of experience doing so on the Continent, he said, whenever one of his fellow cavalrymen had fallen in battle. Evan and I looked at each other, not knowing what to say. Mr. Kent clearly had a great deal more history than we had suspected. But then, did not everyone?