In truth, our options for Hester’s safety had now dwindled to one possibility: the two women, and most probably Evan, must flee the country via boat. I pushed away the familiar burst of anguish that squeezed my heart. Evan would have to go; he could not let them travel unaccompanied. As it stood, Hester could not go back to Davenport Hall; we had already brought too much trouble upon Charlotte, and even if we did return, Porty would probably just hand her over to Deele. Nor, it seemed, could we find a safe haven from them elsewhere in the country. Holyhead was too far away, so we were left, then, with the closest port: Liverpool. In her current state, Hester might not survive a sea journey, but I could see no other course of action.

Evan helped Miss Grant to her feet, the maneuver draining her face into a pasty gray. She did, indeed, look very bad, but took a gulping breath and stalwartly continued to walk with the support of both Evan and Mr. Kent.

At the phaeton, I told Julia our plan to stop Deele’s coach as Miss Grant leaned upon Evan’s shoulder and gingerly levered herself into the seat beside my sister. The well-sprung carriage rocked under her arrival, the horses shifting in the traps.

“Are you sure you are up to managing this pair?” I asked.

“Have I not already said so?” Julia said. “More to the point, you have been in the saddle all day. Are you sure you can ride all night too?”

“Indeed, there is no sidesaddle for you, Lady Augusta. Perhaps you should ride in the phaeton too,” Mr. Kent said as if it were some kind of fait accompli.

“For heaven’s sake, I am not in my dotage,” I said to my sister, then sent her a swift, silent apology; she was not going to like this next admission. “And I will ride astride on Bruno. Charlotte and I have been riding astride at the hall for years, when no one was watching.”

Julia clicked her tongue, no doubt mourning my last shred of ladylike dignity. Thank heavens I had worn my full knitted pantaloons under my habit.

“Of course you have been riding astride,” Evan murmured, allowing a glint of amusement to show through his urgency. “Are we ready? Do we know our parts?”

We did. Now it was up to our nerve, my beloved’s skill, and a good dose of luck.

With excitement thrumming through my body, I followed Evan over to Weatherly, who still held the other two horses. Perhaps it was unladylike to feel such invigoration at the prospect of holding up a coach, but I could not help it. Nor could I help the anger that burned in my innards; Lord Deele had caused immense anguish and pain to his sister, and now he wished to do so all over again.