“No, not a man,” Miss Grant said abruptly. “I am sorry, Mr. Weatherly, but she would not like to be touched by a man.”

Indeed, Hester had suffered so much at the hands of the brutal basketmen and mad doctors at the asylum, and by her own brother forcing laudanum down her throat. We could not subject her to more. Even the kindly hands of Weatherly.

“I’ll pull her out,” I said, and found a firm foothold upon the coach step. I levered myself halfway into the carriage. “Hester? Can you hear me?”

No response, but I had not expected one. I dug my hands between her lax arms and slumped body and pulled her upright by her armpits. With a heave, I dragged her off the seat and into the doorway, her head lolling over my shoulder, her arms hanging inert. Although malnourished and bone thin, she was still a deadweight, the imbalance upon my chest teetering me on the coach step.

“Steady,” Miss Grant said, and I felt her hand pressing the middle of my back, guiding me as I felt for the ground, pulling Hester with me.

“I think you will have to carry her to the phaeton, Weatherly,” I said. “I am sorry, Miss Grant, but she is too heavy for me and we cannot delay.”

Miss Grant hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod.

I swung Hester around as if we were in a drunken dance, and Weatherly neatly gathered her up into the cradle of his arms.

“Do you think this is going to change anything?” Deele demanded. I could no longer see any resemblance to my love: Deele’s teeth were bared, his face puffed and dark with choler. “I am not going to stop until she is far away from that woman. I am her guardian and she will submit to my will. She will not ruin our name again!”

“If you do not stop, brother, then neither will I,” Evan said. “You will not ruin Hester’s life again.”

I slammed the carriage door shut and followed Miss Grant and Weatherly—carrying his burden with infinite care—to the phaeton.

I believed Deele; he would not stop his relentless persecution of Hester and Miss Grant. Ever. We only had one choice now. Liverpool, and a ship that would take them as far away from him as possible.

36

We left Deele’s coach still under the aimed guns of Evan and Kent. Miss Grant and Hester were crammed in the narrow groom’s seat behind Julia and me—not the arrangement I had favored, but the high-seat squeeze did keep Hester upright. Beside me, Julia was handling the reins nicely, keeping the pair at a brisk trot. I had Hades across my knees, ready to fire if anyone followed. I really should have been driving, but I was a much better shot than Julia.