Julia sat upright. “You gave your word without knowing what you had promised?”

“I did. But I did not promise for you.”

“Well, thank heavens you learned that lesson in time,” she said, but leavened it with a smile. “I wonder what he wants you to do.”

“If I may say so, my ladies, Mr. Brummell is not what he seems,” Weatherly said from the groom’s seat behind us.

“I agree, but what makes you say that?” I asked over my shoulder.

“When I was at the Hand Inn changing the horses, I saw a man arrive. Very downtrodden, my lady, and he still wore an old parish beggar’s badge.”

“That is odd.” The requirement for beggars to wear a badge to be given alms had been repealed two years ago.

“I thought so, too, my lady. He said he had a message for Mr. Brummell but would not leave it for him. Instead, he insisted he would wait. The landlord was not keen on him staying, but the man would not budge. It made me wonder what business a beggar had with a man like Mr. Brummell.”

I could not even imagine George getting close to a beggar, let alone accepting a message from him. What was George involved in, and what was he about to involve me in too?

We drove in silence, Evan and Mr. Kent riding ahead, both slumped slightly in the saddle, even their excellent seats compromised by fatigue.

This was, perhaps, a good time to try to make amends.

“Julia, I have an apology to make. To you and to Lady Hester and Miss Grant, but they were too tired tonight so I will write to them.” I wet my lips. “When I was listening to Deele trying to stand his untenable ground, I realized I have been just like him, dealing with you and his sister in the same high-handed way. I am sorry for it.”

“You are nothing like Deele,” Julia said firmly. “His pigheadedness comes from a place of judgment and bigotry.” She leaned across and gently squeezed my shoulder. “Your pigheadedness comes from a place of love and a strong sense of justice. Of course I forgive you.”

“Thank you.” I caught her hand and awkwardly held it for a moment, squashed together with the handle of the whip I held.

“To be fair, I let it go on for too long,” she said. “You may think you are unstoppable, dearest, but you are not.” Then I heard the tone of her voice shift into a new gravity. “We have important choices ahead of us, Gus, and we must each make them alone. You must make the best choices for you. And I must make the best for me. Maybe our paths will be together, maybe they will not, but we cannot make them for each other or, indeed, because of each other.”