It was heartening to see him so galvanized and so set on staying in England despite the ever-growing danger. Still, I had to voice the hard fact that lay before us. “Forgive me, but even if you are exonerated, there is no guarantee it will be enough for you to claim back your title and become her guardian. I doubt your brother would give up the title without a fight.”

He gave a sober nod. “You are right, of course. But perhaps I can claim back a life within the law and offer Hester and Miss Grant some kind of haven. I am not without friends, Gus. Old friends with some influence who may be willing to assist if there is proof that may help my cause.” He looked into the distance, clearly deciding upon a plan that might bring about that outcome. “Will you meet me in Bedford Street two days hence? At dusk—these types of clubs do not open until late in the evening. We will do as you suggest. We will find this place if it still exists, and see if there is any proof to be found.”

“Of course, I will always come when you ask.” A return of his own promise. Our new certainty.

He smiled—that wonderful, warm smile. “I know.”

10

We arrived in London in the early evening, smuggled Hester and Miss Grant back inside the house via the mews, and sent Thomas for Dr. McLeod. The dear man came immediately, but the prognosis was not good.

“She has declined rapidly,” he said to our anxious gathering in the corridor outside Hester’s room. “Overexertion. I prescribe complete bed rest and sustaining broths. I will have a draft made and send it around. No exercise for a week or so, and then gently so that she can build stamina.”

Miss Grant nodded and, with a curtsy, returned to watch over her beloved.

Dr. McLeod waited until the door had closed, then said to Julia and me, “Her body, including her heart, has been severely weakened by the treatment at the asylum. She must not exert herself, certainly no long-distance travel.” The careful lack of reproof in his voice was reproof enough.

“We understand, Doctor,” Julia said.

My sister, too, looked exhausted. I feared we were overlooking her health in the emergencies of Hester’s situation.

“And how are you faring, Lady Augusta?” Dr. McLeod asked me, placing his black Clericus upon his head. “Is your shoulder still bothering you?”

“Not at all, thank you.” I turned to my sister. “Julia, you said you wished to speak to Dr. McLeod privately.”

I lifted my brows at her: He is a good doctor; ask for a second opinion.

Julia frowned: I do not want a second opinion.

The doctor removed his hat again. “How may I be of service, Lady Julia?”

“I will leave you to your conversation,” I said. “Good evening.”