“I’m not being rude. I’m just surprised.” She sat down in the spot Frances had vacated. “And curious.”

Hugh reminded himself that she had no idea what had happened the day before. Because nothing had happened. It had all been in his head. And perhaps a few other parts of his body. But the important thing was, she didn’t know, and she would never know, because it was going to go away.

Momentary madness, by definition, was momentary.

All the same, it took some effort not to notice that her hip was only a few inches from his.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Lord Hugh?” Sarah asked as she untied her bonnet.

She definitely had no idea. There was no way she’d have used the word pleasure, otherwise.

“Your cousin informed me that he had saved me a spot in the best carriage of the trip,” he said.

“The caravan,” Frances corrected.

He pulled his eyes off Sarah to look at her youngest sister. “I beg your pardon?”

“The Great and Terrible Caravan of British Aristocracy,” Frances said pertly. “It’s what we call it.”

He felt himself grin, and when he next breathed, it sounded like a laugh. “That’s . . . excellent,” he said, finally settling on a word.

“Sarah thought of it,” Frances said with a shrug. “She’s very clever, you know.”

“Frances,” Sarah warned.

“She is,” Frances said in the worst imitation of a whisper Hugh had ever heard.

Sarah’s eyes flitted this way and that, the way they did when she was uncomfortable, and then finally she leaned forward to glance out the window. “Aren’t we meant to be leaving soon?”

“The Great and Terrible Caravan,” he murmured.

She turned to him with suspicion in her eyes.

“I like it,” he said simply.

Her lips parted, and she had that look about her, as if she was planning a long sentence, but instead she said, “Thank you.”

“Oh, here we go!” Frances said happily.

The wheels of the carriage began to turn beneath them. Hugh sat back and allowed the motion to lull him into quietude. He’d never minded coach travel before his injury. It had always put him to sleep. It still did; the only problem was that there was rarely enough room to extend his leg, and it hurt like the devil the following day.

“Will you be all right?” Lady Sarah asked quietly.

He tilted his head toward her and murmured, “All right?”

Her eyes went fleetingly to his leg.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Won’t you need to stretch it?”

“We’ll be stopping for lunch.”

“But—”

“I will be fine, Lady Sarah,” he cut in, but to his own surprise, his words held no bite of defensiveness. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for your concern.”