Juliet’s cheeks pinked. “Oh, no, I mean, well—”

“Afternoon, Miss Caversteed,” Simeon said.

Georgie suppressed a groan as the full implications of his presence sank in. “Please tell me you have Charlotte or Tilly in there with you?”

Juliet bit her lip. “No, actually. If you must know, Simeon and I were about to leave for Gretna when Mr. Wylde arrived with your note.”

“You were eloping? Oh, Juliet.”

“Yes, well, we didn’t in the end, did we?’ Juliet said crossly. “Because I demanded to come after you instead. You’re welcome.”

Georgie glanced back at Simeon and dropped her voice. “You might as well have eloped, Ju. Word of this is bound to get out. You’ll be ruined.”

“I don’t care,” Juliet said mulishly. “I want to marry Simeon, and he wants to marry me. That’s all there is to it.” She glanced around. “Where is Cousin Josiah, anyway?”

“Inside. Benedict put a bullet in his arm then knocked him a facer. He’s out cold.”

“Good.”

Simeon jumped down from the carriage—and stumbled over his own feet. He righted himself. “I’ll just go and see if I can help, shall I?”

Juliet beamed at him. “Oh, yes, Simeon, that would be perfect.”

Georgie sighed. “Well, at least you’ve solved one problem. Josiah sent his carriage away, and I assume Benedict rode here.” She gestured at the carriage. “We can put Josiah in there to get him back to London.”

“You should dump him in the Thames,” Juliet said.

“I have a better idea.”

Chapter 36.

The trip back to London was rather jolly. Georgie, Juliet, Simeon, and Josiah all squashed into the chaise.

Josiah had been efficiently bound and gagged in the same way he’d bound Georgie, which gave her a great deal of satisfaction, and when he finally roused from his stupor, his furious attempts to free himself entertained everyone in the vehicle.

Benedict and his two companions—Alexander Harland, whom she recognized from Lady Langton’s, and another equally handsome specimen he’d introduced as Sebastian Wolff—rode alongside. A flash of memory caught her; this must be the Mr. Wolff Benedict had told her to send his five hundred pounds to in Newgate. She studied the man’s olive skin and saturnine features. Juliet had whispered that he was the youngest son of the Duke of Winwick.

Simeon produced a notebook and pencil from his jacket. “I do believe I should write a poem commemorating this great victory,” he said. “Iambic pentameter, do you think?”

Georgie glanced out of the open window and caught Benedict’s eye as he rode parallel to the chaise. His comic expression of horror made her chuckle.