there, I’ll retract it.”
He looked at the group of people surrounding him. There were varied qualities of clothing, varied levels of stable grime, and an absurd conglomeration of pasts that never should have brought them together, yet here they were. With him. Including him. Supporting him.
“Gentlemen,” he said, his chest feeling warm and full for the first time in days, “load up every carriage we have. We’re going to London.”
SOPHIA STOOD AT the window, staring down at the street. By her calculations, today was the day. If he didn’t arrive today . . . well, then she’d be at this window again tomorrow and every day after that, until Jonas wrote her and told her he wasn’t coming.
Behind her, Harriet was happily scribbling away on a letter to the new Lady Stildon, detailing her decision to stay in London instead of go on a grand adventure. Harriet was depending upon her ladyship’s gossiping about that news so the information would filter down to Aaron. “Just you wait,” she’d said as she pulled out her pen, “he’ll be here shortly after the new year.”
Sophia wasn’t waiting that long.
On Christmas morning, it had occurred to her that she was taking advice from someone who was not married and had not, as far as she knew, ever been close. Harriet had never even claimed to be in love.
Counting on her plan seemed foolish, and Sophia no longer wanted to be a fool. So, she’d gone to her brother, who had also never been married or in love but was, at least, a man, and they’d made a plan.
It was a version of Harriet’s plan, in that it still gave Aaron a way to reject her gently and maintain the friendship. It did not, however, rely on speculation and gossip.
Jonas was to give her two days to get to London, then mention to Aaron that was where they’d gone.
Coming after her was then Aaron’s choice to make.
If he’d come on the mail coach, he could have been here two days ago. If he rode his own horse or took a carriage, the earliest arrival would be today.
What would she do if he didn’t show?
What would she do if he did?
The day dragged on with a visit to the museum, a cold walk through the park, a stop in to see Mrs. Carlton at the school, and a visit to an old friend of Harriet’s. When they returned to the hotel, there were no messages.
WHEN A FOOTMAN delivered a letter the next morning, Sophia’s heart both jumped and plummeted. Was it from Aaron? Or Jonas?
Neither, as it turned out. It wasn’t even for Sophia. Harriet was being invited to tea with Lady Grableton.
Graham’s mother.
The woman Aaron had gone to for assistance.
Hope once more sent her stomach simultaneously up into her throat and down into her shoes.
“She must have heard we were in town from Mrs. Carlton,” Harriet said as she dressed for the day.
Sophia would rather the headmistress had nothing to do with it. She put on her nicest dress and trembled the entire way to Mayfair.
They were shown to Lady Grableton’s drawing room, where the woman was not alone. Lady Wharton, Lady Farnsworth, and Lady Stildon were all in attendance and smiling like loons.
Sophia’s knees threatened to give way.
“Oh!” Harriet said from the entrance. “All of you are . . . here?”
“Miss Fitzroy, dear, I wonder if you wouldn’t mind going to the—”
“Yes!” Sophia’s teeth snapped together, and she cleared her throat. “I mean, I would be happy to.” They’d be sending her to Aaron, wouldn’t they? They wouldn’t all be here if Aaron hadn’t come for her.
Would they?
Although why Aaron had brought them all she couldn’t fathom.
“Good, good.” Lady Grableton handed Sophia a piece of paper. “Please give this to my coachman. Ask him for the package in the coach earlier today.”
Harriet frowned. “Shouldn’t you send a foot—”
“Right away.” Sophia scampered out of the drawing room, even though she hadn’t a clue where the lady’s coachman would be. The mews? Those should be at the back of the house. The hardest part was going to be finding a door that led out that way.
Knowing it was rude, but desperate for a clue, she unfolded the paper.
It was blank.
Her heart pounded faster.
She wandered the floor until she found a door leading to the small back garden. The mews was only a short run farther. Accustomed as she was to the large stables of Newmarket, the city version felt cramped as she stepped inside.
There wasn’t