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“It’s the Duke of Thornbridge’s crest on the side,” Emily said, her voice grim. “This must have something to do with Daphne.”

Octavia’s heart plummeted, and a cold shiver rolled over her body.

No.Not my baby girl. I lost my husband, but my daughters… No, I can’t lose them.

She pried herself away from the window, throwing her dignity to the wind and hiking up her skirts to run downstairs and across the hallway, her heart pounding.

“The door! Open the door!” she shouted at the hapless night footman. The poor man barely got there before she did.

Octavia rushed out into the night, cold air and rain nipping her skin.

“What news?” she shouted at the driver. “What’s happened? Tell me quickly, man!”

She heard the patter of footsteps behind her and knew that Emily was hurrying down, too.

The wretched coachman only looked at her, perplexed, and reined in the horses.

For the first time, Octavia noticed that there were a few bags and boxes lashed to the roof.

Then, the door opened, and Daphne herself stepped out, swathed in a traveling cloak. She was white and pale, and she clutched at the door as if for support.

Octavia gave a cry and hurried down the slippery front steps.

“Daphne, my girl, what were you thinking about, traveling at this time of night? The Duke doesn’t know about it, I bet.”

“He will know soon enough,” Daphne responded listlessly.

Her hand, when Octavia took it, was limp and icy cold. Clenching her jaw tightly, Octavia pushed away her worries and questions and concentrated on what she was good at—arranging things.

“You, take down these boxes, please,” she instructed the footman. “Ask the housekeeper to take them up to Miss Bel—that is, the Duchess’s old room. Get the coachman something to eat and drink, before he returns.” She helped Daphne up the steps and caught Emily’s eye. “Emmie, go and order tea. Hot tea, perhaps a little cake, and something savory and refreshing. Have a hot bath set up in Daphne’s old room. We can talk to her and drink tea while it is being readied. Yes?”

There was a brief silence, and Octavia clapped her hands.

“Go!”

They went.

After ten minutes or so in front of the fire, Daphne appeared to warm up a little. The color returned to her cheeks, and her hands felt less like blocks of ice.

“It was so cold in the carriage,” she murmured. “I only took my cloak—no rugs or blankets or anything. I didn’t even bring my gloves. That is, Ididbring them, but they’re packed.”

Octavia exchanged a glance with Emily, who was pouring the tea.

“You said that the Duke would know soon enough that you’d gone,” Octavia said carefully. “My darling girl, has he hurt you?”

Daphne shook her head. “He’s not cruel. He’s fairly kind. I… I even thought I might like him. But he’s cold, Mama. I cannot live with him, not like this. And he wants me to go. He said I should expect a spinsterish life.”

Octavia pressed her lips together. A spinsterish life as a married woman meant no children, she guessed. No warmth, no romance, and, of course, none of theother business. It was an arrangement that suited some women and men, and if so, that was well enough.

She might have guessed that it would not suit her hot-blooded daughter, however.

“Things came to a head after the little boy had an accident,” Daphne continued, staring down at her hands and flexing her fingers. “He’s well, don’t worry, but it was my fault. I realized that my interference was not making things better. Edward did not want me there. He never did. I didn’t want to marry him, but I thought…” she trailed off, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t know what I thought.”

“And you had this arrangement in place before the wedding?” Emily asked, with a little more curiosity than was seemly.

Daphne avoided their eyes. “Yes,” she responded staunchly. “I agreed to it. But when I wished to negotiate, he did not.”

“Well, he’ll be sorry,” Octavia promised. “We’ll… we’ll sue him for something or other. Defamation, perhaps? No, that won’t stick. Breach of promise? Perhaps?—”