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“I figured as much when I learned you negotiated ten years to yourself. Rather brilliant. Wish I had thought of that, but I don’t think they would have given that to me.

Back then, I was too much of a rule follower and it wouldn’t have been a stubborn argument like I’m sure you put up.

I also don’t think Mama and Papa were as desperate financially when I married, either.

Sure, they weren’t in the best place, but it wasn’t as bad as it was when the earl decided to set his sights on you.

I couldn’t believe my ears when they told me he paid for you and not the other way around.

I wonder how much money the earl gave them? ”

“A lot,” Evelyn offered. “I could not say how much, but it had to have been an astronomical amount.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t come to me. They had already for many years.”

“Maybe they didn’t want you to know how dire it was at home.”

“Or they knew once the new conte marries, if he ever does, I won’t be able to send them money any longer. The well will dry up.”

“That makes sense. I didn’t even know how bad it had become for them until I moved back home after living in Paris.

That was only a little over a year ago. And then the earl saw me.

” Queasiness rolled through Evelyn’s stomach at the memory of that first evening with him following her around and sniffing her hair.

Cordelia nodded just as the door to the carriage opened. Papa appeared with the footman, and he sighed when he saw Mama had fainted. He tried shaking her shoulder to awaken her and was successful after a moment.

“Everyone is inside waiting.” Papa was huddled under a black umbrella and had to shout over the sound of the rain. “Let us get inside. Quickly!”

Mama went out first and opened an extra umbrella the footman handed to her. Mama and Papa waited off to the side as the footman helped Cordelia disembark. Cordelia looked over her shoulder one last time at Evelyn as she prepared to step out.

“Wait,” Evelyn said, causing her sister to pause.

“Will I be all right? I mean, will everything end up being all right?” Mr. McNab’s words from yesterday popped into her mind at the moment, his confidence in the idea that everything always somehow worked itself out.

Oh, how she wished a man who looked and acted like him waited for her at the altar!

Perhaps this wouldn’t have been nearly as terrifying.

Cordelia’s face took on a serious expression. “I don’t know,” she said and the footman reached out to take her hand.

The family was now waiting for Evelyn to emerge. Evelyn poked her head out and looked down the sidewalk. People were dashing into nearby stores to get out of the rain, holding soaking-wet newspapers over their head in desperation.

Where did that sidewalk lead? What kinds of lives did those people down the street have? Were they happy? They were likely happier than Evelyn in this exact moment, at least.

She wasn’t familiar with this part of London. Bucking tradition a bit, this was the church in the earl’s parish, not Evelyn’s. So what those shops people were dashing into, she did not know. Confectionaries, flower shops, perhaps a millinery or two. Curiosity tugged at her.

“Evelyn, you must come out of there! We don’t have time to dilly-dally.

People are waiting!” Papa shouted over the loud rain again.

Fog was rolling in. She couldn’t even see halfway down the block any longer.

It was like they were suddenly in a little bowl, just her, her family, the silent footman, and the church before them.

As the footman helped Evelyn step out, she did her best to ignore the twinge of discomfort from his hand touching hers.

It was standard for a footman to help this way, whether she liked it or not.

And as he covered her with an umbrella, she met Cordelia’s eye.

Her sister’s pointed gaze was intense with meaning.

Evelyn gave her a wordless expression that said, “What is it?”

Cordelia nodded her head once. Probably realizing Evelyn didn’t understand, Cordelia then mouthed something.

“What are you doing?” Mama asked from beneath an umbrella Papa held over her. “Why are you doing strange things with your mouth?”

But Cordelia ignored her and mouthed something again. “Run.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened and Cordelia gave her a small smile.

Evelyn looked out at the pouring rain. Then back at her family. Back out to the rain. She couldn’t run away.

Right?

“Evelyn, we must get inside.” Papa grabbed her arm and began pulling her toward the walking path that led to the church door, where figures stood awaiting them. Because of the fog, she could not tell if they were clergy, her husband-to-be, or someone else entirely.

Her heart beat faster.

Images of her desk, her easel, the paintings at the museum—both in the studio and where they were admired by the public—flashed in her mind.

Laughing with her old American university classmates.

Listening in on lectures, raising her hand to ask questions.

Mr. Ollie McNab, his near-daily visits to the museum. That kind and genuine smile of his.

Papa was now dragging Evelyn up the stone walking path, his hand gripped tightly on her arm like handcuffs.

As they reached the door, she could finally see who was standing there. It was the earl. Making sure she arrived? That she was walking toward him?

That she wasn’t running away?

That sick feeling that had been haunting her all day twisted and morphed and became pure panic. Her body began to shake, sweat formed at her brow, and her heart was about to break through her ribs. She felt like a rabbit cowered upon the grass as a hawk descended upon her.

She met his eyes. There was no kindness there.

“I find that things have a funny way of working themselves out.” Mr. McNab’s voice echoed in her head.

Mama and Cordelia hurried up the two stone steps leading to the door, and the earl let them pass and followed them in while one of the earl’s footmen took and shook out their umbrellas. Papa climbed the steps, too, but turned and watched Evelyn, waiting.

Evelyn didn’t think, as her body did what the rabbit would have done.

She turned around and ran.

Ran for her life.

Papa shouted her name, but she ignored it.

She ran down the walking path, down the sidewalk, and to the next block.

She ran, and ran, and ran. She took turns down random streets.

A right here, a left there. People shouted with surprise as she ran past them.

“A runaway bride!” she heard several times.

Evelyn zig-zagged her way through London until she could run no more. She spotted a bench up ahead and collapsed into it, her chest heaving with exhaustion.

The rain poured down on her as she lay upon her back with her eyes closed. But she soaked in the moment. She felt…free!

And despite herself, she smiled and laughed up into the fog, into that thick, lead gray that hung overhead, as the water washed away the terror.

Once her breathing had leveled, Evelyn stood up, her shoes squelching and her legs nearly collapsing beneath her as she braced herself on the bench. Wherever she was, the street was all but abandoned by pedestrians and traffic.

“Now what?” she asked aloud to herself as she looked both directions down the street. Where in the blazes could she go? She couldn’t go home, that was for certain.

She couldn’t go to work in a soaking-wet wedding dress.

But she also wasn’t too worried about it; the rush from the run was still fresh. Thus, she began meandering down the road.

“I must look utterly mad,” she mumbled, passing a large, glass storefront window, reflecting a soaking-wet bride, her dress and veil limp, her hair stretched long into wet tendrils.

And yet she smiled.

When Evelyn came to the corner, she took a left turn and spotted stables up ahead. She quickened her pace, crossed the empty street, and went inside.

The scent of hay and horse assaulted her. A few men mulled about in tweed waistcoats and flat-caps, smoking pipes and cigars and talking amongst themselves.

One spotted her, hesitated, then nudged the man beside him.

They all began to stare.

“Hello,” she said, lifting one hand in greeting.

“By Jove,” one said, his pipe frozen halfway to his mouth.

“Are any of you cab drivers by chance?”

They continued to stare, but one came to his senses. A portly man with red cheeks. He stepped forward. “Aye,” was all he offered. The rest of the group went back about their business.

Evelyn walked toward the man. “I was wondering if perhaps you could take me somewhere.”

He took a puff from a pipe as he looked her over. “Not to a wedding, I presume?”

Her eye twitched. “No.”

“Where to then, lass?”

She had no coin on her. She had nothing on her, and nowhere to go. But a wild idea came forth. It was mad, but it seemed to be her only option. “Do you know The Harp & Thistle?” she asked, a bit unsure.

The man’s bushy eyebrows shot up to the sky. “You want to go to a pub?”

“Yes. Please.”

The driver studied her. “You have coin?”

Her heart sunk to the floor. “I do not.”

“Can’t take you anywhere without coin, lass.”

She bit her bottom lip in thought. What would Mr. McNab do if she showed up like this? If she showed up asking for help?

She wasn’t sure he would help. A mad, soaked, runaway bride showing up at his place of work?

But what other choice did she have?

“I can get your payment upon arrival.”

“How?” The driver eyed her skeptically.

“I know the owners of the establishment.”

“You know the McNabs?”

She braced herself as hope finally reared its head. “I do. I am friends with the youngest one.”

“Ollie?”

She started at this. He must have been a regular patron of their establishment.

“Yes, sir.”

The cab driver threw his head back and laughed loudly, his entire body shaking from it.

“All right, lass, hop in over there.” He pointed toward his hansom cab, the horse patiently waiting for its next drive.

As Evelyn climbed in, she heard the driver chuckle to himself again and say, “A bride leaving the altar for Ollie McNab. Wait until the boys hear this one!”