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T he next morning, after a sleepless night of tossing and turning and wondering just what Will and Mr. Woodward had found at the Blackwood house, Lucy got up early, dressed, and had her small coach readied so that she might go get the news from the source.

When she arrived at Gilford House, where she had been a frequent visitor ever since she and Meg became friends, she was surprised to find a cart being loaded with trunks, bandboxes, and everything a lady would need for a long trip.

When she was shown in the front door, she saw Lady Gilford directing another of the footmen who was loaded down with yet another trunk from the first landing.

Upon seeing Lucy, the dowager gave a sniff and then turned to follow the servants.

Though her inclination was to let the older woman go to whatever destination she chose without bothering to speak, Lucy knew that if she and Will were indeed going to be married, then she would need to make some sort of peace with the dowager. If only for Will’s sake.

“Are you going somewhere, my lady?” she asked pleasantly, hoping that if she took a friendly tone Lady Gilford would follow suit. “I know Will—that is, Lord Gilford—spoke of your taking a house of your own, but I hadn’t realized anything had been formalized.”

Once she reached the bottom of the curved staircase, the dowager turned to Lucy, who had stopped a couple of steps from the bottom. “I have decided that given my son’s decision to betroth himself to you without a by-your-leave from me, I cannot endure another day in this house. It is clear that neither of you cares one whit for me or my opinions, and I will remove myself from here to go stay elsewhere.”

Though Lucy wanted to point out that circumstances had dictated the need for Will to propose to her, not some childish wish to thwart his mother, she stopped herself from saying it. Instead, she told Lady Gilford, “I can assure you that we both care very much about you and your opinions, my lady. I am not sure where Gilford is at the moment, but I am sure he would wish me to tell you how much we both wish you would not leave like this.”

“My son is riding in the park, as he does every morning at this hour,” the dowager snapped, her still-lovely countenance made less so by her dour expression. “But I suppose you have no way of knowing his habits yet. I can assure you, however, that were I to discuss the matter with him, he would not agree with you. I suppose I must acknowledge that you have asked me to stay, for which I thank you. But I know my son too well.”

That the dowager had interpreted Lucy’s words as asking the older woman to reconsider her decision to leave was hardly surprising. Ladies like Will’s mother often heard what they wanted to hear. And in this case, she wished to hear that someone, even Lucy–whom Lucy herself was quite certain the dowager at the very least disliked heartily–didn’t wish for her to go. Still, she had to come to her fiancé’s defense.

“My lady, I hope that you do not think that Will—Gilford, that is—does not wish for you to remain here for as long as you need to in order to find a suitable house for yourself.”

The dowager sniffed in disdain. “That could take months. I have decided that I will be more comfortable with my friends Lord and Lady Carlyle for the remainder of the season. Perhaps by that time my son will have found a suitable house for me.”

Lucy knew from both Jane and her sister-in-law, Poppy, Duchess of Langham, that the Carlyles were cousins of the duke and had treated Jane very badly when she’d been employed as governess for their children. But the dowager counted Lady Carlyle as one of her dearest friends. And if she wished to live with them, then Lucy would not be able to convince her otherwise.

Nodding at the dowager, Lucy stepped closer and went to offer her hand to the other woman. She might be unpleasant and prickly at the best of times, but Lucy had to remember that she had given birth to Will and Meg, whom Lucy loved dearly.

That thought—that she loved Will—gave her a start. Though she liked him a great deal—she would not have given him her body otherwise—she’d thought love was something that one could not feel until some certain amount of time had passed. She wasn’t sure how long that amount of time was, mind, but surely it was more than the week or so that she and Lord Gilford had been acquainted.

Realizing that the gentleman in question’s mother was staring at her with no little impatience on her face, she extended her hand to Lady Gilford and was surprised when she took it and squeezed. “I suppose I cannot blame you for this, Lucy. We ladies are forever at the mercy of the gentlemen in our lives. And I have no doubt that a surprise betrothal was entirely my son’s idea.”

Lucy opened her mouth to argue—especially since she didn’t think herself at the mercy of Will or any man in her life—but her ladyship waved a hand in peremptory dismissal. “Now, I must go. Please tell Meg to seek me out as soon as she awakens.”

And with that, the dowager Lady Gilford swanned out the front entrance and was handed into one of the Gilford carriages by a footman. Then the door closed behind her, and Lucy was left wondering what had just happened.

She was still staring at the door when she heard Meg on the landing above. “There you are,” she said, hurrying down the stairs toward Lucy. “I was just about to send a note around to you to invite you to luncheon. I missed all the excitement last night and intended to press you for details. Come up and join me for breakfast.”

Lucy had to smile at the fact that both of them were in want of information this morning.

As they walked, she related to Meg her conversation with the dowager.

Just outside the breakfast room door, Meg turned to her in amazement. “She simply packed her things and left?”

“It appears that way,” Lucy said as she allowed Meg to lead the way to the sideboard, where steaming trays of all variety of breakfast foods had been laid out. Serving herself a healthy portion of eggs and a rasher of bacon, she glanced at Meg, who was doing the same. “I suspect she wished to leave before Will returned from his morning ride.”

As Meg followed her to the table, Lucy heard her friend snort. “That is very likely. For all that Mother likes to think of herself as someone who always gets her way, she has not been as adept at manipulating Will into doing her bidding as with Papa. I suspect she wished for him to return and find her gone, in the hopes that he will be so devastated at her removal from the household that he will rush to the Carlyles’ and beg for her to return.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. She couldn’t imagine Will begging anyone for anything. Much less his overly dramatic and scheming mother. “Oh dear.”

“Exactly,” Lucy said as she buttered a piece of toast. “I believe she will be very disappointed by the outcome of her gambit. But at least I will not have to endure another scold from her about how unflattering my gown is, or how the way I’ve chosen to have Sally dress my hair is not what she would have chosen.”

Since the two friends had discussed the dowager’s criticism of her only daughter before, Lucy was unsurprised by Meg’s words. Still, they reminded her of something. “I suppose this means that once we’re wed, Will and I will need to serve as your chaperones now?”

Meg gave a huff of laughter. “Hardly. I am not a green girl in my first season. I should be well able to handle myself.”

Lucy was about to reply when Stone came into the breakfast room carrying a note. “Miss Penhallow,” he said to Lucy with a deep bow, “this just arrived for you. It was brought by one of the footmen at Penhallow House.”

Frowning, Lucy took the missive from the butler and quickly unfolded it.

Lucy, I am alive and well, but must see you as soon as possible before I leave England for good. Meet me at the usual place. Come alone, please—my life depends on it.

As she recognized the handwriting, Lucy was assailed by relief, which was quickly followed by foreboding. That Vera was alive and well enough to write this note gave her the first real burst of hope she’d had since she’d watched her friend being manhandled into a waiting carriage. But in light of everything else that had happened since, including the murder of Sir Charles, the attacks on Miss Fleetwood and Hetty, and Lady Fortescue’s attempt to abduct Lucy and Will the night before, there was much that still cried out for explanation.

“I apologize for leaving so soon, but I must go,” she said to Meg, rising from the table. “I forgot that I agreed to”—she searched her mind for some errand that Meg would believe plausible mid-morning on a Thursday—“pick up some books from Hatchard’s for Jane. She is trying to finish her latest manuscript and wanted them for research.”

She had no idea how Jane obtained references for her own writing, but Hatchard’s seemed a logical enough place for it. It was also what Lucy thought Vera had meant by “the usual place.”

Meg’s eyes narrowed. “Jane mostly uses her brother-in-law’s library for her research. Or the library at the British Museum. I’ve never known her to purchase a book when she can borrow it.”

Lucy gave a mental curse. She should have remembered how close Meg was to her former governess. Of course she would be conversant with the way the novelist conducted her investigations.

“What’s going on, Lucy?” Meg demanded. “Who is that note from?”

A glance at the clock told Lucy that she had no time to waste. “I will tell you, but you must promise to keep this to yourself.”

She handed the note to Meg, who read it and gasped. “She’s escaped Hamilton somehow? This is wonderful.”

Staring down at Vera’s words again, Lucy wondered if there was more to what her friend said than met the eye. “I am not sure what it means,” she said truthfully. “But I am bothered by the statement that she’s leaving England for good. Does she even know that her father was taken last night—or was thought to have been taken, according to what Lady Fortescue said.”

Meg looked crestfallen. “You think she is still being held, then?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy admitted. “But I am willing to bet that whether she wrote this note of her own accord or was forced to write it by Hamilton, she is still in danger.”

Nodding, Meg said, “That makes sense.”

“Which,” Lucy said firmly, “is why I need to go to her at once. We’ve waited so long to have contact with her, I can’t simply ignore her when she needs my help.”

Meg rose from the table as well. “I want to come with you.”

Lucy shook her head. “She told me to come alone. I cannot risk having Hamilton, if he’s with her, getting spooked. Especially in somewhere like Hatchard’s, where there will be any number of innocents for him to harm.”

“At least take one of the footmen with you,” Meg said, her eyes so much like her brother’s, giving Lucy a pang of recognition. “Will would never forgive me if something were to happen to you. He loves you, you know.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. He’d told her that last night, but she hadn’t seen him since to reassure herself of it. She knew that she was in love with him. And the sooner they could put this business behind them, the sooner they could begin their life together.

But she had no time to dwell on Will at the moment. Now, Vera needed her.

“I’m taking the carriage I came here in,” Lucy said in a rush of words. “I have to leave now. But I will have my coachman and groom waiting for me. And if you wish, you can tell Will where I’ve gone when he returns from his ride.”

Not waiting to hear what else Meg might have to say, she hurried from the room.