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Suddenly, the would-be lord slapped his knees and stood up. "I’ve got it. Royal Tunbridge Wells.”

Sophie slid off the table. "What? Are you daft? That’s at least fifteen miles from ’ere!”

“I know, but the Right Reverend Cranford Crawley’s there, and I think we know a thing or two about him,” he said with a wink and a smirk.

Sophie smiled slyly. "Aye, that we do. But that’s a far piece, we’d likely be caught before we got there.”

He grinned, his ugly face more horrifying. "I know how to throw them off. Look, if we just needed another reverend, we’d likely need go no farther than five miles in any direction. That’s where they’ll look for us.”

“Yes, and 'ow does you propose to get to Crawley without leavin’ tracks they can follow? One of them aerial balloons?” she taunted.

“No, you cow, by carriage. I heard from another bloke in the regiment how in America the Indians dragged bushes behind them to hide their trail.”

“So?”

“So, we tie bushes and branches to the back of the carriage and drag them after us, wiping clean our road.”

Sophie scratched her head, frowning. It didn’t set well with her to admit he had an idea. Finally, she shrugged. "We’d best get busy then.”

The two compatriots went outside to fix the carriage. "Reverend Chitterdean, where’s your wife?” Jane whispered anxiously.

The man jerked his head upwards to indicate upstairs.

“You mean you really can’t talk? You’re not shamming?” He shook his head sadly.

Jane looked over at Sir Helmsdon, a rueful, twisted smile on her face. "Looks like you’ll be getting your rich wife, sir.”

Angrily he shook his head no. He worked his mouth against the gag until it slipped down a little. When he twisted his head and stretched his chin, it finally cleared his mouth. "I swear to you, Miss Grantley, that I’d not have it so,” he gasped out, his gray eyes dark as a thundercloud.

“I believe you,” she said softly.

“And don’t be so quick to give up hope.”

“But you heard what they said?—”

The mismatched Willoughbys came back in. "That’ll serve,” he grunted. "Here now, what’s this?” he demanded, seeing Helmsdon’s gag about his neck.

“Ah, live it be, Georgie. It served its purpose. Kept ’im quiet like till we bagged ’er. Give the two lovebirds a chance to plan their weddin’ night,” Sophie said with a crude laugh.

Georgie grunted. He untied Helmsdon from the chair, then tied his two hands in front of him while Sophie did the same to Jane.

With the rope's slack, he tied Helmsdon’s hands to Jane’s, leaving a four-foot span between them.

"That’s so you don’t get any bright ideas of escaping, either of you. You’d have to drag the other with you.”

They started to march the two of them outside.

“Say, what about him?” Sophie asked, jerking her head in the direction of Reverend Chitterdean.

“What about ’im? He can’t tell anyone where we’ve gone. He can’t talk!” Georgie guffawed, slapping his knee as if that were the greatest joke he’d ever heard.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sophie said with a slow grin.

Then seeing Jane pause to look back at Reverend Chitterdean, she shoved her forward, nearly pushing Jane and Helmsdon off-balance.

She laughed. "Step lively. It’s your weddin’ day!

” They bundled Jane and Helmsdon into the carriage.

Sophie climbed in after them, taking the opposite seat.

“Here,” Georgie said, thrusting a pistol into Sophie’s hands. "I don’t trust him. Keep my barker trained on him."

Sophie tsk-tsked after Georgie shut the carriage and they felt him swing up to the box. "I don’t unnerstand a cove like you, all unner ’atches, turnin’ your nose up at a chance to a well-’eeled match. You ought to bless Georgie and me. And Lady Tipton, too. All you do is sit there and glower."

Jane and Helmsdon didn’t say a word.

“I dunno why she wants you married off, but she’s paid ’andsomely.

Bought me all manner of purty things to be this Lady Willoughby.

She were sure distressed when I couldn’t learn to talk refined, but ya never know’d, did ya?

That raspy voice ’id it all. Now Georgie, ’e come by ’is fine speech natural, ’im being the get of some gentry mort.

Family ’ushed it up. Finally saw ’er married, too.

They paid fur ’is schoolin’ and a place in the army then forgot ’im.

Wiped their ’ands of ’im, they did. Probably ’oped ’e’d get ’isself kilt. ”

She laughed. "Ya know what Georgie’s goin’ to do with ’is share? Trick ’is self up and go visitin’ ’is oh so proper mama. ’E knows where she is. Found out six months ago, ’e says. Just been waitin’ fur the right time.”

“What are you going to do, Sophie?” Jane asked softly, hoping to keep the woman distracted. She couldn’t think why she should, what purpose it would serve, but felt compelled to do so.

“Me?” she laughed mirthlessly. "I don’t know.

I was doin’ purty good with the ballet until two months ago.

Turned me off they did, said I was too old.

” She sniffed. "I can dance better’n most those fresh-faced chits they’re bringin’ in.

They’re more interested in what they earn lying on their backs than trooping ’cross the boards.

Now I ain’t goin’ to sit ’ere and say I didn’t git non’a them favors, but faugh!

There ain’t no art anymore,” she declared disgustedly.

Her lips twisted in a pout. "That were the real reason I were turned off, ya know. I could dance circles around the others! Made ’em all look bad. Like a pack o’ galloping animals. They complained ya see.”

She paused, a thoughtful expression on her face as she rocked with the carriage’s movement. "Y’know what I’d like ta do? Start me a school ta teach dancin’ fur the stage. Real purty dancin’. That would show ’em, that would!”

A marshal light burned in the woman’s eyes, and Jane almost hoped she’d get her dream. Somehow she found she couldn’t hold either Georgie’s or Sophie’s actions against them. They were ripe pigeons for Serena’s ilk: as much prisoners of their lives as Helmsdon and she were prisoners in the carriage.

The carriage rocked around a corner, throwing her against Sir Helmsdon. She looked up at him and found a strange expression in his eyes. Almost one of guilt. She raised an eyebrow quizzically. He smiled and shook his head.

Sophie's head began to drop. It didn’t seem she was going to reveal any more secrets.

They could tell she was locked within herself, remembering the perceived injustices she’d received.

She sighed heavily and leaned back against the plush squab seat cushions, the pistol steady in her hand, her path chosen.

When Royce turned the last page of the novel he’d been reading, the afternoon shadows were long and the sun was beginning to turn orange.

He placed the book back on the table where he’d found it.

Earlier in the afternoon, he’d picked it up out of boredom.

When he saw Jane Grantley’s name on the flyleaf, he settled down to read it, curious about what Jane liked to read.

It wasn’t his usual bill of fare, but he had to admit he enjoyed it. He was anxious to discuss it with her.

A frown drew his brows together. He vaguely remembered the muffled sounds of them returning an hour ago. Mrs. Hedgeworth’s high, complaining tone coming from the Great Hall was clearly audible. He wondered why neither lady returned to the parlor.

For all that, where was everyone?

He swung his legs to the floor. Leaning heavily on the arms of the settee, he gingerly levered himself up, testing what weight his ankle would bear.

Other than one brief stab of pain followed by a constant dull ache, it wasn’t too bad.

He hobbled over to the parlor door and opened it.

The Great Hall was deserted. Frowning in annoyance, he made his way slowly across the marble floor, his footsteps ringing in the large, empty space.

Suddenly a doorway under the stairs opened. Out stumbled Jeremy.

“I’m sorry, my lord. I was just, I mean, I heard you in the hall. Is there anything I can get you, my lord?”

“No, thank you, Jeremy. But you can tell me where everyone is. This house is quiet as a tomb!”

“It is odd, my lord. I noted it myself,” he said eagerly. "But as to everyone’s location, I know I couldn’t say.”

“I heard Miss Grantley and Mrs. Hedgeworth return an hour ago. Are they keeping to their rooms?”

“Miss Grantley did not return with Mrs. Hedgeworth, my lord. Mrs. Hedgeworth says she left her by the parsonage gate. Said she wanted to visit Reverend Chitterdean, seeing as how he’s ill now.

But I do believe Mrs. Hedgeworth is in her room.

Would you care for me to send a message up to her, my lord? "

"No, Jeremy, that’s quite all right. But I would care for an arm to act as a crutch.”

“Certainly, my lord,” Jeremy said, placing his shoulder under Royce’s left arm.

Just then, the sound of laughter and the slamming of a door caught their attention.

“Something tells me," murmured Royce, “that the quiet tomb is a thing of the past.”

Jeremy grinned. "As you say, my lord.”

The boys burst into the hall. Seeing the earl, they ran toward him, both talking at once. Royce braced himself for their physical onslaught, but Jeremy deflected the full power of their impact.

“My lord! My lord!" squealed Edward.

“You should have seen—” Bertram was saying.

“It was the funniest thing—” Edward said.

“And dragged it behind them!” they shouted over each other.

Royce laughed. “Hold it! Hold it. Calm down. One at a time.”