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He lowered the carriage step then helped her down, giving her as wide a berth as humanly possible in the cramped stall.

She waited as he disappeared once more into the coach interior. He emerged seconds later hoisting two cases, one black, the other a fine looking, medium-sized pastel trunk embellished with ribbons and tiny flowers.

She peered at the latter. “Is that mine?”

“You don’t know?”

She shook her head. “Lady…” she pressed her lips together, uncertain whether she ought mention Lady Wentworth’s part in all this.

He sent her a long-suffering look, then jutted his chin for her to precede him from the building.

As soon as the door closed behind them, he turned to her. “What about Lady Wentworth?”

When she hesitated, he sent her an icy smile. “Who else would dare stow you in my—Harrison’s—coach? Unless you have another benefactress amongst the guests at Femsworth Manor?”

He made a valid point.

Lightning flashed, followed by a rumble of thunder. She inched closer to him.

“Lady Wentworth both packed and stowed my things before I even knew I was to depart.”

He glanced down at the feminine trunk he held. “Very helpful.”

She nodded her assent, ignoring his sarcasm. “Do you think we ought to go inside?”

“Come on, then.”

They made haste crossing the rain drenched courtyard to the inn.

A few minutes later, a bemused proprietress showed Anna, Caden in tow, to her room, all the while grumbling about why on earth the good sir hadn’t thought to mention his sister in the first place .

“Lucky for you, we still have a room to let, what with this night’s weather. Guests’ve poured in all evening, and the storm don’t appear to be lettin’ up any time soon.”

Caden made no comment. He surveyed the chamber appraisingly before depositing her trunk on the bed. His gaze slid to Anna. He eyed her up and down.

Her face throbbed with mortified heat. She could only imagine what a fright she must look. She hugged herself and told herself she could handle whatever insult he doled out.

“Madame, kindly have meals brought up for myself and my sister.”

As if seconding his motion, her stomach emitted a low growl.

Her eyes met his. His lips twitched and she sent him a tentative smile, helpless to resist.

“She also requires a bath.”

Her smile vanished. She resisted mentioning he looked far from fresh, himself, with stubble darkening his cheeks, not to mention the blue tinge above his brow. Although, come to think of it, the wound didn’t look half bad. The work of her salve, no doubt.

He arched a challenging brow at her scrutiny. She arched both her brows in response.

Seemingly oblivious to the silent interchange, the innkeeper balked. “At this hour? It’ll cost ya dear, sir.”

“Be that as it may, my sister has had a trying evening.”

“Aye, sir.” She scurried from the chamber, muttering under her breath.

Caden followed, tossing over his shoulder, “Until tomorrow, sister.” He closed the door softly behind him.

Anna stood in the room’s center and stared at the paneled door, contemplating his parting words. Until tomorrow .

Until tomorrow, what? Did he mean to question her then be on his way, leaving her behind? And why wouldn’t he? He owed her nothing. Not a paid night at the inn, and certainly not a carriage ride to Derbyshire followed by an extended stay at Chissington Hall.

Why hadn’t Lady Wentworth informed her whose carriage she climbed into? Why hadn’t Anna thought to ask?

In fairness to herself, her main concern had been escape.

She searched her mind, trying to recall the dowager duchess’s exact words as she closed the luggage hold, plunging Anna into darkness. Stay silent and all will be well. Do have a care and check the contents of your trunk when you arrive at your destination…carefully.

She approached the pretty flowered trunk lying atop the neatly made bed.

She popped the trunk’s latches and lifted the lid—then blinked in confusion at the heretofore unseen contents. Was this the trunk Lady Wentworth had packed for Anna? Who else’s could it be? But on first glance it appeared Lady Wentworth had packed none of Anna’s servant’s gowns.

She riffled through the layers of clothing, spying several fine day dresses, at least one evening gown similar to those Lady Bernadette had loaned her, fresh undergarments and a white, lawn sleeping gown. And at the bottom, she was gratified to see, nestled her new boots.

She nibbled the tip of her pointer finger and stared at the trunk’s contents as if doing so might reveal the where, why, and how Lady Wentworth had procured the garments. She drew a solid blank.

Check the contents…carefully.

A satin pocket ran along the inner side of the trunk. Cautiously, Anna slipped one hand inside. Her fingers closed over buttery, smooth leather. A book? Too thin. Some sort of packet ?

She withdrew what looked to be a lady’s leather billfold and peeked inside. She gasped at the substantial stack of crisp British pound notes. Lady Wentworth had sent her off with a minor fortune. And something else, too.

Anna withdrew a small bit of folded wax paper. She peeled back the corners—and stared. Her mother’s ruby? It couldn’t be.

Hands trembling, she re-wrapped gemstone, and slid it back into the billfold.

Her thoughts churned. Lady Wentworth somehow knew about Lord Bolton, had aided Anna in her escape, had provided her with clothing and funds—and what appeared to be Anna’s mother’s ruby, which Anna had pawned two years ago.

How? Why? Nothing about this night made any sense.

A knock sounded at her door, followed by a muffled voice announcing her bath’s arrival.

She closed her eyes. A hot bath would feel divine.

Everything else could wait.