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While the duchess and Fitzroy talked, Her Grace’s staff swarmed around Thorne with such efficiency, he would wager they could rival a military encampment.

Within minutes, he was given a hearty tray and coffee.

A saddlebag was filled with more provisions, and after a quick consultation, they decided to stable the inn’s horse and saddle him a hunter.

The carriage was hitched and a maid had ensured that a spare cloak had been packed for Lady Normanby.

Thorne felt like he had been swept into a fever dream. He didn’t even know the entirety of what had transpired. The bits and pieces he had assembled, pulled from Charity’s staff, had shocked him.

When they were ready to set out, the duchess had turned to him, explaining how she had followed London’s lights east, through Hyde Park. “I left bits of cloth as markers,” she told Thorne, a deep furrow creasing between her brows. “Is it enough? It was all I had.”

“You did very well to do that,” Thorne told her gently. “If you recall where you came out from the park, we’ll know where to start.”

He was sure they would be able to find the duchess’s bearing. But whether they could follow her trail without the light of the sun? That was… less certain. “Tell me more about what we’ll be up against when we arrive.”

She told them about Bellrose. And then they were off on their mission. Himself, the carriage and driver with Her Grace inside, and the single horsed guard.

Thorne rode beside the carriage as they made their way to the park, querying her through the window more about her flight east through Kensington, following London’s glow. And as the details emerged, Thorne’s disbelief warred with anger.

“Here!” called the soldier, lifting the lantern.

Kicking his horse into a trot, Thorne moved forward to join him, seeing the last small piece of knotted white cloth on the branch of the tree she had left behind. Now all they had to do was find the others.

He circled the spot, trying to see if he could spot boot prints.

But between the dark, the dry ground, and the duchess’s slight size, there was little to make out.

So it was slow, terrible progress, especially through the park, and Thorne and the guard flanked the Town coach widely to the left and right in a shifting pattern, keeping London’s fading glow at their back, trying to spot the next shrub or tree Duchess Atholl would have marked.

Things improved some when they found the dirt trace she had followed for a time, but they lost the trail at a crossroads she hadn’t seen to mark, having to double back when they went too far with no sign.

And when they finally found the right path, Thorne only found a single marker at the edge of the road before the freshly disturbed trail of dirt led him into the field of some pasture.

“I was off the road for a while,” she admitted when Thorne dismounted to examine the ground on foot.

He nodded. There was nothing for it. “We will have to walk and look for your path.”

“...May I help?” she asked softly.

The more eyes, the better. And perhaps she would recall other landmarks. “Of course, Your Grace,” he murmured, opening the door and giving her his hand to help her down.

She squeezed his hand tightly. “Thank you for helping us,” she whispered. “I am so sorry?—”

“No, don’t. It isn’t necessary to apologise to me,” he cautioned her.

“Then I will say how very glad I am that you are here.” She let out the smallest sniff.

Thorne was, too. Especially as Charity began to tell him about what had happened in the last month. Things that she would not have said in front of the soldier, about her escape. It was unimaginable. But the trail they followed in the darkness made a believer out of him.

The carriage followed them as best it could, sticking to the trace. And hours later, as their path wandered back towards another dirt track, Charity finally spotted the double marker that she had left first.

“It’s ahead. It should be up ahead from here!” she said, hugging her arms to herself in relief.

“Well done,” Thorne told her, resting his hand on her shoulder as he looked around for the coach’s lantern, spotting it a few minutes behind them as it negotiated a turn onto the road that would take it past the house, their horses still tied up behind it.

“It’s time to get you back inside the carriage, Your Grace. ”

There was enough light in the night sky to see the way from here. He closed his lantern, and the guard with them followed suit. Thorne let the soldier walk the duchess back to the carriage, creeping closer behind the hedgerow to examine the house.

It was entirely dark, now. But this was the place, for certain. He found the spot she had torn her dress, a swatch of it hanging from broken branches, visible in the moonlight.

Thorne brushed his fingers over the torn fabric as he listened for the guard’s approach. At this time of night, the whole world was silent, and it made him uneasy. He straightened and turned back toward the house, planning to indicate to the soldier that they check around before forcing entry.

But the soldier never made it that far.

A dark shadow separated itself soundlessly from the hedgerow and struck him hard in the back of the skull with the butt of his knife. The guard collapsed without a cry, tumbling into the grass.

Thorne leapt out of the way, barely evading the hissing blade arcing across his midriff.

The hooded man was already on him.