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“ S taunton!” Amelia woke up with a start.

Somehow, whatever she had struggled to remember fully awake, she’d managed to recall in the midst of her restless sleeping.

Sir George Staunton—that was the name Papa liked to talk about.

That was the person who’d visited their house, his eyes bright and curious at the sight of a young Amelia, like a naturalist being presented with a particularly exotic sample.

If she could find Sir George, then she just might be able to?—

Amelia blinked at her unfamiliar surroundings. She was certainly not in Upper Wimpole Street, and not at any of the Fitzwater family’s other residences either. In fact, the small, simple quarters in front of her seemed to hover between the genteel and servile.

She breathed in, trying hard to stay calm, as her mind scrambled. She’d needed to run, to escape Mother’s machinations. She had taken her most prized possessions along with her, hired a hackney, and?—

She looked around her. How had she gone from her hackney to wherever this was?

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” a woman’s voice said.

Amelia turned towards the plump, cheerful woman emerging from what looked like a small kitchen tucked at the back of the apartment. One look at her hostess’s sweet smile shifted all her memories back in place.

“Mrs. Wilmark.” Amelia’s shoulders eased. “Did I fall asleep? I—you must think I have the most horrible manners.”

“There are times in life when manners become secondary.” The clergyman’s sister had such a motherly way about everything she said that Amelia rather expected her to cluck like a mother hen at any moment. “I hope you’ve rested well.”

“Did I sleep for very long?” Amelia tried unsuccessfully to stifle a lingering yawn. She’d barely slept last night, having spent most of it trying to pack as discreetly as possible for her trip to China—a trip that was edging farther and farther away from reality the more she dwelt upon it.

Mr. Hawthorne might have been a little brutal in his heartless dissection of her dream, but what he said had made sense, however much Amelia might wish it otherwise.

She might have been foolhardy enough to think forcing her way to China on her own was an entirely reasonable endeavor in the heights of her agitation, but a good sleep had brought with it a rested, cleared mind.

And Amelia was forced to acknowledge that it was nigh impossible for her to successfully take such a trip without risk, especially without the name of the Aldbury clan to lend her consequence .

The niece of the Earl of Aldbury might still be treated as a proper passenger. There was no such guarantee for poor Miss Waters of unknown origins and mysterious, Asian features.

“You slept a good three hours, perhaps,” Mrs. Wilmark replied casually. “I should have known to offer you a cot.”

“Three hours!” Amelia shot up from her chair, almost tripping on her half-numb leg.

“Oh, that is so terribly rude. I should not have—but I don’t know where I—” Amelia felt her lips quiver.

She cast her eyes about for the man who’d brought her here in the first place.

“Is Mr. Hawthorne about? Perhaps he can help me secure a room at an inn.”

“You can stay here with us. My brother and I have room to spare, what with my husband and sons away more than they are on land.” Mrs. Wilmark walked over.

The woman was not particularly tall by English standards, but she still stood taller than Amelia’s slight frame.

She clasped Amelia’s hands, a gesture so kind and so foreign that Amelia struggled not to weep.

“Whatever it is that is driving you from home need not make you lose a roof over your head entirely. I never have enough people to fuss over and would be glad to take you in. My brother would not oppose.”

“I cannot possibly impose,” Amelia protested out of habit, even if her heart rather liked being sheltered by Mrs. Wilmark—just like it had liked following after Mr. Hawthorne earlier today.

It was almost as if these two perfect strangers lent her a greater sense of belonging than her own stepmother ever did.

“Just a day or two, until you find your feet, my dear.” Mrs. Wilmark smiled. “I know ours are but humble quarters, but?—”

“Oh, your home is wonderful,” Amelia answered quickly. She pressed back on the woman’s hands with a smile of her own. “Thank you ever so much.”

“I’m sure, with a mind like yours, we can have things sorted out quickly.”

It was odd to have someone show any sort of confidence in her.

For all of her nineteen years, Amelia had never experienced such a thing.

Mother had always disliked her. Her cousins, however kind, often designated her the role of a child.

And while Papa had always brimmed with affection, he’d never been one for confidence in her abilities.

“Thank you,” said Amelia sincerely. She tried to reconsider all the tumultuous thoughts that had swirled in her mind after her earlier conversation with Mrs. Wilmark and Mr. Hawthorne.

They’d mentioned something about London, about finding someone.

Was that what she had been thinking about when she’d nodded off from sheer exhaustion?

She remembered a name. There was someone who— “Oh yes!”

“I am pleased to know you are so glad to see me,” said a young man’s voice.

“Oh.” Amelia and Mrs. Wilmark turned at the same time towards the new arrival.

Mr. Hawthorne, looking even handsomer than he had this morning, stood just past the landing.

He appeared slightly disheveled, as if he had spent the day running about, although he still carried himself with that charming, reassuring air of a gentleman.

He smiled genially, if a little tiredly, before bowing his head. “I trust you rested well, Miss Waters.”

Amelia wanted to blush. Had she truly fallen asleep right in the presence of two brand-new acquaintances—with one being a man, no less? It certainly appeared as if she had .

She cleared her throat. “I did. Thank you.”

“And you look much the better for it,” he said, without a hint of flattery. And then his frown, that same frown from their conversation in the storeroom earlier, returned. “I only wish that I’d returned with good news.”

“You left to seek answers—for me?” Amelia blurted, astonished. Even Papa, for all his tenderness, would never have bestirred himself for Amelia’s sake. That a stranger would do so was utterly baffling. “Are there any ships leaving for China?”

“There may be some.” He seemed hesitant to answer. “Although none directly, given the strict regulations over Cantonese trade—and most certainly none I would trust with genteel passengers.”

Amelia felt another part of her heart deflate.

“I apologize for not having better news to offer, Miss Waters.”

“Oh, it is hardly your fault.” Amelia tried to stifle a sniff. “And perhaps—perhaps my answers need not be found as far away as China, you know? There is a chance, perhaps, of someone I can consult here, although I hardly know where to find him.”

“You know someone here, in London?” Mr. Hawthorne stepped forward, sounding keen.

Amelia wondered at his eagerness. Did he think her his responsibility and was eager to be rid of her?

Given how her own family wished to marry her away to some grasping tradesman sight unseen, she wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Hawthorne was similarly inclined.

“Sir George Staunton—my father’s associate.” Amelia set aside her feelings to answer. It was not as if her new friends owed her anything. “They visited China together the year I was born, and he travels often between England and the Far East, to my knowledge.”

“And it is your goal to travel with him? Is that wise?”

“If not to travel with him—at least to ask him—certain questions.” Amelia bit her lip.

Something held her back from telling Mr. Hawthorne and Mrs. Wilmark that she didn’t even know who her own mother was—perhaps a fear of losing their good opinion.

But she needed answers, and Sir George might just be the best person to ask without undertaking a trip all the way to China.

“Would contacting your father’s associate not put you at risk?” asked Mr. Hawthorne, his concern surprising her.

“Oh, no, not at all. It is not as if they meet very often. I’ve only met him once before.”

“And yet you believe he can help you.”

“He is the closest person I can think of, yes.”

Mr. Hawthorne nodded slowly, as if absorbing whatever she’d just told him. “Very well. Do you have his address?”

“Oh, no, I do not know a thing about him except his name.”

“That is—inconvenient.”

“But, surely, there aren’t that many Stauntons around?”

“It is hardly a rare name, Miss Waters.”

“But a baronet?”

Amelia couldn’t quite understand why Mr. Hawthorne suddenly looked stunned while Mrs. Wilmark chuckled.

“You always were fated to know the nobility, son,” said Mrs. Wilmark good-naturedly, her playful tone a far cry from the innuendos of the ambitious matchmaking Amelia was used to encountering at the edges of society events .

“I suppose,” Mr. Hawthorne said slowly after a long pause, “a title does narrow things down a little bit.”

Amelia regarded him hopefully.

His blue eyes softened. “I’ll see what I can do.”

It took three days, when all was said and done, to locate an address for Sir George Staunton.

Under no other circumstances might Jacob have crossed paths with the man, but a strategic questioning or two of the Hawthornes’ more lofty customers had finally pointed him on the right path after the first two disheartening days.

He hadn’t even noticed how frustrated he’d been until the third day, when he’d finally had good news to bring to Miss Waters. Given how she’d smiled at him, tea tray in hand, when he’d made his daily afternoon call, he rather thought she’d welcomed the news, along with the bearer of it.