At last, she folded the letter with careful fingers. “We’ll leave at first light.”
“We will,” he affirmed. Then, softer, “We’ll find her.”
Charlotte didn’t answer. But she looked at him for a long moment, as if trying to believe it. Then she put on a reassuring smile, quiet but steady, and slid her fingers into his.
They left in haste, the foreman gaping as they rode off before remembering to shout at his men again. Upon returning to Hamilton House, they arranged to borrow Henry Nightingale’s horses for several more weeks. The staff watched in mute surprise as the pair packed with unusual efficiency—food for the road, blankets for hedges and haylofts, clothes rolled tightand tucked into saddlebags. Seth intended to make the ride as quickly as it could have been. Charlotte was not flustered, but rather eager to sleep under the stars if that helped them make better time than seeking out inns.
When they set out, the sun was halfway across the afternoon half of the sky. They went north and west, climbing hills with the view of crossing the Pennines and heading north from Carlisle into Scotland. They followed the olden, broken-toothed ridge of an ancient rampart from east to west, the sun on their faces and the wind in their hair.
In the first few hours, conversation was scarce. Somber. It only took a few more hours into the journey for Charlotte to warm up to the prospect of finding her sister in good health, and soon, she was racing him, whooping in delight as she urged her horse to the gallop. Seth had laughed wildly as she pursued, drunk on the freedom of travel.
The first night ended with them sheltering in a shepherd’s hut in the Cumbrian hills. Seth built a fire, and they made a nest of their blankets amongst dry hay. Seth held Charlotte, listening as her breathing became deep and even. Sleep did not come for him immediately. In his mind, another day was crossed off.
One day fewer. The fatal moment comes closer. But I do not care. I have what I need. Do I?
The knowledge that there was still time for action gave him doubt. The urge to ride on through the night was intense.
But the moment fast approaches. The point of no return is where all will be decided. Only then will I know for sure.
CHAPTER 28
The journey became tougher as they climbed the Cumbrian hills. Summer seemed left behind, and leaden clouds descended on them. Both had packed cloaks that had been waxed against the rain, but such was the bombardment that neither garment seemed to provide much protection. The road appeared to wind upwards, perpetually, with colossal hills on either side.
Whenever a distant farmhouse or a lonely shepherd’s hut appeared, Seth would call out to Charlotte, suggesting they wait out the end of the harsh weather.
“What if the end is a week away?” Charlotte’s response would in turn be, “I will not be the cause of you losing everything if there is any way I can prevent it. We must push on!”
She rode with her head down and the hood of her cloak pulled forward so that she could see nothing except the bedraggled head of her horse and her gloved hands on the reins. A cold hadsettled into her very bones, one that she could not imagine ever being free of.
Amelia, why could you not have spared a thought for this man before you left? Why could you not have spared a thought for me? I only now know that you are alive and betrothed and happy, but I did not have to be languishing in the dark.
She knew that her resentment came from the challenging conditions of their journey and her worry for Seth. The Nightingale family had plunged him into this situation. Another woman could have rejected him as the previous two had done, and Seth would have been free. But he was unlucky enough that the third potential bride was Amelia, who intended to switch places with her twin sister and disappear.
Please, God, let us not fail. And if we do, let him not resent me, though I cannot see how it can be any other way. He protests that he does not care, but I think the worry is weighing on him. It puts tension on his face, which should not be there. His face is one made for joy and laughter.
As they crawled closer to the Scottish border, she realized that she could not imagine her life without Seth. She had long given up any thought of marriage, resigning herself to the fate of a spinster and telling herself that she was content with such a life. Amelia was the one who would find love. Amelia was the one who would have adventure and excitement.
And I was content with that. I was! So many years we wrote to one another, and watching my sister flourish into a lady fromafar was the greatest gift I could have ever asked from God. If one of us could have their heart’s content, then I would only ever wish it to be her. I was glad. Iamglad.
But now, Charlotte knew that Amelia’s life had been very different from the one that Charlotte had imagined and read in her letters. Full of politics and scheming. Gossip and the threat of scandal. The unbearable pressure of the Londonton.
But she has found love, I hope. With Luke Hadley, of all people. How did I not see that?
She had fallen into a sleepy reverie as she rode, eyes open but mind drowsing. The lifting of the clouds had passed her notice as the road gradually descended. She did not fully awake until Seth gently shook her shoulder.
Charlotte jerked in the saddle, startling her mount. The hood dripped water from its edges and fell back from her face. It was then she noticed Seth had been holding her while she slept to ensure her comfort and that she didn’t fall or hurt herself.
“I think we have crossed our paths’ first range of hills. And we have found somewhere to rest. Our horses need it, even if you insist that you do not,” he murmured.
Charlotte looked down towards a village nestled at the foot of the hillside where they were descending. It was no more than a handful of cottages around a stone church.
“Do we have the time to spare?” she asked, “I am sure the horses can be walked for a few miles yet.”
“Yes, we do, and no, they can’t,” Seth retorted firmly. “This is as far as we go today. Wherever this is.”
They proceeded to the village, stopping at the first building, a smithy. The smith sat on a tree stump outside, filling a clay pipe and swiping its remnants off his apron. They dismounted. Charlotte thought she might snap in two as she tried to bend, so stiff was her body.
“Good day, sir,” Seth greeted the smith, “can you tell us where we are? We’re headed for the border.”
