She felt Gregory's hand find hers, warm and solid. Felt him squeeze gently, offering comfort she did not deserve.
"I love you," he said quietly. "Whatever happens, whatever we find when we catch up to them—I love you. And we will face this together."
Anthea wanted to believe him. Wanted to accept the comfort he was offering. But all she could think about was Beatrice's triumphant expression when she learned what had happened.
I told you so, she would say.I told you that you would fail. And you did.
And the worst part was that Beatrice would be right.
Anthea closed her eyes and tried to breathe through the panic threatening to overwhelm her.
She had failed. Failed her sister, failed her responsibilities, failed everyone who had trusted her to be better than this.
And she had no idea how to fix it.
Or if it could be fixed at all.
The carriage rolled on through the morning, carrying them north. Toward Scotland. Toward the wreckage of her sister's reputation and her own shattered confidence.
Toward a reckoning Anthea was not certain she was ready to face.
But she would face it anyway.
Because what other choice did she have?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The first hour of the journey passed in suffocating silence.
Anthea stared out the window, watching the London streets give way to countryside, her mind spinning with calculations. How much of a head start did Poppy and Henry have? What route would they take? Could they possibly catch up before?—
"We will find them," Gregory said quietly.
Anthea did not respond. She could not force the words past the tightness in her throat.
She felt Gregory shift on the seat beside her, felt his hand reach toward hers, but she pulled away before he could make contact. Wrapped her arms around herself instead, creating a barrier he could not breach.
She could not bear his comfort right now. Could not accept reassurance she did not deserve.
Gregory withdrew, his hand falling back to his lap. The silence stretched taut between them.
"Sybil and Hugo are meeting us at the first posting inn," Gregory said after another long moment. "Cassandra is sending word to contacts along the northern road. Between all of us, we should be able to track them."
"Mm," Anthea managed. The smallest possible acknowledgment.
More silence.
Anthea could feel Gregory watching her, could sense his concern like a physical weight. But she kept her gaze fixed on the window, on the passing landscape that blurred together into meaningless green and brown.
Somewhere out there, Poppy was traveling toward Scotland. Toward a hasty marriage that would brand her as impulsive at best, scandalous at worst. Toward a future that would always be marked by this choice.
And it was Anthea's fault.
If she had been paying attention. If she had put her sisters first instead of her own desires. If she had been the guardian she promised to be?—
"Stop," Gregory said.
Anthea turned to look at him, startled. "What?"
