Anthea shook her head. This was her responsibility. Her mess to clean up.
She had to find the words. Had to face her sister and somehow make this right.
Even though she had no idea how.
She opened her mouth. Closed it again.
Poppy's expression shifted from frightened to something that looked almost like pity.
"I am sorry," Poppy said softly. "I know this is not what you wanted. But it is done, Anthea. We are married. Or we will be, by tomorrow. You cannot change that."
"We can," Gregory said quietly. "There are other ways. Better ways. Ways that do not require you to scandalize yourself."
"At what cost?" Henry spoke for the first time, his voice steady despite the tension radiating from his frame. "At the cost ofgiving her mother ammunition? At the cost of my sisters' reputations?"
"I can protect your sisters," Gregory said. "I can ensure Beatrice has no power to?—"
"You cannot protect everyone," Poppy interrupted. She was looking at Anthea now, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Not from her. She finds ways. She always finds ways. And I could not—I will not—let her destroy what Henry and I have. Not when I finally found someone who?—"
Her voice broke.
Anthea felt something crack in her chest. Felt the careful walls she had constructed begin to crumble.
"Poppy," she whispered. The first word she had managed since they stopped. "Please."
"Please what?" Poppy asked. "Please come back? Please pretend this did not happen? Please trust that you can fix everything?" She shook her head. "I love you, Anthea. But I cannot put my future in anyone else's hands. Not even yours."
The words landed like stones.
Anthea swayed slightly. Felt Gregory's hand steady her, felt his solid presence at her back.
But all she could see was Poppy's face. Young and determined and so certain that running away was the only answer.
Because Anthea had not given her any other choice.
Because Anthea had been too distracted, too selfish, too inadequate to create an environment where Poppy felt safe enough to ask for help.
This was what failure looked like.
This—standing on a dusty road watching her sister choose exile over trust—this was the price of her incompetence.
"We should talk," Gregory said, his voice calm and reasonable despite the tension crackling through the air. "All of us. Properly. Before any irrevocable decisions are made."
Henry and Poppy exchanged a glance. Some silent communication passed between them.
"All right," Henry said finally. "We will talk. But I will not have Miss Poppy bullied or manipulated into?—"
"No one is going to bully anyone," Gregory interrupted. "We simply need to discuss options. Calmly. Like reasonable adults."
Another pause.
Then Poppy nodded slowly. "Very well. We will talk."
But as they began moving toward a clearing where both carriages could stop properly, as Sybil and Hugo emerged and introductions were made, Anthea felt nothing but emptiness.
They had found Poppy and Henry. They had stopped them before they reached Gretna Green.
But Anthea had no idea what to say that would make any of this right.
