No idea how to repair the trust she had broken through her own negligence.
No idea how to be the guardian she had promised to be when she could barely hold herself together.
The conversation would happen. Solutions would be discussed. Decisions would be made.
But Anthea knew—with cold, crushing certainty—that nothing would ever be the same again.
She had failed.
And no amount of talking would change that fundamental truth.
Chapter Thirty
They moved to a small clearing beside the road where both carriages could rest properly. The horses were tended to while the humans arranged themselves in an awkward circle—Poppy and Henry on one side, Gregory and Anthea on the other, with Sybil and Hugo positioned somewhere in between like reluctant mediators.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Gregory cleared his throat. "I understand why you felt this was necessary," he said, addressing both Poppy and Henry but keeping his tone neutral. "But I need you to understand the full scope of what you are doing."
"We know the risks," Henry said. His arm was around Poppy's shoulders, protective. "We discussed them extensively before making this decision."
"Did you discuss the fact that an elopement to Gretna Green will brand Miss Poppy as impulsive at best, desperate at worst?" Gregory asked. "That Society will assume the worst—that she was compromised, or pregnant, or fleeing some scandal?"
Poppy flinched slightly, but her chin remained high. "Better they assume wrong things about me than discover true things about Henry's father."
"Your father's debts are paid," Gregory said, turning to Henry. "You have spent three years repairing the damage he caused. That speaks to your character, not against it."
"Tell that to Society," Henry said bitterly. "Tell that to the matchmaking mamas who will whisper about tainted bloodlines and moral failings passed through generations."
"They will whisper regardless," Gregory pointed out. "The question is whether they whisper about old debts or about a scandalous elopement. Which rumor would you prefer to combat?"
Henry's jaw worked. "At least with an elopement, the scandal is contained to us. It does not touch my sisters."
"It touches everyone connected to you," Sybil interjected gently. "Your sisters included. If you are branded as the man who eloped with a duke's sister-in-law, that reflects on your entire family."
"Better that than having Beatrice spread lies about my father," Henry insisted.
"Beatrice has no power anymore," Gregory said firmly. "I have already made arrangements to remove her from London society entirely."
Poppy's head snapped up. "What arrangements?"
Gregory's expression was calm but his voice carried an edge of steel. "After her behavior at Veronica's wedding, I made inquiries. Called in favors. Your stepmother will be relocating to Bath within the week."
"Bath?" Poppy repeated.
"A lovely city," Gregory said. "Quiet. Respectable. Far from London's social circles and gossip mills. I have purchased a house there—modest but comfortable—and arranged for a modest annual income. Enough for her to live on, but not enough to make the kind of social waves she has become accustomed to."
"You cannot simply exile her," Poppy protested, though she sounded uncertain.
"Can I not?" Gregory raised an eyebrow. "I am a duke. She attempted to destroy my sister-in-law's wedding with unfounded accusations. I have every right to make clear that her presence in London society is no longer welcome."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"And if Bath proves insufficient—if she continues to cause trouble or spread malicious rumors—I have properties in the colonies. In India. Places far enough from England that her reach becomes entirely negligible."
The implied threat hung in the air like smoke.
Henry's expression shifted from defensive to calculating. "You would actually do that? Send her away?"
