"Yes," Gregory said firmly. "You return to London. You stay at my townhouse under my protection. And in two days, you marry properly. With family present and your reputations intact."
Henry looked at Poppy. "What do you think?"
Poppy was still watching Anthea, her expression troubled. "I think—" She stopped. Started again. "I think it is a good plan. Better than what we were attempting."
"Then we agree," Henry said. He stood, offering his hand to Gregory. "Thank you, Your Grace. For your generosity and for—" He paused. "For not making us feel like fools."
"You are not fools," Gregory said, shaking his hand. "You are young people in love trying to protect each other from a genuinely malicious woman. That is admirable, if misguided in execution."
They began making arrangements for the return journey. Poppy and Henry would travel in Gregory's carriage under Sybil and Hugo's chaperonage. Gregory and Anthea would follow in the other carriage.
As they prepared to depart, Poppy caught Anthea's arm.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For coming after us. For?—"
"You do not need to thank me," Anthea interrupted. "I did nothing. Gregory handled everything."
"That is not true," Poppy protested. "You?—"
"I failed you," Anthea said flatly. "I was so consumed with my own happiness that I did not notice you were planning something desperate. If I had been paying attention—if I had been doing my job properly—you would not have felt this was your only option."
"Anthea, no," Poppy said, distress clear in her voice. "That is not why I?—"
"It does not matter why," Anthea said. "What matters is that Gregory has fixed what I broke. You will have your marriage, and your reputation will remain intact. That is the important thing."
She gently extracted her arm from Poppy's grip and moved toward the waiting carriage before her sister could protest further.
The journey back to London was quieter than the journey north had been.
Anthea sat in the carriage with Gregory, staring out the window as the countryside rolled past in reverse. The sun was setting now, painting everything in shades of gold and amber that should have been beautiful but felt merely distant.
"That went well," Gregory said after they had been traveling for perhaps half an hour. "Better than I expected, actually. I thought Henry might be more resistant."
"Mm," Anthea managed.
Another silence.
"Poppy will be fine," Gregory continued. "The special license will be procured by tomorrow afternoon. We can have the wedding at St. George's—keep it small and intimate but entirely proper. No scandal at all."
"That is good," Anthea said automatically.
"Anthea." Gregory's voice was gentle. "Look at me. Please."
She turned from the window reluctantly.
Gregory was watching her with an expression that made her chest ache. Concern and love and confusion all tangled together.
"What is wrong?" he asked. "We found them. We stopped the elopement. Everything worked out exactly as we hoped. So why do you look like—" He stopped, seeming to search for words. "Why do you look like you have just suffered a defeat?"
"Because I did," Anthea said simply.
"What are you talking about?" Gregory leaned forward. "Anthea, we won. Your sister is safe. Her reputation is intact. Henry's family is protected. This is a victory."
"For you," Anthea said. "You came up with the solutions. You handled everything. You protected them. I did nothing."
"That is not true," Gregory protested. "You?—"
"I failed them," Anthea interrupted. "I was supposed to be their guardian. Their protector. The one who helped them navigate Society and find good matches without scandal or shame. And instead, I was so distracted by us—by my own happiness—that I drove my sister to run away."
