They laughed, rose, and climbed the narrow stair to the small chamber the landlord had assigned. Edward and Henry lingered in the parlor until the clatter from the common room grew too noisy to make conversation pleasant. At Henry’s suggestion they stepped outside, into the cool night. The yard had quieted. The post-coach horses stood dozing in their traces. A stable boy moved among them, checking girths. The sky was a low ceiling of cloud, thinning in places to show a scatter of stars.
Henry leaned against the inn wall, drawing a cheroot from his pocket. “Smoke?”
Edward nodded, taking one. They lit them from a spill brought from the kitchen.
“Is she very frightened?” Edward asked, nodding upward, toward the rooms.
“Libby?” Henry smiled around the cheroot. “Terrified. Thrilled. Determined. I suspect that combination will carry us through most storms.”
“And you?” Edward said. “Are you frightened?”
“Of poverty?” Henry shrugged. “I have been cold and hungry before. The army is an excellent tutor in discomfort. Of Doncaster’s wrath? I have weathered that too. Of losing her? Yes.”
He tilted his head, studying Edward through the smoke.
“What of you?” Henry asked. “You left in a hurry. Even for you.”
“I chased my wife,” Edward said. “Apparently this is considered romantic by some and idiotic by others.”
“I count it in the first column,” Henry said.
“You also count marrying without your father’s consent a sensible plan,” Edward pointed out.
“True,” Henry said amiably. “Perhaps my judgment is impaired. Humor me regardless. You rode after her. Why?”
Edward took a slow draw, exhaled.
“She left alone,” he said. “The roads are bad. The distances long. I could not let her go like that.”
“You could have sent guards,” Henry said. “You came yourself.”
“Yes,” Edward said. “I did.”
Henry was silent a moment. “You still doubt her,” he said at last. It was not quite a question.
Edward’s hand tightened on the cheroot. “I doubt many things,” he said.
“Deverell,” Henry said quietly, “you believed him,”.
“For a time,” Edward replied. “My mother believes him.” He broke off.
“And yet?” Henry prompted.
“And yet I have looked into Isla’s face,” Edward said slowly, “and seen … something that does not fit with the picture of a scheming adventuress. She is impulsive. Fierce. Not always wise. But I have seen her with horses, with servants, with her brother. There is care there. Not calculation.”
Henry nodded. “I have seen the same. She offered me work today, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to take in a half-disinherited cavalry officer and untitled wife.”
“She has a talent for inviting strays,” Edward said quietly.
Henry smiled. “You say that as if you were not the stray in this case.”
Edward huffed, then sobered. “Even so. Deverell’s statement exists. He believes he was duped by a Scottish pair using Isla’s name. Either she has forgotten the encounter entirely, a feat I find unlikely, or someone else wore her name for an evening.”
Henry took the cheroot from his mouth and looked at the glowing tip. “I heard a rumor,” he said. “Before I left Town. From a fellow officer who has a cousin in Deverell’s circle.”
Edward’s head came up. “What rumor?”
“That Deverell boasted,” Henry said. “After the fact. Of having escaped a trap. He spoke of a Scotswoman, tall, raven-haired, eyes like midnight, a voice like whisky. Called her Isla. Said she and her brother nearly had him, but he was too clever.”
