But… there was one person who had not received an invitation. One person in the world who would understand.
Her younger sister, Marigold.
Goldie had been disowned by her father barely one month before for marrying the Earl of Standish against their father’s will. And the Earl of Standish lived nearby, on this very street—on Hanover Square…
Nia had visited the house last year—with her former fiancé.
A slamming sounded behind her. The doors of the church closing behind those who would catch up to her.
If her father got ahold of her, he’d show no mercy.
She’d gone years without suffering one of his punishments, but now she had done the unthinkable. She had embarrassed him. For that, he’d not hesitate to bring out his whip.
Even more ominous, he might force her back to that altar, which, knowing her father, was a distinct possibility.
Ignoring the stitch at her side, she pushed herself to run faster, past the rigid symmetry of the Georgian-style townhouses that suddenly all looked the same, sending up a hasty prayer that she was going in the right direction.
Rutherford Place—that was the name of the earl’s home. Of her sister’s new home.
Goldie, who’d never had to endure their parents’ expectations as she had, had witnessed them all the same.
She would understand Nia’s plight.
An elegant carriage approached from behind her, and for a moment, thinking it belonged to one of the wedding guests, Nia stumbled, nearly tripping herself.
But it kept driving right on past her before halting several doors down, at the entrance to one of the townhouses. Seemingly unaware of the drama playing out behind him, an elegant gentleman leapt out, holding a newspaper over his head, and dashed to the door where he lifted his hand. The sound of the knocker echoed off the streets and the buildings surrounding them.
Nia kept her eyes on the gentleman who stood on the stoop in the rain. Both he and the gabled entrance appeared familiar.
But of course! He was at Rutherford Place.
He was not beckoned inside, however. After having a brief word with the butler, the stranger shook his head and, skipping over a rather large puddle that had formed, dashed back to his carriage and climbed inside.
Nia slowed and approached the door herself. But before she could sound the knocker, a voice called out from the street—from inside the carriage. “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed as well,” the man called. “They’re still on their honeymoon.”
Devastation washed over Nia, and her heart sank to the soles of her feet. Terror followed when she heard footsteps pounding distantly behind her.
“Up ahead! Ho, there! Stop that woman!” one of them shouted.
Nia did not have to look to see that it was her father’s men. She did not have to look to know that she was on the verge of losing her newfound freedom.
In what she could only describe as utter desperation, she raced toward the gentleman’s carriage.
Before he could close the door behind him, she grasped the handle, and with no time to fuss with the step, threw herself onto the floor of the carriage, scurrying on her knees to close the door behind her while keeping herself low enough not to be visible through the windows.
To say that she’d startled the single passenger would be the height of understatements. But she hadn’t time to explain.
“Please, tell your driver to go!” she begged. “My life depends on it.”
The man hesitated only a moment, studying her with hazel eyes. And then, having come to some sort of decision, he raised a hand and pounded on the roof.
“Drive! Now!” he yelled, his gaze still pinned on her.
The coach lurched, and just as the voices outside grew louder, the vehicle began moving. Oh, so very slowly at first, but eventually gaining speed.
She didn’t allow herself to breathe until the voices outside faded altogether.
At which point, she tucked herself into a ball…
