“But… You don’t want it.” Her voice was small.
“No, but it’s what you need from me.”
“I cannot ask that of you.”
“You are not asking. I’m offering. And truly, unless you have an idea of your own… I’ve no other way to procure a carriage without substantial difficulty. And I don’t think a mail coach will do for this.”
“But…”
“It’s a carriage. One that is technically mine. It is only a conveyance, not an agreement to forsake everything I am. Now come, we should break our fast and be on our way before Sydney puts the wagon to better use.” I stuffed my arms through yesterday’s waistcoat and dragged a hand through my own hair in lieu of any sort of styling. A quick scrub of my chin revealed a shameful amount of growth on my face, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask Sydney for a blade.
Meanwhile, Davina tucked into the same stockings from yesterday, hole caressing her knee once again. When she stood, she tucked herself into my side and allowed me to lead her downstairs into the fray once more.
The breakfast table was entirely as chaotic as could be expected with so many children and more than one adult with the disposition of a child. Davina wore her expression of overwhelm delicately as food was snatched from plates in the middle of the table and crammed into mouths before ever touching a place serving.
I gathered more meat, toast, and preserves than I would usually consume, set it on my own plate, and slid it between us. She looked up at me gratefully.
“Anything else?”
“No, this is plenty.”
I nodded, then turned to Sydney. “Can you spare the wagon for a day?”
He schooled his expression well, but I knew it was an inconvenience. “I suppose. Are you going to Leighton then?”
“It seems the best option.”
“Take Jacob? So he can bring the wagon back with him,” he suggested.
“I thought to send it back with a servant from the estate.”
“I can manage without him for the day. Then you won’t have to arrange transport back for the servants.”
“If you’re certain,” I hedged.
Sarah squealed when Simon flicked a bit of toast at her. My sister groaned from her place at the table, her head clearly giving her some trouble.
“Rory, Alfie? Will you be ready to travel in an hour?”
“Aye,” Rory replied.
I turned back to Davina, who was seemingly growing bolder as she snagged the last piece of toast. I pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’ll go get our trunks.”
Twenty-One
LEIGHTON HALL—APRIL 12, 1817
DAVINA
A few hourstrundling along in the back of an uncovered wagon left me grateful for the discomfort of our late carriage. Kit had offered me nothing but a closed-lipped headshake when I tried to press him about Xander after we set off—following many hugs and kind words from his family. Instead, he merely nodded toward the front where Jacob and Alfie sat.
Rory lay sprawled in back with us, hat plopped over her face to shade it from the sun. Kit and I were bundled to one side, our trunks on the other as we bumped along across the countryside.
I sensed the precise moment we set upon his land. The way the shoulder I was resting against stiffened incrementally was a dead giveaway.
“We’re almost there?” I asked, tightening my fingers where they were tangled in his.
“Yes. I’m not sure if my late uncle’s wife, Tansy, is in residence. She had been visiting her sister during her mourning period, but she may have returned. She will be… difficult.”
