“Sister… no.” James lifted a hand in protest, but she shook her head. She was certain—more certain than she had ever been of anything except pushing Sebastian out of danger on Birdcage Walk.
“Listen,” Evelyn said gently. “I will take the Brentfield coach. It bears Sebastian’s crest, and it will be travelling toward London. What reason would Stannard have to attack it?” she asked, forcing herself to breathe steadily.
In truth, she knew exactly how dangerous her plan was. If Stannard had already learned that James had fled, he might verywell know where he had gone. They were all in peril. But she had to convince James. It was the only course she saw—the only action she could take.
“But…” James faltered, his brow furrowing as he tried to muster another argument.
“James, it is the only way to ensure our mother’s safety,” Evelyn said softly. “You must stay here. I will ask my maidservant to help conceal you. Perhaps she knows of some place where you might safely hide.”
Her thoughts flew. She knew so little of Sebastian’s house—no hidden rooms, no seldom-used passages. She had no idea where she could shelter her brother. She bit her lip, wishing she could ask someone in the family for help, yet unwilling to place any of them at risk. The less anyone knew, the safer they all would be.
“Evelyn! Would you truly do that?” James breathed. His eyes widened, astonished—so much so that her heart twisted at the thought that he had expected nothing of her.
“Of course I would,” she replied softly. “Did you think I would let Stannard kill you? You are my dearest brother.”
“You only have one brother,” James teased faintly—an old childhood refrain that nearly brought her to tears.
“Yes, but you are still the best,” she whispered, giving the familiar response she had offered since childhood.
“Thank you, Evelyn,” James whispered. He reached for her and pulled her into a fierce embrace that drove the breath from her lungs.
“James—you are hurting me,” she managed. He released her at once, and she looked into his frightened eyes, feeling the same fierce protectiveness she had felt her entire life.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“Now, I am going to find my maidservant and ask her to show you somewhere to hide,” Evelyn told him firmly. “Stay here until I return.” She fixed him with a steady look.
James nodded. Evelyn squeezed his hand—reassuring him, and reassuring herself—and slipped from the room. As she hurried down the corridor, her thoughts were already turning to the next step. She would hide James, order the coach made ready, and drive to London herself. It would take about three hours—however fast the horses—but it was a chance to save their mother.
Shehadto try.
Chapter Nineteen
Evelyn clambered into the carriage, the coachman reaching out to steady her. She murmured her thanks and settled onto the seat, staring out the window. She had ordered the barouche made ready; the smaller, lighter vehicle might complete the journey more swiftly. Speed was essential. She had to reach London before anything happened.
The coachman climbed briskly to his perch, and the carriage jolted into motion. Evelyn leaned back, shutting her eyes as exhaustion swept through her. For the next three hours, with the coach safely underway, there was nothing she could do.
“Help me,” she whispered into the stillness, the plea slipping out unbidden.
The barouche rattled along, the leather hood drawn up against the brooding rainclouds. Rain threatened; the air smelled heavy, expectant. Her pelisse was thick enough to keep out a mild rainfall, but she hoped the hood would prevent the worst of the damp from seeping inside.
An hour into the journey, the rain began in earnest—a cold, needling drizzle that chilled the air, seeped into the carriage’s front opening, and blurred the world into a grey haze. Evelyn watched helplessly as the visibility dwindled. She hated the idea of slowing their pace, yet she knew it was prudent. The road was slick, and the coachman would have to go carefully.
As the wheels clattered on, her thoughts wandered—uneasily—from James to Sebastian.
James was terrified—and with reason. Stannard’s reputation was dark enough to make even seasoned gentlemen hesitate. She recalled her brother’s white, stricken face, and her heart ached. Sebastian had already helped James once.Would he help again?A few days earlier, she would have said yeswithout hesitation—that he would protect James until some arrangement could be struck.
But now… she no longer knew. He had been so distant, so uncaring. She feared he might hand James over to the authorities without a second thought. Her chest tightened painfully. She admired Sebastian so deeply—but what if she had been wrong? What if he were shallow, indifferent—cruel?
A sudden jolt tore her from her thoughts. The coachman had already slowed due to the rain, but now he tugged the reins sharply, bringing the horses to a walk. Evelyn frowned.
“What is the matter?” she called.
Her question died on her lips.
Three men stood at the roadside. One held a pistol.
Evelyn froze, terror washing through her. She had not imagined robbery—not for a moment.
