Her hands shook as she tied the bonnet under her chin.
This is real. I am really doing this.
The hallway was dark, illuminated only by a single candle Margaret had left burning near the servants’ stairs. Eliza moved on stockinged feet, her shoes clutched in one hand, every creak of the floorboards making her heart leap.
Her father’s study was on the ground floor. She eased the door open, wincing as the hinges groaned softly against her will.Moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting everything in shades of silver and shadow.
The desk. Third drawer on the right. Behind the ledgers.
She pulled open the drawer, felt past the papers and books until her fingers found the small metal box. Inside, she found banknotes and coins. Enough to get her far from here.
I’m sorry, Father,she thought, though the apology felt hollow.
He had sold her to save himself. The fallout would be his problem, and his alone.
She tucked the money into the pocket sewn inside her cloak and crept back into the hallway. The kitchen door was unlocked, just as Margaret had promised.
Outside, the night air was cool and fresh, carrying the scent of grass and horses, of an unknown freedom.
The stable was a dark shape against the sky. Clyde, the stable boy, was waiting with a horse already saddled. Eliza breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it was Rosie, the gentlest mare. He looked nervous but determined.
“Don’t worry, my lady. Miss Margaret told me,” he whispered. “Well… Godspeed, Lady Eliza. And… I’m sorry about your friend.”
Eliza’s throat tightened at the boy’s sweet words. She had received no such condolences from her parents. Overwhelmed by emotion, she nodded, unable to speak. She mounted the horse quickly, adjusting her skirts, heart pounding so hard she was certain it could be heard across the courtyard. Thomas handed her the reins.
This is it.
“Follow the road south,” he murmured. “Stay off the main routes until you’re well clear of London.”
“Thank you,” Eliza whispered. “Thank you both. I won’t forget this. One day, I will repay you for this kindness.”
“Think nothing of it, my lady. Good luck to you…”
Then she urged Rosie forward, out of the stable yard, down the gravel drive. The house grew smaller behind her, its windows dark and unseeing.
She didn’t look back.
The road stretched before her, silver in the glistening moonlight. Somewhere ahead lay Sussex, and safety, and a chance at a life that was hers alone. Behind her lay everything she had ever known, her family, her home, her name.
And Abigail, cold in the ground, whose fate Eliza refused to share.
Eliza tightened her grip on the reins and rode into the night.
Chapter Two
“Are you absolutely certain about this?” Ambrose pressed, an eyebrow raised.
Morgan Sedgewick, the Duke of Kirkhammer, embraced his friend, clapping him firmly on the back.
“For the third time, Ambrose, yes. I’m certain. Now go enjoy your honeymoon.”
Ambrose pulled back, his expression skeptical but nodding. He glanced past Morgan to where his wards, Arthur and Philip, were locked in enthusiastic hugs with Imogen, the Duchess of Welton, their small arms wrapped around her waist.
“We could take the boys with us,” Ambrose said, lowering his voice. “I could rearrange the trip. France and Italy are lovely this time of year, and?—”
“And utterly wasted on two seven-year-olds who would much rather chase each other through gardens than appreciate Renaissance art.” Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Besides, you’re supposed to be on aromantichoneymoon. I am very fond of your nephews, but they contribute absolutely nothing to romance. Trust me on this.”
A reluctant smile tugged at Ambrose’s mouth. “Very well.”
