“If one of us were a man, we could go to Gretna Green,” Kitty said with a heavy sigh.
It thrilled me to know she had desires to marry me, but shot me through the heart with a reminder that we would never get that chance.
“If one of us were a man, we would not be running in the first place,” I reminded her.
“True,” she allowed. “Although I am glad neither of us is a man. I think you might not love me if I were, and I love you most exactly as you are.”
“Oh, and what am I?” I teased.
She tickled my waist for my impertinence at seeking compliments, easily overpowering my half-hearted attempts to push her fingers away. When we had both had our fill ofgiggles and breathless protests, she collapsed beside me, studying me carefully in the candlelight.
“Quiet brilliance,” she said, sweeping an escaping curl behind my ear. “That’s what you are, George.”
I blushed, but did not argue. It seemed far more important to return the sentiment.
“And you are bold adventure,” I whispered, kissing her softly.
I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her in, feeling her relax as she settled her cheek against my shoulder and breathed against my neck. It almost didn’t matter where we were going the next morning, as long as she was with me. But if we wanted any kind of real freedom, we needed to be beyond the reach of our families. We needed a plan.
The moment we were in was perfect, but the future would sneak up on us whether we liked it or not, and it was wise to be prepared. Especially since it wasn’t going to be easy.
I knew how I wanted it to look. Kitty and me living together, unburdened and unbothered, the picture of the marriage we could never truly have. I knew of only one couple who had achieved it, and for that they seemed almost mythical to me. Only they weren’t. They were real and alive and, according to Charlotte, used to visitors.
“Kitty, those atlases you read—have you ever noted Llangollen?” I asked, sitting up straight so quickly she fell against the pillow with an indignant whine.
She pushed herself up to look at me, seemingly sceptical of my mental state.
“It’s in Wales,” she said, a little wary. “Why?”
I told her everything I knew about Eleanor Butler and Sarah Ponsonby. It was woefully little, but even what I could recall from that morning in Charlotte’s parlour lit a fire in Kitty’s eyes, one stoked by hope.
“Maybe that’s where we should go. Llangollen,” I finished. “We could ask them how they have managed it. Even if we go abroad it will still not be easy, so I think we might be in much need of their advice.”
Kitty grinned, taking my hands and squeezing tight.
“I have never been to Wales,” she said, “but I am very glad to be going with you.”
That settled it, then.
I fell asleep with the potential for a future worth living warm and secure in my heart. With Kitty tucked beside me, her breath against my neck and her fingers hooked around mine, I struggled to think of a single regret.
We left before the sun had even started to rise. I was keen to put as much distance between us and Longbourn as possible, especially with a destination in mind. Kitty’s knowledge of the country’s geography came in useful as we secured ourselves passage to Llangollen. Thankfully it came at a price less than the coins I had in my purse, but only just.
I had plenty of questions for the Ladies of Llangollen, but near the top of the list was money—how did they afford their life together when no one was willing to pay a woman whatthey paid a man, or even let them do the same work? It was the biggest barrier to having the future I wanted, and I was hoping they could share their secrets.
We boarded a Royal Mail coach with four other passengers, who mercifully seemed to have little interest in us. An older woman and her male servant spoke neither a word to each other, nor to anyone else. The other couple seemed to be a husband and wife, perhaps newly married. They were cheerful and talkative, but were interested only in each other. I watched the woman embroider a handkerchief, her face pinching when a rocky turn in the road caused her needle to slip and prick her skin. Regardless of the less-than-ideal situation, she made quick work of a delicate, scrolling pattern as a monogram took shape beneath her fingers.
“I don’t know how to embroider,” I whispered to Kitty. “At least, not well.”
She turned to look at me, confusion heavy in her eyes, before the corner of her lip quirked up.
“It’s good to know you’re not perfect,” she said with a grin. “Why do you mention it?”
“No, I mean… I cannot neatly mend clothing or embroider linens.”
“You think I care about embroidered linens?” Kitty asked. “I ran away with you in the middle of the night, without a linen or a handkerchief or even a needle in my bag. I care aboutyou, George. And if we suddenly find ourselves in dire need of embroidery or mending, I think you will find me quite adept with the skill.”
It had not occurred to me that my deficiencies would be solved with Kitty’s talents, even though it should have done. She matched me perfectly. I told her as much in a low whisper, careful that the words not be overheard by any of the other passengers, and I knew from the look in her eyes that she wanted to kiss me. It was undeniably an expression mirrored in my own features, but it was too dangerous a risk. Instead Kitty reached for my fingers and looped them with her own, hiding them within the tucks and folds of our skirts. That was as good as we could get until we found ourselves another locked door.
