Rowan’s jaw tightened. “Walk with me.”
Frederick nodded, falling into step beside him as they moved a short distance away, though Rowan’s attention drifted toward Emmeline, standing rooted in place, despite himself.
“This had better be good,” Rowan said under his breath.
“I stopped at the inn on the south road.” Frederick exhaled. “One of the barmaids said a lady in a wedding gown passed through not an hour ago. She paid another girl to exchange clothes with her.”
Rowan stilled.
“And?” he said.
Frederick reached into his coat and handed him a folded paper. “She left this.”
Rowan took it, already knowing what he would see before he unfolded it.
I cannot do this. I need to be somewhere safe. Please do not follow. I will write when I can. – J
The words burned, and Rowan simply stared at them for a moment.
His sister had run. Left him to stand before a chapel full of witnesses and explain the absence of a bride. Left him to manage the fallout. Left?—
Rowan exhaled sharply, forcing the thought down before it could turn into something more volatile.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
“What now?” Frederick asked.
Rowan lifted his head, already calculating.
“We contain it,” he said. “We postpone the wedding.”
“And her?” Frederick nodded subtly toward Emmeline.
Rowan followed the gesture before he could stop himself.
She stood a short distance away, her posture still composed, though there was a tightness in her shoulders now, a tension that had not been there before.
He knew Lady Emmeline was alone, in a wedding gown, at the wrong chapel—all because of him. He forced himself to turn back to the matter at hand, but the realization tugged at his chest, and he knew he had to do something about her, too. He would not let her bear more of it.
“We handle Wellfield first.” Rowan finally exhaled.
Frederick nodded.
They stepped back toward the others just as Wellfield moved forward again, his patience clearly gone.
“I require an explanation,” he said.
“You shall have one,” Rowan replied, his voice steady.
“Well?”
Rowan met his gaze. “My sister has taken ill.”
Wellfield stared at him. “You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to exercise discretion,” Rowan said coldly.
“Well, I refuse,” Wellfield snapped. “This is humiliating. The wedding is to take placenow, before witnesses, before?—”
