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“And you said—”
“I know.”
Joan’s frown deepened. “If you’re wrong,” she said slowly, “there would be terrible consequences.”
“I believe in him,” Mariah whispered. “I will understand if you can’t help me.”
Joan stared at her for a long moment, then reached out and squeezed her hand. “All right. If you trust him, I shall, too. Go on.”
Surprisingly, her cousin came up with the answer immediately. “Douglas,” she said when Mariah explained about needing a messenger. “Douglas can take it. No one will care if he goes out by himself.”
“Do you think he would?” Mariah asked anxiously.
Joan waved one hand. “Of course he will. We can always tell Mother and Papa about the barmaids.”
Mariah gave an uneasy smile. It was easy for Joan to tease her brother, but this was too important to risk Douglas getting irked at them and refusing to do it, or even worse, telling his parents that they were up to something. “Joan, you must ask him sweetly,” she said.
Joan rolled her eyes. “Then he’ll know for certain we’re up to no good—I meant, that’s what he’ll think,” she amended hastily. “Douglas would think I’ve taken a fever if I ask too sweetly.” She opened the door. “Trust me, if handled properly, Douglas will do it.”
They found him in the hall, on the verge of stepping out the door. “Douglas, wait!” Joan cried, running down the stairs.
He turned and looked up at them. “Why? What did you do now?”
“Nothing.” Joan scowled at him. “We need to ask you something.”
“A favor,” said Mariah, hiding her note in the folds of her skirt.
Douglas eyed her curiously. “What sort of favor?”
“Come in here.” Joan dragged him into the nearby drawing room, and Mariah closed the doors behind them. “We need something delivered.”
“To whom?”
“To someone in London, not far from here.”
“Where?”
Mariah hesitated, but Joan blurted out, “Fenton Lane. Do you know where that is?”
Slowly, her brother nodded, a faint line between his brows. He wasn’t going to do it, Mariah realized; he was too suspicious. But everything hinged on this letter being delivered, and she didn’t have an alternative to Douglas.
“It’s just a note,” she said, drawing out her message. “Only...” She glanced at Joan and felt a blush rising in her cheeks. “Only...”
Douglas’s face cleared and he put out his hand for the letter. “Oh, that sort of note. Who’s it for?”
“Oh, what does it matter?” exclaimed Joan.
“It would be a very great favor to both of us,” Mariah interjected with a sharp glance at Joan. They had agreed it would be best if Douglas didn’t know it was solely on her behalf, just in case.
His gaze slid to her face. Cocking his head to one side, Douglas considered a moment longer. “All right. It can’t hurt to have both of you in my debt.”
“Thank you, Douglas,” Mariah said before Joan could say anything smart and make him change his mind.
He looked at her again, but didn’t say anything. He promised to deliver it while out on his ride and left.
Mariah’s knees felt suddenly shaky, and she sank onto a nearby chair. It was done. The die was cast. Now she only had to wait—and for who knew how long? She would have no way of knowing when or even if Harry got the message. She must be prepared for the next step immediately, and just as prepared to wait awhile.
“Well, what now?” Joan sat down beside her.
