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A flush of humiliation burned Cressida's cheeks. “Yes.”

Julia’s eyes flashed. “How draconian. How unchristian. How—” She stopped. “I’ve come to bring you to Penford. You must stay with us until you take a new house.”

“Oh. . . ” It was a godsend, and yet. “Julia, that is too generous. But your family won’t want us⁠—”

“They don’t want you to be cast out into the lane like vagabonds! My mother is fond of you and your sister, and she’s in full agreement that I invite you. Mrs. Turner,” she said, turning to Granny, who had wandered out of the house again. “Won’t you be our guests until you take another house?”

“Well, that is very kind of you, but I don’t know, my dear.” Granny cast a reproachful glance at Cressida. “We are expecting Sergeant Turner any day. He may have other plans.”

“All the more reason to stay close to Brighampton! And you mustn’t worry about a thing. I shall have Farley send someone with a wagon for your things within the hour. Oh, how nice it will be to have you all at Penford!” Julia beamed at Granny, who brightened and smiled back. Apparently being invited to Penford canceled her objections to moving without Papa's permission.

Cressida breathed a sigh of relief. It was humiliating to have Julia see them evicted, but the tense fear that had gripped her heart since yesterday loosened. It was charity, but from a friend, and honestly offered. It didn’t matter that Alec would be there. She’d got over her discomfort at his presence, and surely with a little more time, her pulse would stop leaping whenever he crossed her path. Surely it would.

She sent Granny to tell Callie and drew Julia aside. “Thank you, Julia. We would be very grateful to stay at Penford.”

Her friend laughed. “It will be a delight to have you!”

“It’s especially kind of Major Hayes, after he’s already done so much for us.” Julia’s mouth puckered, but she just smiled again and led her horse to the block. “Your brother does know, doesn’t he?”

Julia patted her arm and gathered her skirt to mount her horse. “Alec isn’t even at home most of the time. He’ll barely notice.”

“He—he does know you invited us, doesn’t he?” she asked again, more anxiously. Julia stepped onto the block and swung into her saddle. Cressida automatically helped tug her skirt into place. “Julia?”

“Good-bye, Mrs. Turner!” Julia raised one hand to Granny and completely ignored Cressida’s question. She wheeled the mare around and grinned down at Cressida. “Good-bye for now. I will see you soon!”

As Julia cantered away, Cressida closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. Penford belonged to Alec, and Julia wouldn’t dare invite them without knowing he would approve. Surely not. He had showed unusual thoughtfulness and understanding on their trip into London, and he would likely view it as nothing more than compassion. Because that’s all it was. He was helping her because Colonel Pickering had asked him to. He wasn’t drawn up as tight as a bowstring every time they met, prone to blurting out embarrassing confessions or accusations. And if Julia was correct, perhaps they wouldn’t even meet any more often than if she still lived at Brighampton.

And since she’d already gone and accepted, they had no other choice. She would just be very careful not to trouble him much, and look for other lodgings as fast as she possibly could.

God save her until then.

* * *

From the window, Alec watched Julia ride up the drive, looking victorious. Quietly he strolled down the corridor to the top of the stairs, in time to overhear her talking with the housekeeper, directing Mrs. Smythe to prepare rooms for the Turner ladies. Then Julia hurried off, calling to their mother. Her voice rang with confidence and delight.

They were coming.

He didn’t want to think too closely about what had happened. Alec wasn’t sure his actions, let alone his motives, would withstand any level of scrutiny. It was mere chance he’d overheard a man in Marston mention the new tenants of Brighampton arriving soon, displacing the poor, indebted Turners. It was simple indignation he’d felt on behalf of a family about to be tossed from their home when he knew they had no other place to go.

But it was something less noble that led to him mentioning those facts in his sister’s hearing, guessing what her reaction would be, and it was something entirely unthinkable that heated his blood at the thought of Cressida Turner in his house, smiling at him across the dinner table and wrinkling her nose at him in the garden. He might see her a dozen times every day. . . and night.

But not for nothing had he learned to control his impulses. She would be a guest in his home, and he would treat her as such. It would make his work easier, he told himself, if she was close by to help his search and answer any queries. He spent most of his days away from Penford as it was. She would surely take another house soon, and the sooner he located her father, the easier that would be for her.

But God save him until then.

Chapter Eighteen

Visiting Penford and living at Penford were very different.

Once Granny was settled in a lovely room overlooking the garden, Cressida found herself at loose ends. There was nothing for her to do here: no cleaning, no cooking, not even mending. Servants came to unpack her things in the spacious room she would share with Callie, accomplishing the task with speed and precision. She went once more to thank Julia, who laughed and brushed aside all mentions of gratitude, and perversely this only made Cressida feel more out of place.

Dinner, though delicious and elegant, was awkward. Tom, who had always eaten with them, elected to take his meal belowstairs, which just felt wrong. They were no better than Tom, yet she and Callie were at the dining table set with china and silver while Tom ate with the Penford servants and Granny ate in her room with a servant attending her. It put off her appetite, and from the way Callie picked at her dinner, her sister suffered the same. She could almost hear Granny reminding her to be careful what she wished for, because she might someday get it. Cressida had admired Penford and dreamed of living in such a place. Now she did, how briefly, and she didn't think she would enjoy a minute of it.

Even worse, she couldn't sleep that night, despite the exhausting day. Cressida lay on the soft feather mattress under cool, crisp linens and stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours. This was only a reprieve from her troubles, not a solution. Tomorrow she would have to talk very seriously with Callie and Tom to determine what they would do next. Now not even the prospect of finding Papa gave her hope. Papa would be annoyed they had lost the house, and Cressida knew she would be so annoyed at him for leaving them, there would be a dreadful argument. She thought again of what Tom had said, that things went on much more smoothly without Papa, and felt even worse for admitting, deep in her heart, that she might be changing her mind about Papa returning home, no matter what she told Alec.

Alec. Thoughts of him had plagued her since the moment Julia left Brighampton that afternoon. Ever since Tom drove them around the bend of the gravel drive and Penford came into view, she had been bracing herself for their first meeting, and then it never happened. He hadn't been with Julia and her mother to greet them, nor at dinner, nor in the drawing room afterward. The constant expectation—anticipation—of seeing him at any moment was fraying her nerves. It was almost as bad as the disappointment of not seeing him, even once.

She slid out of bed. Callie murmured in her sleep as Cressida slipped her feet into slippers and pulled on her dressing gown. She shouldn’t roam about someone else’s house at night, but she desperately needed to walk off some nervous energy. The clock had just chimed two in the morning, and everyone would be asleep. Cressida opened the door.