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Well, at least one of them had a degree of common sense left. Theran’s seemed to have departed with the sunrise. He suspected it might not return anytime soon.

They’d reached his aunt and uncle.

“Theran, a letter arrived by messenger for you from Trenthurst House.” Aunt Melvelia indicated the rectangle lying upon the white tablecloth. “Kebble said it was urgent.”

Worry lines etched her forehead.

After setting his plate down, Theran broke the seal and swiftly perused the contents.

“Forgive me, but I must leave at once. Violetta delivered the babe prematurely.” Pain scissored his stomach as he put a hand to his forehead. “They aren’t certain either will live.”

You must come at once.

Violetta delivered a daughter early this morning, over a month early. The physician fears for her life and the infant’s. Jordan is beside himself, and Raymond is still at sea as far as we know. Your brother needs you.

~Celena Rutland, in a frantic

note to her youngest son, Theran Rutland

Dartford, England

A bumpy stretch of road four miles from Trenthurst Hose

Five Hours Later

Purity rested her head against the coach’s sky-blue squabs in a futile attempt to sleep. Bernadine lay on the opposite seat, knees tucked to her chest, slumbering soundly. Children always managed to sleep during difficult times. Adults, however, had minds that refused to turn off troublesome monologues.

For instance, why had Theran invited her to tour the abbey’s ruins?

Why had Purity’s body gone hot, then cold, then hot again when she’d spied him crossing the greens in long, sleek strides?

Had it really only been three days since she’d met Theran Rutland?

He had her at sixes and sevens.

One moment he was kind and patient and the next disdainful and inflexible.

Purity’s bonnet, gloves, and spencer lay on the seat beside her. The heat inside the coach’s interior didn’t lend itself to extra garments. Even now, moisture dampened her temples and underarms. She dabbed her face with a handkerchief, vacillating between wishing they’d reach their destination and dreading doing so.

Rather than travel inside the coach, Theran rode White Flame. Probably as much to transport the horse to Trenthurst House as to burn off his agitation. Sitting in a carriage for several hours didn’t lend itself to lessening tension, as she could well attest to.

Another possibility existed for why he’d ridden instead of joining his daughter and her new governess within the coach: to give the appearance of respectability.

Likely, it was a combination of all three reasons. Purity appreciated the gesture, even if it wasn’t required. He hadn’t thought it necessary to protect her reputation that day in his aunt’s salon, so what had changed?

Sighing, she shifted positions and gave up on sleeping.

What she wouldn’t give for a hand fan, but governesses had little use for such an accessory. Instead, she ineffectually waved her handkerchief before her face. She’d lowered the windows some time ago but kept the shades partially closed to prevent road dust from caking everything inside the conveyance.

The well-sprung coach lumbered along, squeaking and groaning when it dipped into a hole. The wheels ground away in a soothing rhythm as they rolled across the rutted road. This conveyance was loftier than the coach she and the Bardslay children had at their disposal but not luxurious as the Ceddes’ viscountcy coach.

With a start, Purity realized this was the farthest she’d ever traveled.

My, how her life had changed in a few short days.

She hadn’t hesitated when Theran had asked if she could be ready to depart within the hour.

What else could she have done?