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Mrs. Templeton sat in a chair before the beautifully set table, dabbing her face with a handkerchief while her husband awkwardly patted her shoulder.

“There, there, dumpling,” George Templeton soothed. “All will be well.”

Would it?

Jack wasn’t nearly as confident as Templeton, and he didn’t know what was afoot yet.

As Jack approached, remorse and chagrin twisted the coachman’s face.

“I tried to dissuade Miss Penford,” Mosely said. “But she and Miss Danforth were determined to leave immediately. She was most adamant and said they would go on foot if I didn’t take them into Westerham at once. I couldn’t let them walk in the snow or chance them coming upon riffraff.”

“This will help steady you.” Fredericks shoved a glass of brandy into the trembling servant’s hand.

From cold or upset?

Likely both.

“And you didn’t think to leave a note, man?” Mr. Penford put forth the logical question, his tone the most heated and firm Jack could ever recall of the timid fellow. This was the first time Jack had seen the renowned solicitor in action.

“There wasn’t time.” Mosely gulped the tumbler’s contents. “You know how stubborn Miss Penford can be when she gets a notion.”

Aye, when Aubrie dug in her heels, she became positively mulish.

Without being asked to, Fredericks refilled Mosely’s glass.

Jack and Shelby drifted closer, unnoticed by the room’s other occupants.

After taking another healthy gulp, Mosely bobbed his wizened head, his ears still glowing red from the cold. “I would’ve returned hours ago to alert you, but the coach slid off the track a few miles back. The roads are a wreck. No one’s traveled over them yet. It took me some time to realize I couldn’t free the coach. I had to unhitch the team and walk back with them.”

“I’ll send a few stout fellows and a new team to retrieve the coach,” Templeton offered while continuing to comfort his distraught wife.

“But where is Aubriella?” Mrs. Penford finally found her voice, sounding genuinely concerned. “I cannot believe my most sensible child would do something so imprudent. I never have to fuss about her.”

“She and Miss Danforth boarded the mail coach to London. I tried to dissuade her.” Mosely hung his head, the picture of dejection and penitence. He swallowed, and unshed tears glistened in his eyes when he raised his gaze. “She was in a right awful state. I’ve never seen her so distraught.”

Jack could imagine the mutinous jutting of her chin, the set angle of her jaw, and the sparks of rebellion shining in her eyes. Something about this afternoon—mayhap him telling her he was leaving—had compelled her to toss her normal common sense to the wind.

“At least she made for London,” Penford interjected. “That was sensible of her.”

Jack glared at the man, the urge to shake some sense into the oblivious fellow so strong he fisted his hands.

Lenora Langford wrapped an arm around her now weeping mother. “Don’t trouble yourself, Mama. Aubriella shall be fine. Don’t you always say that? You needn’t worry about her because she’s the logical, levelheaded child amongst us?”

“Even logical, levelheaded children need their family’s attention and love.” Jack’s thoughts tumbled out his mouth without forethought.

Several appalled gazes riveted on him.

Good.

It was long past time someone spoke directly to the Penfords about their neglect.

“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Penford bristled like a cock of the roost. “Are you implying we don’t love Aubriella?”

Jack plowed a hand through his hair. “No. I’m saying you ignore her. Disregard her and are indifferent to her. She’s practically invisible to you.” He met Penford’s confused gaze. “She has said as much to me.”

“That cannot be true.” Mrs. Penford shook her golden head, her ruby earrings swaying with her intensity. “She is… Well, she’s Aubriella.” As if that explained everything and nothing more needed saying. “She doesn’t need us⁠—”

“You’re wrong, Mama,” Jessamine piped in, drawing the family’s attention.