chapter 3

The rain came down in thick sheets, and Harriet splashed through the mud to the waiting coach.

“Take this.” Mrs. Reed followed her and handed her a basket of food before she climbed into the vehicle.

“Mrs. Reed…” There were a thousand things she wanted to say, and a dozen new fears assailed her at what her life would become now as she fled. But only one thing truly mattered above all the rest. Her mother was still dying, and Harriet was abandoning her.

“I know, lass.” The cook squinted in the rain and squeezed her hand. “I know, but you canna stay here.” She turned to head back to the servants’ entrance.

“Take care of my mother. Tell her I made it to a ship and sailed for Calais,” Harriet called out from the coach as Mr. Johnson, the driver, shut the door, sealing her inside. She wanted her mother to believe she had escaped, even if she never made it. It might be the last comfort anyone could give her. Harriet’s bottom lip trembled, and she fought off a sob.

Mrs. Reed waved at her and then ducked back inside the house. Harriet began to shake as the wet woolen cloak weighed her down. An extra chill settled into her skin from her soaked clothes.

The coach jerked forward, and the basket of food in Harriet’s lap nearly toppled over. She set it down on the floor and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself.

“Oh, Mama… I wish I didn’t have to leave you.”

But if she had stayed, the horrors she would have endured were unthinkable. And to suffer a life trapped beneath George’s control… She knew he wouldn’t honor her twentieth birthday—that must have been what her mother wished to tell her. That she would be free of him as a guardian, but she would need to escape him before he could stop her. Harriet collapsed back onto the seat and silently sobbed for her mother, for the life of the last person she’d loved in the world.

“Dry your eyes, kitten.” Her father’s voice seemed to drift from the past as old memories of her childhood came to her. She closed her eyes, imagining how he used to find her when she’d fallen and scraped a knee. He’d curl his fingers under her chin and gently make her look up into his smiling, tender face.

“Papa,” she breathed, feeling more like a child now than she had for years. She clung to the vision of him inside her head.

“You are my daughter. You do not cower when life becomes difficult. Face every challenge with courage, and refuse to accept defeat.”

Harriet’s eyes flew open as she thought for a moment that she felt a caress on her cheek. But the ghost of him vanished just as quickly as it had come. She wiped her eyes and tried to steady herself, lest she burst into tears again.

She remembered how her father used to counsel the young lords he taught fencing. Harriet used to hide behind a tall potted plant, tucking her skirt up under her knees as she watched her father move about the large room with a dozen young men wielding fencing foils. He would call out the positions, and the men would fall in line, raising their blades and performing. When they began to tire, he would call out, “Clear eyes, steady hands, you shall not fail.”

She would need that advice and more to find a new life in Calais.

She leaned against the wall of the coach, listening to the rain and wondering what the dawn would bring.

Rain whipped at the coach windows as Harriet attempted to catch a few hours of sleep. Thunder shook the road so hard that more than once Harriet was jostled awake in fright. She rubbed her eyes, fatigue hanging heavy in her limbs. It was close to midnight, and they still had a ways to go before they reached Dover. In good weather it would take at least two hours, but with the roads muddied and visibility hampered, that time might double.

With a quiet sigh, she wrapped her black wool cloak tight about her shoulders; it was freezing in the carriage. Her toes were already numb and her fingers icy as she twisted them beneath her skirts to try to keep them warm.

Her toes were already numb and her fingers icy as she twisted them beneath her skirts to try to keep them warm. She turned her thoughts to what would happen when she reached Calais. Harriet was completely alone and had no one to help her find her way, but surely with her passable French she could find a coach to Normandy. With the coins Mrs. Reed had given her, she should be able to afford a room at an inn before she journeyed ahead.

Caution would be crucial, however, because she knew she would be a target for men. Alone, and just shy of destitution, she would be easy prey if she wasn’t careful. Harriet’s only hope now was to trespass on the kindness of her father’s distant cousins until she could find suitable work. She’d attended a finishing school for young

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