After the Wedding (The Worth Saga #2)(104)

My dear Dowager Marchioness of Ashford—

I don’t remember my grandmothers. Any of them. I don’t remember my mother.

I will remember you, your lessons, and your love, all my life.

I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for leaving like this.

Your adoring,

Theresa

There was no point dilly-dallying. The ship wouldn’t wait for her.

She hefted the valise she’d packed and looked around the darkened room where she’d spent the last year and a half. This life was comfortable. The room was warm. There was always enough coal, always enough food, and where she was going, none of that was a given.

But comfort was a cage, and she wouldn’t accept it. Not any longer. Not like this.

Her chin rose. There would be time for feeling sorry on board the ship. She gathered all her resolve and slipped out of her room.

A clock ticked in the hallway. A stair creaked—lightly—as she crept downstairs. But the kitchen was dark and empty, and as she made her way to the servant’s exit— “Theresa?”

She stopped, cursing under her breath. She turned in place. “Corporal Benedict.” She looked at her younger brother with every ounce of command that she could muster. “Go back to bed.”

But she didn’t have a real army, and he didn’t really have to obey her. He kept coming until he stood next to her. “Where are you going in the middle of the night?”

“Where do you think?” She straightened and glared her younger brother in the eyes. “I’m going to give you what you wanted.”

“What I wanted? What do I want? Why are you carrying a valise?”

“Will you please whisper? You’ll wake the household otherwise. I’m giving you what you want, Benedict. You don’t want to be a lawyer. You heard Captain Hunter talking. He takes on those who wish to learn what he does for a fee. Christian will gladly pay it. No sitting in a stuffy office looking at stupid papers for you any longer.”

Benedict shook his head. “They’d never let me. And what has that to do with your valise?” His eyes narrowed. “Why are you sneaking about in the middle of the night? And why are you trying to distract me in the name of Captain Hunter?”

She reached out and touched her brother’s cheek. “Don’t you see? You’ve shown you’re good at finding sisters. And reading clues. You’re good at listening. I’m giving you an excuse. You’ll need to go looking for one again, and this time, you won’t have to stay in England to do it.”

His jaw wobbled. He must have understood what she was saying. When he spoke next—in a whisper, as she’d told him—it sounded almost like a wail. “But all my sisters are here.”

Theresa’s heart constricted. “No.” Her voice was rough. “No, they aren’t. Not even now. And no, they won’t be. I’m leaving. I have to.”

He exhaled slowly. He didn’t ask questions. He knew what she was like when she was serious, and she was serious now.

Judith had never seen it, but for all their differences, Benedict and Theresa had always been much alike. Neither of them belonged in this comfortable place. They both knew it.

“Are you going to stop me?” Theresa asked.

“I’ve never been able to stop you from doing anything.” Now his voice shook, but he kept it at just that.

She squeezed his arm. “You know what we have always been.”

“We’re an army of two.”

Theresa nodded. She refused to cry. Generals didn’t cry. “That’s right. We’re an army of two, even if we’re separate.”

He didn’t ask where she was going or what she planned to do. He understood that if he knew those things, he’d tell Judith.

“When will I see you again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, sir.” His voice shook. “Bon voyage.”

She took a step toward him. “None of that sir business. You make your own orders now.”

He nodded. “When you see me next, I’ll make you proud.”

They embraced—his arms came around her impossibly hard—and Theresa imagined that he squeezed those two tears out of her. They didn’t come out on their own. That would be ridiculous of her.

“Go back to bed,” she said. “Don’t lock the door behind me. You’ll come under suspicion.” So saying, she slipped out into the dark.

The street was utterly quiet. A chilly little autumn breeze swirled over her, and she slipped on her gloves and began to walk, swinging her valise.

It was heavy. She hadn’t realized how heavy it was until she’d gone one street, then the next. It felt as if her clothing had turned to bricks and her fingers to ice. She switched the valise to one hand, then the next, then carried it in two. Her shoulders slowly began to burn.

It was going to be a long, painful two miles to the docks, she thought.

A noise behind her caught her attention—the rattle of wheels against cobblestones. She retreated into the shadow of the stairs, huddling against the stone wall of a house as a carriage came into view.

If she was very still and very small, maybe they wouldn’t see her.

But the carriage stopped in front of her. A footman—oh, damn it all, an Ashford footman—hopped off the back of the conveyance and opened the door.