Chapter 19

"Anny. Are you sure?" Lily's voice was a hushed whisper in the bedchamber. Anastasia nodded. After a day of thinking, she had come to the only conclusion that she could. She had to run away. Camilla had an aunt on the border with Scotland, and if she escaped up there, she might stay with Aunt Gertrude as a companion. It was not the life that she might choose for herself, but it was safety. It was not Ridley.

It was the best she could do.

"Yes." Her voice was firm. "Yes, I am sure."

"But, Anny," Lily whispered. "It is so dangerous. You cannot travel on your own."

"I can," Anastasia assured her. "I will wear Rachel's dress and travel by day." It was the best she could do. Women did travel on the mail-coaches sometimes—mostly women from less well-to-do backgrounds, and even then, they did not travel for a week at a time, as she had to. It was dangerous—that was a fact—but she could not let herself fear.

"I'm going to come with you." Lily gazed at Anastasia, her hazel gaze unwavering, allowing no argument.

"Lily, you can't." Anastasia wanted to cry. She had told Lily only because she did not want her sister to be afraid or worried. She should have guessed that Lily would be both regardless. "It is dangerous and it is no life for a young lady. You have nothing to run away from."

"But, if it is your life, I want to share it." Lily said forcefully.

Anastasia took a deep breath. "I am doing this because I have no other choice, Lily," she said softly.

"You do. Your gallant suitor." Lily's gentle young face was filled with trust and hope.

"No." Anastasia's voice choked. "No." She struggled not to cry. She could not do that. Even if the duke were to help, what could he do? Ridley would challenge him and then he might die. She did not want to be responsible for anyone's death. Her father had already made up his mind and there was no defying him. It was Ridley or escape. Those were the only options. If she thought of the duke now, she would not be able to do as she must.

"Yes. He would help you," Lily insisted.

Anastasia shook her head. Camilla had said the same, only a few hours ago. She could not let herself think of the duke.

"I have made my decision," she said gently. "Lily, you cannot come with me. I cannot let my pain be yours."

"It is anyway," Lily insisted.

Anastasia let out a deep breath. She reached for her sister, clinging tightly to her. "I love you, sweet Lily."

Tears coursed down her cheeks as she held her sister's soft, gentle form against her. Lily was clinging to her, and she knew that if she stayed here, safe in the circle of her sister's familiar embrace, she could not leave. She tensed and stepped back.

"I must dress," she told Lily gently. "Please, sister. I have to do this. I will be safe. Mr. Jackson will drive me to the mail-coach. He has promised to help me." She had asked Rachel to lend her a gown, and she had asked Mr. Jackson, the coach-driver, to take her as far as the coach. The two staff members were loyal, and she knew they would help her.

"I know, Anny," Lily said softly. "But...but...it's still so dangerous." She blinked and Anastasia could see tears in her eyes.

"I will be safe," Anastasia insisted.

Lily gazed at her and then ran to her, hugging her again. Anastasia clung to her, and she had to fight the urge to stay, to remain with her loved ones even if it was only for a little longer.

"I will write," Anastasia promised. She would have to. She would remain in contact with Lily and perhaps in time her family would forgive her. Papa might never forgive the disgrace, but that was something she was prepared to face. Her life and liberty had immeasurable worth to her, and her father's opinion did not have enough worth for her to risk either of those things.

"Write often," Lily demanded. She was crying noisily now, and she hiccupped, trying to hold back her tears. "I will miss you, sister." Anastasia nodded. "I will see you again," she promised.

She turned around as Lily rushed through the door of the room. Anastasia sobbed, then stiffened. She had only a few minutes to make an escape.

She reached for the rough-woven gown. It was made of wool, and she shrugged it on over her shift, surprised by the weight of it. Her own gowns were much lighter fabric.

She hastily tugged on her walking shoes—thin leather boots that came to just above her ankles and were tied with laces—and lifted her valise. She had packed just two gowns and two shifts, a nightgown, and a pair of indoor shoes. Anything else would be too cumbersome.

Blinking to clear her eyes of tears, she hurried from the room.

The hallway was silent, and dark, as she expected. The butler had retired to his rooms an hour before, and the lamps and candles were all unlit. She found her way to the staircase by memory. Her eyes gradually accustomed, so that when she found the entrance door and pushed at it, she could see the sapphire glow that came from the windows.

The cold in the street hit her like a blow. She drew in a breath. The breeze was chilly, but she had a shawl with her, and she clutched it tight around her shoulders. Her heart thudded. Even in this quiet area of London, the streets were not safe at night. She glanced down the street, the sound of her own blood thundering in her ears. She could see nobody. A pine torch flickered brightly against a wall somewhere—one of the houses in the street must have held a party or ball and had lit the way for guests. She drew a breath, half-expecting someone to spot her, then ran.

The coach house was around the back of the townhouse, and she hurried there, heart thudding in her chest.

"All is in order, my lady."

Mr. Jackson made her freeze to the spot in fright as he spoke. Anastasia gasped, then shook her head at herself.

"Good. Thank you."

"We must hurry. The mail coach will depart from Gerrard Street at one o' clock."

"We must hurry," Anastasia agreed. She stepped into the coach as he opened the door, the black coach-horses snorting as she walked past. They must have wondered as to why they were being brought out to work so late. She swung into the coach and shut the door behind her. She was on her way.

Mr. Jackson swung into his seat on the top, and then they rattled out of the coach house and into the street. He jumped down to shut the gate, and then they were off. The coach moved slowly, so as not to attract unnecessary attention from any watchmen—though nobody could say anything about a noble using their own coach, whatever the hour. They rattled down the street towards Bond Street. There, they would cross town until they reached Gerrard Street. It was a distance of only a mile, just a few minutes in the coach. Anastasia gripped her valise, her heart twisting as they moved slowly past the familiar things around her. There was the building on the end of their street, with its curious crenelations. There was the big tree near where she and Camilla often met to walk together. The coachman stopped, wrenching the horses back in such a swift motion that Anastasia screamed as she plunged forward off the seat. Her valise tumbled to the floor, and she dragged herself upright into the seat again, tucking her hair back from her face.

"What in Perdition...?" she began in shock. But she had only just managed to get back onto the seat when the door flew open.

"I'm coming with you!"

Lily hauled herself into the coach, a cloth bag on her back. She blinked up at Anastasia, grinning through tears.

"I could not stay without you," Lily insisted, pulling herself into the seat and shutting the door. "I felt it incumbent upon me to attend, for I cannot bear to be apart from you, dear sister. Wherever you venture, I wish to accompany you."

Anastasia felt her heart twist. Lily was smiling at her, full of trust. The coachman had started to drive the coach forward again. Lily looked happy. Anastasia was delighted to see her, despite her shock that her sister had run out alone.

"You impossible..." She shook her head, grinning at her sister's gentle face that was lit with joy. "How on Earth did you manage to sneak out?"

"I heard the door. I could not endure the thought of your departure. As soon as you slipped away, I hastened to the end of the street and took my stand, knowing the carriage must inevitably arrive here. I awaited your return with bated breath, for I could not imagine my existence without you. The very notion was insufferable."

Anastasia shook her head. "You're remarkable," she said gently.

Lily leaned back in the coach, her eyes round. "Is it very far to Scotland?" she asked.

Anastasia took a breath. The mail-coach would go all the way to Edinburgh, but they would disembark before then. Camilla's aunt lived on her estate near Berwick-upon-Tweed. The town was three-hundred-and-fifty miles from London.

"A long way," she murmured. "We will be a week in the coach."

Lily gulped. "That's...good."

Anastasia stared at her sister's pale, frightened face. She was dressed in a white gown and pelisse. Her soft hair was in ringlets, and she looked so sweet and gentle that Anastasia's heart melted. She was young—just sixteen. She was full of life, and she loved balls and parties. If she went to the border, there would be no hope of that. She would be disgraced, barred from reentering London society, even if she chose to return. And what if she went to stay there? What life was there for her? She would have to live with Camilla's aunt as well, and that would mean a life without balls and parties, without dancing and shops and museums and galleries and music. There would be none of the things that Lily loved. She would have turned her back on all of that, simply because she loved her sister and could not bear to be parted from her. It was unfair. It was wrong.

"I cannot do this," Anastasia whispered.

"We can," Lily insisted.

"No." Anastasia shook her head. Staring into that youthful, joyful face, she knew that she could not condemn her sister to a life that would deprive her of everything she loved. "We are not going. We are going home."

"But Anny?" Lily frowned. "What about Lord Ridley? What of you, and being free, and everything..."

"This is not freedom either," Anastasia said firmly. "It would be another kind of prison. And it is one I will not share with you. We are returning home."

"Anny..."

"No," she said softly. "Stop the coach!" Anastasia shouted, banging on the roof to get the coachman to hear. She had to do it fast, before she lost her nerve. They did not have far to go—they were moving past Hyde Park. She could see the railing in the light from pine torches on a house nearby. The coach slowed and stopped.

"My lady?" Mr. Jackson jumped down from the box, opening the door. Anastasia let out a breath.

"We are going home. Please turn the coach around. Thank you," she added numbly. She was giving up the one wild escape she had left. It had been bold, but it had taken the notion of sharing it with Lily to make her see she was not running towards freedom. She was simply running away from one horrible situation into, quite possibly, another one.

She felt the coach start, and she leaned back, gazing at Lily. Her sister looked calmer, though she held onto Anastasia's hand firmly, as if daring anything to come between them.

Anastasia swallowed hard; her heart flooded with love. If it were not for Lily, she would be racing to the mail-coach by now, on her way towards Scotland and a journey which would change her life. Becoming a companion to a remote, eccentric noblewoman was a decision she could not reverse—once she was there, she would have to remain there because she could never go back to society after that.

I am doing the right thing, she told herself firmly. Love had made her decision—love of Lily and, ultimately, love for herself as well. It would be no life for her on the border with Camilla's aunt, either.

All she could do was pray that she had made the right choice and that something—some remarkable thing—would happen to help her.