she would never admit it.
âFor someone who is spectating,â he said, drawing her attention back from the window, âI am better suited to asking questions of the office of the army than a young woman from Lincolnshire.â
âYou donât know that,â she replied, firmly gripping her hands in her lap. âThis is a private family matter. I would rather notââ
âYou are happy to accept the earlâs help with your private family matter, and you donât know him at all,â he countered. âWhy not mine?â
âPerhaps because I have the benefit of knowing you,â she replied, finding her tongue more tart than it had ever been before.
A surprised eyebrow went up at her tone. Well . . . good, she decided. Heâd surprised her plenty today; there was no reason he should be able to sit there, looking so casual and in command.
âThatâs true,â he replied. âAfter all, it is I who did not have the benefit of understanding you.â
âWhat on earth is that supposed to mean?â she blinked.
âIt means that when you run off with someone, it usually . . . oh never mind,â he said, waving the idea away.
âNo, what where you going to say?â she demanded hotly.
âNothing. Nothing you shouldnât already be aware of, at least.â He cocked his head to one side. âTell me about your cousin.â
âEleanor?â
âYes. Anything that you think would help us find her.â
âSheâs seventeen. She has dark hair and dark eyes. Iâm told sheâs small, like me.â
âYouâre . . . told?â he asked.
âI . . . well, I have to admit I donât know Eleanor very well,â she said, letting her eyes fall to her hands in her lap. âShe was but a child when I . . . left Manchester.â
âWhen you ran off with me,â Theo said, forcing her eyes to his. âYou might as well say it, at least when we are alone. Talking around it is exhausting.â
She didnât know how to answer that. So she didnât.
âYou havenât been back to Manchester in ten years?â he asked.
âNo. You?â
âNo. My uncle died several years agoâand there was no reason to go.â
Of course not. He wouldnât want to risk seeing her even though she wasnât there. Or perhaps he just didnât care.
âYou havenât even been back to visit?â he said.
âHow could I?â she replied. âIn everyoneâs eyes I was as good as ruined.â
âIn their eyes, but not in fact.â
Her face grew hot under his gaze. âFacts donât seem to matter much.â
âThey mattered to me,â he said. âLearning the truth saved my future.â
And just like that, any curiosity she had about Theo Hudson, about what his life had been like, about who he had become, broke into a thousand pieces and blew away on a puff of air.
âOf course,â she answered, her tongue turned sour. âLearning before any vows were spoken about the modesty of my dowry would have been very advantageous for you.â
She swung her head to the window, forcing her eyes to see beyond the glass. But out of the corner of her eye, she could see his face, which was covered in . . . confusion.
What on earth did he have to be confused about? The choice he had made all those years ago was informed, and very, very clear.
âMy cousin Eleanor I know best from the letters her mother sends,â she said, forcing her mind back to the true reason she was here in this carriage with him. âUp until this past year, she was just another bright-eyed girl who was mad about horses. Then the regiment came to town.â
He nodded. âEverything changed with the arrival of red coats.â
âSuddenly my auntâs letters were filled with stories from public balls, and meetings in