HE’D FOUGHT AS HARD as he could until Bridget was safely away, and then he’d fought more. In the end, he was no match for four men. They’d bound him and dragged him away, all while startled grooms watched.

“I haven’t done anything to you,” Caleb argued as they shoved him inside a coach. “Let me go.”

“You’ve got a price on your head,” one of the men said. “And we all get a portion once you’re delivered.”

“I’ll pay you,” he offered as they wrestled him inside the conveyance.

“How much?”

“A guinea each.”

“We’ll make ten each when you’re delivered.”

They drove him to a house. He didn’t see where, as the coach’s curtains were drawn, but he knew they hadn’t traveled long enough to be out of London. They hauled him out, marched him through the empty house, shut him in an empty room, and locked the door.

Caleb sat on his heels and reached his bound hands into his boot, drawing out the knife there. The hired men hadn’t searched him, and that was their mistake. He had a few hours to make the most of their oversight, because the men who were coming for him wouldn’t make mistakes. He’d be dead by morning.

As Caleb struggled to turn the knife to a useful position, he studied the light coming through the drawn curtains. It was late afternoon now. Had Bridget found the orphanage? Had she found their son?

He finally had the blade in position and began to work it against his bindings. The rope was thick, and it would take time to cut through it. It was time he didn’t have. He desperately wanted to meet his son, to see Bridget again, to board that ship to Canada. The government might come looking for him, especially if what the grooms saw in the West End was made public. But by the time they tracked him down, he’d have washed up on the side of the Thames.

He had to cut these ropes. He sawed with renewed vigor, his fingers growing sweaty, until he dropped the knife.

***

JAMES—JIMMY HAD HELD her hand all the way back to the academy. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world to walk with his hand in hers, keeping him close to her side and safe from the coaches on the streets.

She carried his valise, which she didn’t think was his at all. It looked very much like the sort a lady of the ton might own. And that was just another kindness Lady Julia had done them.

“Will my father be waiting for us at this school?” Jimmy asked.

“I hope so, but I don’t know. He was a hero during the war, and now London is dangerous for him. That’s why we hope to go to Canada.”

“My father is a hero?”

“Yes. He was very important during the war. He might not be able to meet us if it’s too dangerous. In that case, we’ll stay in London. I have a room and enough money to buy us food and clothing and pay for your schooling.”

“I have clothing,” he said. “Lady Julia always made sure we had clothing. This shirt used to be Michael’s. I don’t know who the trousers belonged to. The shoes are new, though. Lady Julia says we boys are hell on shoes.” He squeezed her hand. “But don’t tell her I said the H-word. I’m not allowed to say it.”

Bridget squeezed his hand back. “I won’t tell.” As she looked down at him, a wave of love swept over her. He was so sweet, so good, so beautiful. She’d never thought she’d have him back, but now that she did, she would never, never let him go.

Finally, just before dusk, they reached the academy. She led Jimmy inside and took him straight to the kitchens. Mrs. White was counting the silver, but her eyes widened when she saw Jimmy. “And who’s this love?”

“Mrs. White, this is my son, James Lavery.”

“You can call me Jimmy,” he said, sitting in a chair at the servants’ table.

“Well, you’re welcome, Jimmy. Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“Of course you’re hungry. A growing boy like you. Let me get you some bread and soup.”

“Jimmy, I’ll be right back,” Bridget told him. “I want to check on something.”

She ran upstairs and into the drawing room, where girls were sitting about, either studying or doing needlework or practicing picking locks. Bridget leaned inside and gestured to Valérie. The two ladies stepped outside. Bridget couldn’t help peeking through the windows, where darkness was rapidly falling.

“Did you find him?” Valérie asked.

“He’s in the kitchens.”

“Oh, I want to meet him!”

“You should. Has anyone come looking for me?”

Valérie shook her head. “If someone does come, your bags are ready to go. Are you really going to Canada?”

“I don’t know. I hope so. I left Caleb fighting off four men. I don’t know what’s happened to him.”

Valérie took her hand. “Surely if any man can escape, it is he.”

Bridget prayed that was true.

***

CALEB FELT THE ROPE give. His shoulders burned, and sweat dripped from his forehead. He’d dropped the knife more times than he could count, but finally he’d made progress. He yanked on the ropes, fraying them further, then slipped one hand free. He brought both hands to his chest, wincing in pain as numb muscles came awake again. He wanted to run out of the house as soon as possible, but he forced himself to wait until his arms ceased shaking and he had control of them again.

Caleb went to the window, pulled the curtains aside, and looked out into a dark lane. He tried lifting the window, but it was sealed shut. He’d have to break the glass. The problem was that in doing so he would alert his captors. He hadn’t heard them since they’d locked him in, but that didn’t mean they’d left the house.

Taking the knife in his hand, he stepped back and rammed the window’s glass with his boot. The thick glass cracked but didn’t break, and he rammed it again. This time, it shattered. Caleb ignored the sound of footsteps rushing toward the room, clearing the glass and punching out more until he could fit through. When he heard the key in the door’s lock, he stood behind the door.

One of his captors crashed through. Caleb jumped on his back and wrestled him to the floor. He slammed the man’s head into the wood until he stopped fighting, then Caleb was on his feet again. No others came.

Caleb looked at the knife and at the man, then slid the knife back into his boot. He’d done enough killing for one lifetime.

He wiggled through the window and began to run for Marylebone.

***

BRIDGET ROSE FROM THE kitchen table where she and Jimmy were looking at pictures in a book. She heard footsteps on the stairs, and her heart pounded. But it was only Valérie.

“Still no one?”

“I’m sorry,” Valérie said.

“The girls have all gone to their rooms. It is too late to walk through Covent Garden. Stay here with me tonight. We can share my bed, and Jimmy can have your old one.” She smiled at Jimmy.

Bridget looked at her son and saw his eyes droop as he stifled a yawn. “You’re right.” She gathered Jimmy and followed Valérie out of the kitchen. It felt like a betrayal to go to bed. It felt like leaving Caleb all over again. She’d tuck Jimmy into bed, and once he was asleep, she’d come back down. She wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. She was far too worried.

But as they started up the stairwell to the upper floors, someone pounded on the door. Everyone jumped, and then Valérie and Bridget locked eyes. “Take him upstairs,” Bridget said as one of the footmen moved to open the door. Bridget stood back. She prayed it was Caleb, but she couldn’t be certain one of the men after him hadn’t searched for her and found her.

“How may I help you?” the footman asked whomever had knocked.

“I’m here to see Bridget Lavery.”

Bridget didn’t wait for the footman to respond. She pushed him aside and ran into Caleb’s arms. “I thought I’d never see you again,” she cried, pressing her face against his shoulder. He was really there, solid and strong and in her arms.

“I managed to escape.”

“I was so worried.”

“I was worried about you. I—” His body stiffened. “Is that him?”

Bridget turned to see Jimmy on the stairs. “Yes. Jimmy, this is your father, Caleb Harris.”

Jimmy stood for a long moment, then rushed down the stairs and threw himself into both of his parents’ arms.

***

IT HADN’T TAKEN LONG for the soft rocking of the sea and the sound of waves lapping against the ship to lull Jimmy to sleep. Caleb had sat beside his son, one hand on the boy’s chest and the other holding Bridget’s hand. It was a bit chilly on the deck, but they’d all huddle together and be warm enough under their blankets.

Bridget rose and went to the railing, and after another long look at his son, Caleb followed. “I can hardly believe he’s mine. I don’t know what I did to deserve so much good fortune.”

“We’re both fortunate,” she said, leaning against him. “Fortunate to have found each other again, fortunate to have found Jimmy.”

“Fortunate to be starting a new life. Are you sorry to leave London behind?”

“A little. Are you?”

“Not in the least. You’re my home, Bridget, and I’ll be happy wherever you are.”

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him, and indeed, he was home.