Theresa had not dared to proceed too swiftly. If she’d acted as quickly as she wanted, she would have been suspected. Suspected and stopped.

It had taken her week after careful week to research passage on ships. To figure out how to remove money from the trust that had been set up for her without her sister’s knowledge, to creep down to the shops and sell some of the sparkling gowns that they’d made for her. It was easy enough—she ruined her dresses often enough that they would never wonder why one had disappeared.

Theresa wasn’t a child any longer. The last time she’d thought of running away, she’d had a bit of food and nothing like a plan.

This time, though… This time, she didn’t know if she’d ever return.

On the night when Theresa Worth left London—and England—for good, she packed in the dark. She’d already marked the gowns she’d be taking—good, serviceable ones that wouldn’t set her apart as too wealthy. She’d memorized the list of things she needed to take because she didn’t dare set them forth on paper, lest she be discovered.

Petticoats and bloomers. A heavy cloak and mittens, for when it got cold at sea. Two hats, no more. And jewels to sell. It all made a heavy pack; it would join the more prosaic trunk of remedies and provisions that she’d arranged to be delivered to the Edelweiss a few days earlier.

She removed the last horrifically embroidered cushion attempt from her wardrobe. The Trent raven-slash-horrible farming tragedy looked up at her.

She could stay here and try to be that misshapen bird. Or she could go.

She took the note she had written the day before, the one she’d been carrying in her pocket all day, and set it next to the cushion on the bed. She’d not wanted to give too many clues; they’d find her, if they could. If they found her, they would try to convince her to come back.

She had the words of her note memorized by heart.

My dear Judith, Camilla, Benedict, Christian, and Adrian—

My love for you is like a field going to rot. It will grow without bounds. You cannot burn it out, I promise you, no matter how much you may want to afterward.

But I love my family—all my family—and I cannot stay here any longer.

Your loving sister,

Theresa

She’d sobbed as she wrote it. Her breath choked in her chest as she set it on her desk. She set another note next to it, her vision clouding in acute misery.

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.

Theresa had planned for this eventuality, too. She’d get in the carriage. Pretend to go willingly. She’d have to scramble and abandon her valise, of course, but damn, that valise was heavy. She’d be delighted to leave it.

But it wasn’t Judith who stepped out. It was the dowager marchioness. She approached Theresa slowly, as if she were a skittish animal.

“Theresa, dear,” she said, as if they were meeting in the yellow parlor, “why are you walking to the docks?”

Theresa sighed. “Damn Benedict and his eternally running mouth.”

The dowager sighed. “Don’t talk about your brother that way. He didn’t tell me a thing. It’s simply that I’m not an idiot. I did tell you months ago that I knew your habits. Do you think I wouldn’t notice what was happening underneath my very nose?”

Theresa felt her chin set. “I’m not going back.”

“I know. I told you I knew your habits. If you’re going to be you, do it well. Running off by yourself, with a handful of notes that will be discovered by the servants? Your family would never live this down. That was a poor choice.”

Theresa didn’t have time to argue. Her teeth ground together. “I realize that. Nonetheless, I am not going back.”

The dowager just shook her head. “And yet on the other hand, you have a perfectly acceptable alternative.” She held out her arm. “You could be embarking on a world tour with your elderly grandmère.”

Theresa blinked. She frowned. “I could?”

“I have access to funds you will never be able to tap,” the dowager said. “I’ve instructed my girl to gather your note and deliver it along with my own letter to my son in the morning. And I really would prefer that you remain among the living, which is quite often not the case when young women without funds travel on their own.”

Theresa blinked. “But I have over a hundred pounds on my person.”

“So intelligent, and yet still so little sense.” The dowager nodded. “I saw you looking up routes to the Orient in the newspaper the other day. I assume we’re going to find your brother, Anthony? He was such a nice boy.”

“Eventually.” Theresa hadn’t let herself say the words aloud. She was going to find him eventually, and tell him what she really thought. By then, maybe she would have sorted out her tangle of love and anger. “But not at first. I’m going to find my other sister.” Theresa glanced defiantly up at the dowager. “They told me I made her up, but I’ve discovered I didn’t. She’s real. She’s illegitimate. And she’s half Indian.”

“Well, then.” The dowager just nodded. “Our work is certainly cut out for us. Come now, don’t you think my coach will be a better way to get to the docks?”

Theresa looked at the conveyance. She thought about her aching shoulders.

Very, very slowly, she nodded.

“Excellent. Where are we heading, then?”

She’d not let herself say the words until now.

“We’ll go to Brest first.” Theresa had been on a ship when she was a tiny child, and her memories of it were as diffuse as water-color paintings. Still, she thought of the feel of sea wind against her face. She remembered salt spray against her cheeks, ocean waves, and an open vista of sky and water. She remembered the sight of land—a green peak rising sharply from the sea…

“Then, around the Cape of Good Hope to Calcutta. From there, we’ll find passage to Hong Kong. And after that? Wherever the trail leads us.”

“Well,” said the dowager. “This will be interesting.”