“We’re not!”

No one rushed to agree.

“It can’t be that much farther to London,” Georgie said, with some desperation.

Nicholas peered out at the road. “An hour? Maybe ninety minutes.”

“That’s all?” Georgie said with forced brightness. “That’s nothing. We can—”

GRAO!

“Can you put it in a basket?” Marian asked.

Georgie looked down at Judyth, all fluffy and silver gray, still delightfully quiet in her wicker home. “I’ve only got the one basket.”

“How is that possible?” Nicholas asked.

Georgie thought about that for a moment. “I don’t know. We had three starting out. The other two baskets must have ended up in the other carriage. Or perhaps up top.”

“Up top, you say?”

Georgie felt her expression turn glacial. “We are not putting Cat-Head on the roof.”

Marian turned to Nicholas with a shake of her head. “We’d still hear it.”

“It wouldn’t be as bad,” he mused.

Georgie honestly could not tell if he was being serious.

“Well, if you’ve only got the one basket,” he said, “take the other cat out.”

“But she’s being so good,” Georgie said, gesturing down. “She hasn’t made a peep.”

“Perhaps she’s dead,” Nicholas said.

“Nicholas!”

He shrugged. “It would free up the basket.”

Georgie fixed him with an icy stare. “I am not going to dignify that with a response.”

He shrugged again.

“And there’s no guarantee that Cat-Head wouldn’t howl if he was in the basket.”

Nicholas held up a finger. “Response.”

Georgie muttered something under her breath that would not have been considered appropriate for a lady of her station.

GRAO!

“We’re nearly to London,” Georgie said, almost desperately. She was stroking the cat now with renewed firmness, moving to its cheeks, scratching them with just enough pressure that maybe he wouldn’t be able to actually open his jaw …

But he tried.

Grrrrrrrrr.

“That was better, don’t you think?” Georgie said.

Grrrrrrrrr.

“It sounds like it might combust,” Nicholas remarked.

Grrrrrrrrr.

“It can’t be healthy for it to hold it all in like that,” Marian worried.

Georgie looked at her. “You want me to let go?”

“No!”

Georgie nodded and kept up with the cheek and chin scratching. “There you go, Cat-Head. It’s not so bad.”

Cat-Head did not seem to appreciate her efforts. GRRRrrrrr, he managed, and Georgie found she had to exert more pressure to keep his yawls trapped in his mouth.

“Good kitty,” she murmured. “Good, good little kitty.”

“Very bad kitty,” Nicholas said. “The worst, really.”

Georgie glared. “Good kitty,” she practically growled. But Cat-Head’s little jaw was straining.

GRRRRRrr …

Marian’s brow knit with concern. “That sounds unsafe.”

“No, I’m sure he—”

GRAAAAAAOOOOOOO!

Cat-Head let out a shriek of such unholy proportions that Georgie’s hand popped right off his head. The noise rent the air, and the cat, clearly bursting with the need to let it all out, thrust its legs and head out like a stiff, fuzzy, orange pentagon, howling at the injustice of the world until …

He stopped.

The three human occupants of the carriage held their collective breaths.

“Is it dead?” Nicholas finally asked.

Georgie looked at him in horror. “Why do you keep assuming my cats are dead?”

“But is it?”

“I think he fainted,” she said, peering down with concern. The cat was sprawled on its back, belly up, one paw thrown dramatically over its face. Gingerly, Georgie put her hand against his chest. “He’s still breathing,” she said.

Marian let out a sigh. Though not, Georgie thought, one of relief.

“Whatever you do,” Nicholas said in a low voice, “do not move. If you wake that thing up—”

“It’s a cat, Nicholas.”

“If you wake that cat up,” he amended, with no discernable remorse, “our misery will know no bounds.”

Marian peered out the window. “Are we slowing down?”

Georgie frowned and leaned forward to look.

“Don’t move!” Nicholas and Marian hissed.

“Are we here?” Georgie asked, making a great show of remaining in place.

“That depends on your definition of here,” Nicholas murmured, “but assuming you meant London, then no, we’re not.”

The carriage came to a complete stop.

“Stay put,” he said. “I’ll find out why we’ve stopped.”

Georgie and Marian watched as he hopped down. After a moment, Georgie said, “We can’t be that far from our destination.”

“No,” Marian murmured. “We’re meant to get there early evening. Lady Manston sent word ahead for the staff.”

Georgie nodded, suddenly very aware of the flock of butterflies taking root in her stomach. The only good thing to have come from Cat-Head’s caterwauling was that she hadn’t been able to think about the night that lay ahead.

The plan was to spend the night at Manston House, in London. It was the logical first layover on the journey north, and it meant that Georgie and Nicholas would not have to have their wedding night at an inn.

They also would not have to spend it with their families, who were back in Kent. Georgie could not imagine spending her wedding night at Crake, knowing that Nicholas’s family were all in their own bedchambers, just down the hall. The only thing worse would be spending the night at Aubrey Hall, with her own family right there.

“Can you see what’s happening?” she asked Marian, who was now fully out of her seat and hanging out the open door.

“Mr. Rokesby is speaking with Jameson,” Marian said.

“Jameson the groom?”

Marian nodded. “He looks peaked.”

“Jameson or Mr. Rokesby?”

“Jameson,” Marian confirmed. “Wasn’t he meant to be riding ahead to London?”

“He did ride ahead to London.”

“Well, he’s back.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Georgie countered.

Marian turned back to look at Georgie. “Sense or not, he’s here and he’s talking to Mr. Rokesby, and neither one looks pleased. Oh, hold up, here come Marcy and Darcy.”

Marcy and Darcy were Mrs. Hibbert’s twin daughters. Georgie wasn’t sure how old they were—fifteen? Sixteen? They were riding in the second coach along with their mother and Wheelock’s nephew (also called Wheelock). The traveling party was rounded out by two Aubrey Hall footmen serving as outriders, two Crake footmen (also serving as outriders), an Aubrey Hall coachman, a Crake coachman, an Aubrey Hall stable-boy, and Jameson, the groom from Crake who had ridden ahead to London.

“Do you know what’s happening?” Marian asked Marcy.