A BLACK CARRIAGE waited for us at the entrance to the Dyer manor. The white beast harnessed to it—almost invisible against the idyllic winter backdrop—stood calm and confident, snorting steam into the frosty air. Thoughts and questions tumbled one over another in my mind as to Adelaide’s connection to a man of such wealth and power. Powerful enough to settle a man’s tax bill? Adelaide’s earlier words resurfaced in my head. My stomach tightened.
“Who’s this?” barked the voice of Lord Dyer as our crunching footsteps approached. “Certainly not a chaperone, for you would perish before suffering the protection of someone assigned to you, isn’t that so?”
Adelaide said nothing but took my hand and stepped up into the carriage. I followed.
She settled into the leather seat opposite Lord Dyer, a
