By the time they reached London, Jeremy was fit for nothing. Every part of him ached, including his head, and if he never saw a horse and carriage again it would be far too soon. David had been wonderful, arranging for stops, refreshment, even administering the evil draught for the bruises, but there was only so much jolting and bouncing a body could stand. As they travelled through the streets, David seemed to arrive at a decision.
“We won’t go to Albany.”
Jeremy raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”
“I only really go there when…Well, my house might be better. More comfortable.” He nodded as though confirming something to himself. They drove on, and Jeremy watched the fashionable people going about their lives as they drove past Grosvenor Square. The carried on until they arrived at Wimpole
