The next morning, the sky was still a deep, inky black. Before the sun woke up to paint the horizon with the soft pinks and golds of dawn, the Hamilton household was already awake and moving.
The urgency of their mission hung heavy in the cold air. True to Carcel's word, a fast rider had arrived from London the evening before. The man's horse had been covered in sweat, and his boots were thick with mud. He had handed a sealed letter directly to Mr. Simmons, who had carried it straight to the Duke's study.
Rowan had received the letter from Vance the evening before, exactly as Carcel said he would. Inside the envelope was a single sheet of paper with a hastily scribbled address. It was the location of a small, forgotten cottage on the far outskirts of a quiet coastal village. It was where Miss Flora, the dismissed handmaiden, had been hiding for three long years.
