The moon was beginning to climb the sky, casting a silvery glow over the quiet street as the carriage pulled to a stop. George came down first, his movements stiff and formal. He then went around and opened Delia's door, holding his hand in an attempt to take her trunk from her.
She held onto the handle, pulling it back. "What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice low and angry. "Didn't I warn you never to appear in front of me again?"
George ignored her questions, his own face set in determination. He replied with his own question. "You are going to the Duke's residence, right? I'll drive you there."
"No, thank you," Delia said, yanking the trunk from his grasp. "I will go on my own."
George tried again to take the trunk, his grip firm. "I know the way," he insisted. "And I need to talk to you, Delia. It's important."
