By the time she stepped out of the tavern, Stephen was waiting beside the carriage. The horses shifted impatiently, their breath pale in the cool air. The vehicle itself stood plain but respectable, not grand enough to invite gossip from every window, but not so humble as to insult the man paying for it. Stephen, steady as ever, stepped forward the moment he saw her and extended a hand.
"My lady," he said simply.
Livia gave him a small smile, grateful for the plainness of him, for the mercy of a man who asked no questions. She placed her hand in his and climbed in.
The ride from Pudding Lane to Wood Street felt endless. The carriage rolled over the uneven streets.
Her mind refused to settle. When at last they arrived at the house, she did not wait to gather herself. She hurried inside, and the familiar interior swallowed her up at once.
