His gentle hand on the small of her back, leading her through the quiet, dimly lit hall, did very little to ease her anxiety. Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she managed to force one foot after the other forward until she was stepping out of the building that had constituted her entire life, and into the cold night air.

Pausing, her eyes took in the single carriage that stood before the building waiting patiently to take them to the sea port and the ship that would ultimately take them to their new lives in Australia.

Fear made the decision to leave almost an impossible one —the fear of what laid ahead. Yet, it was the same fear of staying behind and bearing the shame of what had happened, that forced the decision.

She remembered clearly the look on Race's face as he made his way into the room that afternoon —the same afternoon she had found out about the story of her rape making an appearance in the newspaper. It was clear from the frown on his face and the sadness that clouded his eyes, that he was aware of the news, and while the thought of not having to be the one to break it to him, left Bianca feeling slightly relieved, the burden of the damage the news would most likely cost, rested heavily on her shoulders.

“We should leave?” Race crouched before her, his words making clear his decision, yet leaving it open for her to decide.

Bianca sniffed, battling a headache. She was weak from crying. “Camden?” The words barely formed on her lips.

He shook his head. “London. I do not wish to keep fighting a lost battle, Bianca, neither do I wish for our child to be born into this stigma and rejection.” His hand reached for hers, sad eyes staring back at her.

Her hands trembling in his, Bianca sat still on the chair. She knew he was right, and for the sake of their baby, they needed to leave. “Me too.”

Nothing was discussed about where it was they would go, and by that evening, Race slid into bed beside her, gently drawing her tense form into his arms.

“Australia.” His finger played with a tendril of her hair. “Noah has a house there and has agreed for us to stay there.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Her voice carried no enthusiasm for she was still saddened by the newspaper incident.

“It is.” He leaned further against her, his head coming to rest on her shoulder from behind.

But it wasn't, it wasn't wonderful, for because of what had happened to her, they were being forced to leave. Silently, she blamed herself —she was ruining not only her husband's life, but the life of her future son who was next in line for the title her father left behind. If she took him away from London —even if she desperately wanted to leave— she would be depriving him of his birthright.

“Will everything be alright someday, Race?” She whispered into the darkness, but it didn't matter, for Race was already asleep.

“Bianca?” His voice dragged her back to the present. Gasping in surprise, she turned to him. He frowned. “Are you alright?”

Nodding slowly, “Yes.”

“Then we must leave before the first break of dawn.” He motioned to the carriage.

He was right, they needed to leave before they were caught doing so. Because of debt accumulated by her father, Race and Bianca couldn't leave Camden in broad daylight like every other traveler, they needed to sneak out like fugitives. Thankfully, Camden had arranged for them to leave on one of his cargo ships.

Sighing softly, she allowed him lead her toward the front stairs, her eyes catching a glimpse of a figure shrouded by darkness, standing by the horses as she approached. Slightly confused, a frown settled on Bianca's face as the image of the figure became clearer and it became apparent to her that rather than the coachman, it was a woman —her sister, she realized once she was down the stairs.

“Carla?” Her frown deepened, confusion clouding her mind —rather than a traveling coat, Carla was clad in a simple white nightdress with a night coat. Why wasn't she dressed for the journey? Hadn't Race told her about it? Bianca knew she hadn't spoken to her sister since the morning of the news, but she imagined Carla was informed by Race about their need to leave Camden.

Perhaps Carla was simply being stubborn about leaving? Bianca didn't put it past her sister to want to stay behind, even if the consequences of staying behind would be rather dire —Carla would be forced out of the estate and left penniless.

Frustrated, she folded her arms across her chest and stood still as her sister approached.

“What are you doing?!” She motioned to her dress. “Perhaps you must be rid of this silliness, Carla, you cannot simply choose to throw a tantrum by refusing to journey with us esp—”

The words were suddenly knocked out of her lungs as Carla's arms curled around her neck.

Stiffening, Bianca stood confused for several seconds, her arms laying limp by her sides as her sister clung to her.

“I cannot go with you.” She finally whispered, pulling away.

Staring at her, Bianca nearly believed that she saw tears in her sister's eyes —nearly.

“You cannot remain either.” She managed to speak in spite of her confused mind.

Carla nodded. “I know, but I have done enough damage to you, Bianca, I cannot go with you lest I ruin your life further.”

“What do you mean?” Perhaps her sister had been foolish enough to kiss Race, but that was all, wasn't it?

Carla's gaze fell to the ground. “It is my fault you were forced to marry Race.”

“Partly,” She admitted, remembering the letter Carla had begged her to deliver.

Carla shook her head, a small sob escaping her lips.

“Bianca?”

Turning stiffly from her sister, Bianca suddenly remembered Race's presence.

“Do you wish for me to give you two some privacy?”

She wasn't sure. A part of her dreaded Carla's impending confession, but she knew it was her right to know what evil her sister had plotted against her, and perhaps she needed to hear of it alone?

Nodding, “Please.”

“Very well, I shall be in the carriage.” He turned from her.

Drawing her coat further around herself, Bianca turned once more to Carla. “Is there something you wish to tell me?” It was a difficult question to ask, for Bianca knew that there was indeed something to be told, and that something would no doubt completely destroy what was left of her relationship with her sister.

Perhaps they never really had a relationship? Perhaps all her life Bianca had always known that she was unloved by her entire family? Yet, she had always been hopeful. She had told herself through the years that not many families got along, and that her sister would eventually grow to love her —the thought of knowing she was wrong caused a large lump to form in her lungs.

“Mother always knew you would get the title,” Carla began, her eyes still planted on the ground. “marrying Mr. Belington was the only way to ensure it wouldn't happen. If I could get you to journey to his estate in Bath, Mother and I could have convinced Father that you had run off with a bastard.” Her words were like cold water poured upon Bianca, stinging her skin. “If Father thought you were ruining his reputation in such a manner, he would have disowned you and I would hav—”

“Been his heiress.” She whispered bitterly.

“Bianca,” Carla glanced up.

Shaking her head, Bianca fought against her tears. “You sought to ruin my life for a worthless title.”

“And I was wrong.”

Her heart sank, her knees weakening. Bianca all of a sudden could not bear the sight of her sister —she could neither bear the sight of Carla, nor the thought of remaining in London. In that second, her fear of leaving was gone, and in its place, a desperation to go far away from her sister and the society that would never accept her —for being ruined by one of its highly reputable member, a product of its class— and Race —for being the shameful product of one of its member, also a product of its class. Race and Bianca were nothing but a painful reminder of the flaws of society, and a secret she had no doubt they were desperate to keep buried in the sand.

Their offsprings will be treated with as much disdain as them. The child growing within her would no doubt have his legitimacy questioned now that it was public knowledge what was done to her, and every other child she was fortunate enough to bear would be treated the same way —there was nothing here for them.

Without another word to her sister, Bianca turned around slowly.

“I do not regret any of this, Bianca.” Carla's words pulled her to a halt. “I was wrong, but some rights are made of wrongs. If none of this had happened, then perhaps you would have been married to a man who cares nothing for you? And who shall love you more than Mr. Belington? Perhaps it was meant to be? I am happy you finally have love, Bianca, you certainly deserve it.”

Anger still pumped through Bianca's veins, but something else made her heart pound in her chest, and her tears pour freely down her cheeks.

“Forgive me.” Carla finally whispered, breaking the wall of silence that had built up between them.

Bianca listened to her sister turn away.

“Do you wish to come with us?” The words poured out of her lips, her eyes planted on the ground —the part of her that was worried for Carla's welbeing, wanted her safe. She couldn't leave her behind, no matter how angry she was.

“I shall remain.”

“You do not have to,” Releasing a soft sigh, she wiped her tears with her sleeve and turned slowly around. Carla stood before her, tears staining her pale cheeks.

Carla nodded. “I know, but I shall be fine.”

She opened her mouth to ask Carla how that was going to be possible, how she was going to be fine having to live penniless without a parent or a husband. Instead, she heard herself say; “I do not hate you, Carla.”

Her eyes seemed to brighten with that, a small smile claiming her lips. “Neither do I.”

It was the closest they had ever come to saying 'I love you', but Bianca knew it wouldn't be the last time —she would see Carla again, time would bring them together, time would heal the wounds that had been inflicted, and as she settled into the carriage beside Race, her head coming to rest on his shoulder as the carriage began making its way out of the estate, she knew in time, she would be home.

go,