“Will we have trouble?”

“Mr. Johnson can handle the coach,” Adam declared. “We will have no problems. I have complete confidence in the man, but you should understand that such conditions may affect whether we reach Mobberley in time for you to see your uncle before his passing.” Adam touched her hand in sympathy. “I am sorry.”

“You have done more than most men, my Lord. Even if we are too late to give my family comfort, I will cherish your kindness.” Cathleen dropped her eyes; she did not often speak so personally to her benefactor. “You truly are the best of men.”

“There are many who would disagree with you, my Dear.”

Cathleen looked him in the eye. “That is because they do not know you as I do.” And in her opinion, Adam Lawrence was truly everything she said. A kind and generous man, he held a reputation as a rounder, but she saw none of that. Often she wished she could have known him as his social equal—where he might actually love her—where she might help him become the man he wanted to be—a man quite different from the façade he presented to the world. But she knew she was not the woman to bring Adam Lawrence such love—such contentment. Cathleen would give him what she could while they shared their time together.

Reluctantly, she wondered what her family would think when she arrived in Mobberley unchaperoned and in Adam’s carriage. His livery would announce their relationship. She would bring shame to her mother and father, as well as her younger sisters, and for that, Cathleen despaired. Perhaps Adam might allow her to return home alone. When they reached Mobberley, she would ask him to leave her and move on to Manchester or even to Warrington. She would take a public conveyance and follow him there. At least,Viscount Stafford cared enough for her not to allow her to travel a great distance alone.