‘In any case, I’m afraid you’re too late,’ Cassie continued. ‘The announcement said they were travelling to Ireland straight after the wedding. His family has land there, on his mother’s side.’
‘Amabel’s left London?’ Florence’s voice sounded strangled.
‘I believe so.’
‘But… I have questions.’ Her eyes locked back onto Leo’s, the expression in them the same as when she’d first woken up. Panicked. Lost. Stricken.
‘Oh, dear.’ Cassie looked between them. ‘Have I said the wrong thing?’
‘It’s not your fault. I just thought…hoped…’ Florence’s voice trailed away.
‘We were hoping that Miss—that is, Mrs Vaughan might be able to cast some more light on what happened on the night of her parents’ ball,’ Leo finished when she seemed unable to continue. ‘There was some confusion regarding a message.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, isn’t there anyone else you could ask?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe…but I really wanted…’ Florence gulped, sounding on the verge of tears. ‘Forgive me, but I’m feeling a little unwell. Would you mind if I go to bed?’
‘Of course not, my dear.’ Cassie tilted her head sympathetically. ‘You do look very pale. Would you like me to send a plate up?’
‘No. Thank you, but I think I just need to sleep.’
‘Very well, then. We’ll see you in the morning.’
Leo got to his feet as Florence pushed her chair back and fled the room. Briefly, he thought about following her beforeimmediately dismissing the idea. What could he, of all people, say?
‘Not a word.’ He looked pointedly at his sister as he sat down again. ‘Not one word.’
Chapter Eight
Florence took a deep breath as she grasped the brass lion knocker of the Wadlows’ Grosvenor Square townhouse and rapped it sharply against the door. Despite her eagerness to return to London, she hadn’t anticipated just how strange and disorienting it would feel to be back here. Part of her wanted to dispense with formalities, to simply walk straight in and charge up the staircase to her bedroom the way she always had with Amabel, but if what Cassie had told them at dinner was true, then Amabel was no longer here and she no longer had a bedroom. Because she was no longer welcome. A knot of tension lodged itself in her chest at the thought. This was the last place she remembered being before she’d woken up at Rainton Court, and yet somehow her whole life had irrevocably changed since she’d last stood on this spot.
An early night had done nothing to assuage her shock at the news of Amabel’s marriage and departure from London. She’d been so fixated on the idea of seeing her, of appealing to her for help and establishing the truth about what had happened at the ball together, it had never occurred to Florence that she might not be there. The prospect of facing her parents instead was a daunting one, but it had to be faced if she was going to get any answers to her questions.
She’d lain awake, tossing and turning until the small hours, trying to decide what to say to them. Half of her thought sheought to start by apologising, only that would sound like an admission of guilt, and how could she apologise for something she couldn’t remember doing? She’d eventually given up trying to sleep and risen early, walking around Mayfair until it was a reasonable hour to pay a call, deliberately skipping breakfast to avoid bumping into her husband. The way he’d spoken about her last night wasn’t exactly new, but it still hurt. She wasn’t a villain—or at least she hoped not anyway—and in an hour or two, if everything went well, she’d be able to prove it!
So here she was. And she’d already used the knocker, which meant that it was too late now to lose her nerve and run away. She only hoped the Wadlows didn’t hate her too much.
Grover, the Wadlows’ grey-haired butler, opened the door after a few moments, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of her. ‘Lady Rainton. This is a surprise.’
‘Good morning, Grover.’ She smiled, relieved to see a friendly face. Unlike Rimmer, who seemed to live in perpetual terror of Mrs Fitch, the Wadlows’ butler was a cheerful presence in the household. ‘How is your back?’
‘My back?’ He sounded confused.
‘Yes. You injured it, did you not?’ She pushed her smile wider. ‘Of course, that must be over a month ago now, but I recall you were in some pain?’
‘Oh, yes. Much better, thank you, my lady.’
‘Good.’ She paused, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. ‘I expect you’re wondering why I’m here. I’d like to speak with Lady Wadlow, if it’s convenient?’
‘Ah.’ Grover’s eyes darted from side to side before fixing straight ahead, on a point just beyond her shoulder. ‘I’m afraid that Lady Wadlow is not at home.’
‘She’s not?’ Florence blinked in surprise. Lady Wadlow was nothing if not a creature of habit. She ate breakfast in bed at eight o’clock every morning, rose promptly at nine, spent themorning attending to correspondence and never left the house before luncheon. Unless… A wave of panic gripped her… Unless she’d missed her opportunity to see Amabel’s parents too? ‘Has she left London?’
‘No, my lady.’
‘Oh, thank goodness.’ She exhaled with relief. ‘What time do you think she’ll be back?’
‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to divulge that information, my lady.’
