Only then did Annabel shiver and acknowledge the terror that gnawed at her insides.
*
In Piccadilly, amile and a half from Park Lane, Lord Henry Hudsyn crawled into his black brougham with a brandy bottle in hand and instructed his coachman to head for his estate in Kent.
Chapter Six
Good my lord, what is your cause ofdistemper?
You do surely bar the door upon your ownliberty
if you deny your griefs to yourfriend.
—Shakespeare,Hamlet
Hudsyn Estate, Sevenoaks, Kent
Six weeks later…
Henry lay inhis darkened drawing room, nursing another bottle of brandy when his butler entered and announced, “Mr. Bastin is here to see you, my lord.”
“What?” Henry lifted his aching head off the settee and peered at his butler through blurred eyes.
“Mr. Bastin. He’s waiting in the parlor, my lord.”
“No, I’m not!” Jack Bastin strode past the butler into Henry’s study.
Henry groaned and laid his head back onto the settee pillows.
“Bring up a strong pot of tea, Bales,” Bastin said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Why are you here, Bastin?”
“You know bloody well why.” Bastin snatched away the half-empty brandy bottle tucked in the crook of Henry’s arm.
Damn.He hadn’t finished that. Henry frowned. “How did you know I’d arrived in Kent? Do you have spies following me?”
“Something like that. Sit up!”
Henry forced his aching body to move. His head throbbed. “Let me guess. My cousin sent you.”
“She’sworriedabout you. First, you turn down a publication offer for your work of poetry, then you abandon your home in Berkley Square for Albany and let your country estate go to ruin. It’s been two years of self-destruction.” Bastin strode to the window and pulled open the dark green drapes.
“My head! Stop that!”
“This house is a bloody mausoleum.”
Bales reentered and set down the tea tray. “Will there be anything else, my lord?”
“Laudanum,” Henry mumbled.
“Very good, sir.”
“No!” Bastin held up his hand to stop the butler. “No laudanum, thank you, Bales.”
The butler hesitated.
