“Does she work at the theater as well?”
Mabel nodded, wiping her face with Gabby’s kerchief.
Gabby drummed her fingers on her knee, thinking. “Is the man threatening her? Is he the same man who…”
“I’m not certain,” she whispered. “Possibly.”
She patted Mabel on the shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do. Remember, send me a note. At any time. Now, I really must go.” With a last squeeze, Gabby hurried away. She had reached the door when Mabel stopped her.
“Lord Bentick.” Her voice was barely audible.
The name sent a chill up Gabby’s spine. Bentick was a stuffy, full-of-self-importance Baron, and wealthy. She didn’t know much more about him than that. He traveled in Rose’s circle of acquaintances rather than Gabby’s. It looked as if she would be attending the theater again soon, after all. “Thank you, Mabel.” She hurried away, knowing her brother’s footman wouldn’t hesitate in contacting Sebastian and Huntley if she and Rebecca were even a minute late.
Rebecca was waiting at the top of the steps for her, and they descended together to the kitchens and the waiting hackney beyond. The smell was just as putrid as before. Rebecca tugged out her handkerchief. Gabby attempted the same, then recalled handing it over to Mabel.
“I think Miss Clark will be a wonderful addition to our project, Gabs,” Rebecca said.
“Yes, I believe she will.”
“How did you happen upon her?”
“Um, well…”
Rebecca stilled, spearing her with a sharp gaze. “Tell me you did not find her down the actors hall.”
Heat fired Gabby’s cheeks.
Rebecca let out an epithet that would shock Lady Dankworth and her ugly pugs. “I see.” Her chest heaved with a breath, and she slowly lowered her kerchief. She picked at nonexistent lint on her fine silk skirts. “So, have you and Huntley reconciled in an, er, mutually beneficial means?”
It was a timely shift in topic and most suspect. Gabby’s entire body tingled with sensation. “Really, Rebecca! Such a question.”
Rebecca laughed, a full out guffaw. Her friend did not do ladylike chimes. “I’m thrilled to hear it, my dear.”
Gabby dropped her face in her hands, groaning. “I should have never told you how awful my wedding night was.”
Rebecca waved out a hand. “Bah. You know you couldn’t help yourself.” Rebecca shot her a sly look. “Besides, the question was rhetorical. I can see perfectly well how happy you are.”
“Good heavens, Rebecca. Keep your voice down. All we need is for the cabby to hear of us talking of... of marital relations. If word got back to Sebastian—” The thought was unconscionable.
“How on earth would a cabby’s gossip reach my husband? Besides, I wager Sebastian knows all about it.”
“’Tis all well and good for you as his wife. I, however, am his sister.” She shuddered. Time for a different direction. One that would allow Gabby to hold up her head. “You will attend the Martindales’ gala later this week, won’t you?”
Rebecca leaned back into the seat, her eyes narrowed on Gabby. “Why? What are you up to?”
Oh, dear. Now was definitely not the time to spill her plans, not without something concrete in place. Gabby shrugged. “Nothing. I just prefer having you to talk to rather than my sisters.”
Rebecca’s nose wrinkled, forcing Gabby to bite her cheek to keep from grinning. Rebecca abhorred society events, almost as much as Huntley. “I fear Ryleigh will likely insist. I believe the prime minister will be in attendance.”
Liverpool, again. That was a little mystery Gabby was determined to get to the bottom of. “If that is the case, then I shall likely see you there. Huntley and Liverpool are very tight these days.”
Rebecca’s eyes turned shrewd. “What do you mean?”
Gabby lifted her shoulder. “He sent a message for Huntley at the Theatre Royale last night. My husband quickly jumped to his bidding.” And, now that she thought back on it, Huntley had quite expertly redirected the conversation from her inquiries to where he’d disappeared.
Thirteen
“Gads, this place is a crush,” James muttered three nights later.
