She turned a bright smile on him, that in no way one would consider genuine. “I believe Lady Macbeth has completed her business,” she said. She spun on her dainty kid boot and led a prancing queen out of the garden, leaving him standing there staring after her, wondering how the conversation had gone so awry. Gabriella was a much too wily adversary, he decided, remembering that missive in her bodice.
~~~
Gabby entered the hall, tossing her bonnet to Diggs without a word and hurrying up the stairs with the oddest urge to cry. She needed to see Rose, but it would not hurt to work in a visit to Antonia either. She wanted to know how all her sisters’ marriages were faring. Perhaps giving her an insight to the fate of her own. What a depressing thought.
She entered her chamber where her maid was fluffing her dresses. “How was Lady Macbeth’s visit to the gardens?”
“Fine. I wish to visit Rose and Antonia today. I’ll be set to go after a bracing cup of tea.”
“So soon? ’Tis barely ten in the morn, milady.”
“They are my sisters. I shall survive the improprieties.” Everyone knew that morning calls did not begin before two in the afternoon.
“Yes, milady.”
Once her maid departed, Gabby recalled the note from the boy. She slipped it from her bodice and read quickly.
Lady Huntley,
The young woman I told you about. Her name is Florence Groves. Things have turned quite dire for her. She said ’twas Lord Stanford and Bentick who hurt her. I fear for Flo’s life. Truly. I told her of Hope House.
Mabel Clark.
Gabby’s stomach dropped. “But where is she, Mabel?” she said softly to the empty chamber. Bentick and Stanford! The vile libertines. She would have their heads.
She pressed the heel of her hand on her forehead. She wondered why she didn’t just confess all. But there were those whose confidences she’d promised not to break.
What she’d told Huntley was true. She fervently believed she could trust him with her own life. Her fear was in not knowing if he would find that the girls she and Rebecca were destined to help, would garner his same protection.
She scanned the note again. With nothing in the missive to indicate how she was to locate Florence, it became a waiting game at this juncture.
Blowing out a pursed breath, she penned a quick note for Vella and slipped it in her reticule along with the payment for Thomas. She would make a quick appearance at the modiste’s on the way home from seeing her sisters.
Twenty-Six
The ride to Stanford House was irritatingly long due to the many carriages clogging the streets. She didn’t spot Mr. Herold until she stepped down from the Huntley conveyance to see him nonchalantly drive on, as if she were some scatterbrained green-girl straight out of Miss Greensley’s. Gabby strode up to the door in a vast temper, Brita dogging her heels. She forced herself to inhale several deep breaths before she dropped the knocker. “I’m here to see my sister,” she told the dour faced butler.
“Of course, Lady Huntley.” He widened the door, allowing her and Brita to enter. “I believe she is still in her chamber. I shall inform her of your presence.”
“Brita, why don’t you visit the kitchens. I shan’t be long.”
Brita dipped a quick curtsey and disappeared. Her sister worked in Rose’s kitchens, so Gabby’s request was not unusual.
She followed the butler into Rose’s elaborately, if over-decorated, drawing room that rivaled Huntley’s in gaudiness, and pulled up short. She thought to step back out. Too late, Stanford had seen her.
He rose from a chair before the hearth. “Lady Huntley,” he said stiffly.
“Er, Lord Stanford, I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
“Why not? This is my own dwelling.”
“I, um, supposed you would be visiting Tattersalls or your club.” She flitted out her fingers in an airy wave. “That’s what Sebastian and Huntley do. I thought to stop by and have a visit with Rose.” It occurred to her she was being handed an excellent opportunity. “How did you enjoy the theater the other night, my lord?”
His eyes narrowed on her. “Quite enjoyable, my lady. You must thank your husband for the invitation. My ladywife and I appreciated it.”
While that was an acceptable response, it grated over her skin like shard glass. He knew perfectly well she’d been the party responsible for his invitation. Her temper flared. “So, I shall,” she told him with a smile so sweet, her teeth ached. “I understand you love everything about the theater, my lord.”
“I do, indeed. You probably know Rose is not so fond of the theater, preferring the social aspects of such occasions.”
