The child stilled like the marbled statue of Mr. Handel at the Triumphal Arches that commemorated the walk’s entrance.
Trepidation of iced tentacles congealed James’s blood as the child’s presence caught the man’s attention. “Run,” James yelled.
His voice startled the child and the man. The child took off like a musket ball through the cover of trees and the man hesitated just long enough to give him a lead before sprinting after him.
James hurried to Welton’s side and crouched down. He was too late. Dagger wounds showed he’d been pierced in two places, the chest, and fatally, the neck. The poor, idiot, fool was dead.
Unfortunately, James’s ruinous night before had thrown him off his game, and he turned too late—the hell hound had twisted the plot, circling back. His last coherent thought before pain of a different sort exploded in his head and sent him whirling into the depths of a black vortex.
~~~
Antonia rubbed her palm over her forehead. She looked frightfully pale. “Not that I don’t appreciate your visit, Gabriella, but it is highly suspect.”
Gabby bristled but didn’t meet her sister’s eyes and smoothed her hands over her bright day frock of cream and soft peach. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“First of all, ’tis the day after your wedding. You should be ensconced blissfully abed with chocolate and your new husband’s undivided attention. Secondly, we are not all that close.”
That was true. “It doesn’t have to be that way,” Gabby muttered, wishing she’d gone to Claire’s instead.
“Thirdly—one moment—” Antonia dashed from her sitting room through the adjoining bedchamber door where a horrid sound of retching ensued.
Gabby winced. Obviously, her sister hadn’t been feigning her illness the day before.
She appeared a moment later and slowly made her way to the settee. “I’m sorry. These bouts come about without warning.”
Gabby reached over and took her hand. “What is it?”
Antonia’s stunned expression shifted to pained resignation. “Oh, dear.”
“What?”
“I take it Rose didn’t speak to you before the wedding?”
She shook her head.
“I suppose it wouldn’t have mattered, regardless. You never listen to her.” The truth of Antonia’s statement had the familiar resentment surging. “I’m with child, darling. I have it on good authority, what I am experiencing is completely normal.”
Heat flamed Gabby’s cheeks. She felt like an uneducated fool. How could women not be informed of such basics. It would be different for her children, she vowed.
“I know it’s improper, but I’m surprised you and your closest friends never spoke of such matters. Many young women do, you know.”
The closest friend Gabby had was Rebecca and she was as unmarried as Gabby. And, Sebastian had thrown up every possible roadblock to distance her from her friend, she thought glumly.
But Sebastian was no longer her guardian, was he. She straightened. That’s right, her imperious brother no longer had a say with whom she consorted—er, spent her time with. It was past time to remedy that situation. Hers and Rebecca’s friendship no longer had to be confined by post.
She considered her sister, not critically, but with sudden curiosity. She had a myriad of questions. “Is there, um, anything to help to keep you from, er, casting up your accounts so violently?”
Antonia smiled. “I find tepid tea and plain biscuits help. Not always, but ’tis better than nothing. I suppose time will be my best remedy.”
Gabby took her leave, mulling over several things her sister mentioned. It certainly solidified Gabby’s relationship—or lack thereof—with Rose. She took her new husband’s comfortable carriage to Oxford. Shopping never failed in lifting her spirits.
It all happened so quickly, Gabby’s head spun.
She was accepting her footman’s assistance into her carriage after a visit to Smythe’s Millinery when she spotted the waif curled on her side, half in the cobbled street and half off. She didn’t even resemble a woman. Gabby dashed over. “Quickly, Connor. I require your assistance.”
Between the two of them, the girl was gently placed inside the cab across from Gabby. Her beaten face had swelled to horrific proportions. Her dress could never be salvaged, all muddied and torn into rags, her hair a matted mess.
She groaned. “Where am I?” Her voice sounded that of a child.
