“Nonsense.” Mama patted her hand. “But for a few last-minute things, it is all done. Everyone has accepted the invitations. Our guests will fill St. George’spews.” She ticked off a list on her fingers. “The catering, the cake, the French champagne, the hothouse flowers, and the musicians.”
“I’m sure it will be perfect,” Thea said warmly. “You will make a beautiful bride, Cathy, and Crispin, a handsome groom.”
“Mama keeps telling me so, but it is nice of you to say it,” Cathy said with a tense smile.
“About my dress…” Thea began, intending to say she was happy with whatever they chose.
“We thought one of these. I rather like this,” Cathy held up a swatch of soft gray-blue.
“A good choice, especially if you wear something blue,” Thea said, relieved Ash wouldn’t see her in the pink. But she was careful not to appear too enthusiastic.
“Well, of course, I shall wear a touch of blue,” Cathy said. “All brides do, don’t they?”
“Even if it’s just a garter,” Thea suggested with a grin. “And then only Crispin will see it.”
Cathy blushed, fighting a grin.
Mama frowned. “That is enough, Thea!” Her benevolence only stretched so far. She raised her eyebrows. “While no one can fault Lord Grainger’s manners, he is a man after all. I did wonder about all those hours you spent alone with him in the carriage. His grandfather was most remiss not to send a maid with you.”
“He knows his grandson is a man of honor,” Thea said firmly, albeit a trifle guiltily. But she would defend Ash’s honor to the death. She curbed her annoyance and rose. “I’ll see you at dinner. Sarah will be waiting. My wardrobe sadly needs attention.”
Ash, having washedand dressed in fresh clothes, emerged from Albany and caught a hackney to White’s. The club was thin of company. He moved through inquiring about Farnborough of members in the dining room, billiard room, library, and the cards room. No one had seen him for days.
At Farnborough’s townhouse, his staff appeared mystified. His carriage and horses remained in the stables. He’d made no mention of leaving London. Where was he? Other inquiries were met with the same answer. Ash grew increasingly uneasy. Had Farnborough gone in search of Julia by some other means of transport? Perhaps one of his cohorts?
At Bow Street, Corbet remained in a holding cell, awaiting his appearance before the magistrate. When Ash entered his cell, he noted the man had lost his swagger. He was thinner, if that was possible, gaunt-faced, and sweating heavily.
“I expected Farnborough to get a lawyer to represent me by now,” he complained, running a finger along his wispy mustache. “He hasn’t shown up.”
“Any idea where he might be?”
“Want him, do you? Why should I tell you?”
“You don’t know, eh? Farnborough won’t come with a lawyer. He’s dropped you in it.” Ash turned toward the cell door.
“Wait!” Corbet bristled and clenched his hands but made no move to stir himself from the filthy bunk. “He’s a gentleman, has to pay his debts, don’t he?”
Ash shook his head. “Some gentlemen are notorious for not paying them.”
Shaken, Corbet’s hands flew up as if to shield his face from the dawning truth.
Ash came to stand before him. “Listen, Corbet. He’s not going to help you.” He met the man’s frightened gaze. “If you reveal his whereabouts to us, it’s possible the law will deal more leniently with you.”
Corbet sagged on the cot, his hands dangling between his knees. “We met at some tavern in the Seven Dials. He kept a room there.”
“The tavern’s name?”
He looked fearful. As if Farnborough could reach in through the bars and kill him. “Don’t know the name.”
“You would be wise to tell me.”
Ash paused. Didn’t Peter follow Farnborough to a tavern in the Seven Dials? What was it called? “The Three Bells,” he said, remembering.
Corbet’s eyes widened, and he plucked at the thin blanket. “If you find him there, for God’s sake, don’t say you heard it from me.”
Ash bowed slightly. “If I do find him, he won’t be thinking about you.”
He left the courthouse. Corbet was charged with murder. When Ash thought of poor Spencer bleeding out on the road, his anger and distaste for the slimy individual twisted his gut. If Corbet had offered to help, it wouldn’t have saved him from the hangman’s rope.
