Chapter Eight
Florence took a deep breath as she grasped the brass lion knocker of the Wadlows’ Grosvenor Square townhouse and rapped it sharply against the door.
Despite her eagerness to return to London, she hadn’t anticipated just how strange and disorienting it would feel to be back here.
Part of her wanted to dispense with formalities, to simply walk straight in and charge up the staircase to her bedroom the way she always had with Amabel, but if what Cassie had told them at dinner was true, then Amabel was no longer here and she no longer had a bedroom.
Because she was no longer welcome. A knot of tension lodged itself in her chest at the thought.
This was the last place she remembered being before she’d woken up at Rainton Court, and yet somehow her whole life had irrevocably changed since she’d last stood on this spot.
An early night had done nothing to assuage her shock at the news of Amabel’s marriage and departure from London.
She’d been so fixated on the idea of seeing her, of appealing to her for help and establishing the truth about what had happened at the ball together, it had never occurred to Florence that she might not be there.
The prospect of facing her parents instead was a daunting one, but it had to be faced if she was going to get any answers to her questions.
She’d lain awake, tossing and turning until the small hours, trying to decide what to say to them.
Half of her thought she ought to start by apologising, only that would sound like an admission of guilt, and how could she apologise for something she couldn’t remember doing?
She’d eventually given up trying to sleep and risen early, walking around Mayfair until it was a reasonable hour to pay a call, deliberately skipping breakfast to avoid bumping into her husband.
The way he’d spoken about her last night wasn’t exactly new, but it still hurt.
She wasn’t a villain—or at least she hoped not anyway—and in an hour or two, if everything went well, she’d be able to prove it!
So here she was. And she’d already used the knocker, which meant that it was too late now to lose her nerve and run away. She only hoped the Wadlows didn’t hate her too much.
Grover, the Wadlows’ grey-haired butler, opened the door after a few moments, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of her. ‘Lady Rainton. This is a surprise.’
‘Good morning, Grover.’ She smiled, relieved to see a friendly face. Unlike Rimmer, who seemed to live in perpetual terror of Mrs Fitch, the Wadlows’ butler was a cheerful presence in the household. ‘How is your back?’
‘My back?’ He sounded confused.
‘Yes. You injured it, did you not?’ She pushed her smile wider. ‘Of course, that must be over a month ago now, but I recall you were in some pain?’
‘Oh, yes. Much better, thank you, my lady.’
‘Good.’ She paused, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. ‘I expect you’re wondering why I’m here. I’d like to speak with Lady Wadlow, if it’s convenient?’
‘Ah.’ Grover’s eyes darted from side to side before fixing straight ahead, on a point just beyond her shoulder. ‘I’m afraid that Lady Wadlow is not at home.’
‘She’s not?’ Florence blinked in surprise.
Lady Wadlow was nothing if not a creature of habit.
She ate breakfast in bed at eight o’clock every morning, rose promptly at nine, spent the morning attending to correspondence and never left the house before luncheon.
Unless… A wave of panic gripped her… Unless she’d missed her opportunity to see Amabel’s parents too? ‘Has she left London?’
‘No, my lady.’
‘Oh, thank goodness.’ She exhaled with relief. ‘What time do you think she’ll be back?’
‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to divulge that information, my lady.’
‘I can wait.’ She gestured to the hallway behind him. ‘I don’t mind.’
‘Unfortunately, that isn’t possible. She’s simply…not at home.’
‘You mean…? Oh.’ She stiffened as a hot flush flooded over her cheeks. If Lady Wadlow wasn’t at home in perpetuity, then it meant she had no desire to see her. Ever. But she’d come this far…
She coughed, swallowing the last of her pride. ‘Would you mind making sure? Please?’
‘I’m afraid it won’t do any good, my lady. She was most explicit about her…at-home status.’
In other words, she was banished, Florence realised, pressing a hand to her empty stomach, suddenly glad that she hadn’t eaten anything that morning, or last night, come to think of it. It was probably the only thing stopping her from being sick.
‘The thing is, my lady,’ Grover went on, lowering his voice, ‘this whole situation has been a terrible shock for her nerves.’
‘Yes, I suppose it must have been.’ She lowered her own voice to match.
‘But the “situation” is why I’m here. You see, I don’t know what it is exactly.
I’ve lost my memory. All I’ve been told is that I was found in a compromising situation with Lord Rainton, and something about a message, but I can’t understand how it happened.
’ She moved a step closer. ‘I don’t suppose you know anything? ’
‘Only the rumours, my lady.’ Grover threw a swift look over his shoulder. ‘None of us staff saw what happened. We only heard the commotion.’
‘Commotion?’
‘Her Ladyship had proper hysterics. She wanted to throw you out of the house that night, only Lord Wadlow said it would cause an even bigger scandal, so in the end she settled for locking you in your room.’ He checked behind him again.
‘We were sorry to do it, especially since she only allowed you bread and water, but she was so angry. It was more than our jobs were worth to go against her.’
‘What about Amabel? How did she react to what happened?’
Grover’s expression wavered, as if he wasn’t sure what to say. ‘She was…also upset.’
‘Was I able to speak to her after the ball?’
‘No. Lady Wadlow didn’t let anyone visit you.’
‘But did she want to?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know, my lady. We had orders not to let her into your room if she asked, but as far as I know, she didn’t.’
‘I see.’ Florence looked past him again, making one last attempt to get inside.
‘The thing is, I only want to ask Lady Wadlow a few questions. I know she must think I betrayed her trust, but I’m certain there must have been some kind of misunderstanding.
If I could only talk to her for five minutes. Or Lord Wadlow—’
‘I’d put that idea out of your head, my lady.’ Grover sounded sympathetic. ‘But I wouldn’t worry about what they think if I were you. You’re a marchioness now. You don’t need the approval of the Wadlows of this world any more, and good luck to you, I say. Now I’d better get back inside.’
‘Wait.’ Florence placed a hand on the door as it started to close. ‘Just one more thing. It’s about Amabel’s marriage. Was she happy about it?’
‘I believe so, my lady. Them not so much.’ Grover jerked his eyes upwards, to the room where Lord and Lady Wadlow were, presumably, ‘not at home’. ‘But Miss Amabel herself was in high spirits when she left for her honeymoon. That’s some good news, I suppose.’
‘Yes,’ Florence murmured as the door finally shut in front of her. ‘I suppose it is.’
‘It’s outrageous!’ Cassie’s furious voice echoed through the downstairs of the house as Leo walked through the front door.
He’d spent the morning at Tattersalls, looking at a pair of bay geldings, and had fully intended to eat luncheon at his club, until a sudden impulse had brought him back to Albemarle Street instead.
Florence had already gone out when he’d come down for breakfast that morning, and making sure she was all right, especially after the way she’d run out of the dining room so abruptly last night, seemed like the husbandly thing to do.
‘What’s outrageous?’ He handed his hat to the butler on his way into the drawing room.
‘The Wadlows!’ Cassie was clearly on the warpath, waving her arms around like windmill blades as she marched up and down the room. ‘They refused to see Florence.’
‘You went to visit the Wadlows?’ He turned to his wife.
She was sitting in the window seat, her hands folded neatly in her lap as if she were perfectly calm.
Only the absolute stillness of her features, combined with the silvery sheen of her clenched knuckles, gave her away.
Something about that stillness, the obvious pent-up emotion, caused an unexpected tug in his chest.
‘Yes.’ She gave a jerky nod. ‘I was told they weren’t at home.’
‘Perhaps they weren’t?’
‘They were.’ A muscle twitched in her cheek. ‘Their butler is a kind man, but he made the situation very clear. And even if he hadn’t, I saw Lady Wadlow’s face at one of the windows as I walked back across the square. She wanted me to see her, I think.’
‘How dare they?’ Cassie was still raging. ‘I’ll ruin them for this. I’ll make sure all of their invitations are revoked! I’ll speak to Mrs Wheeler. She’s one of the patronesses of Almack’s. I’ll have them banished for life!’
‘Please don’t.’ Florence winced. ‘Not on my account.’
‘Yes, on your account. You’re a Claridge now and they had no right to treat you so rudely. Who do they think they are? You’re a marchioness!’
‘If I did what they think I did, it doesn’t matter who I am. I can understand their reaction.’ Florence dropped her gaze to her hands, her shoulders drooping. ‘Besides, to them, I’m still just their daughter’s companion.’
‘May I?’ Leo gestured to the opposite side of the window seat.
‘Mmm?’ She looked up, her eyes widening as if she was surprised by the request. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Thank you.’ He sat down beside her. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Honestly?’ She dug her teeth into her bottom lip. ‘No. I’ve known them since I was a child. Maybe I was tolerated rather than welcomed for Amabel’s sake, but it’s upsetting to think they hate me so much now. I thought they’d at least give me an audience.’
‘I’d like to give them an audience!’