Chapter Fifteen
Arabella traveled down to Roseneath Priory four days later, with Grace and her aunt, Mrs. Seraphina Mexted—and Lady Westwick.
Her grandmother had unexpectedly refused to allow her to go alone. “I mistrust Adam St. Just,” she had declared. “And after what he said seven years ago, I wonder that you should care to visit his home!”
In a second carriage, behind them, were their four maids. St. Just had gone down a day ahead, under the guise of attending to business.
Arabella sat and stared out the window, her hands clenched inside the swansdown muff. Memories churned in her mind: the ugly, animal sounds of s*x, the rank smell of unwashed male, her mother gulping gin, her mother weeping.
There were nicer memories, too, twisted into the mess: her mother singing, her voice swe
