Instead of accompanying Jeremy to White’s, Adam went home. He found his sister in the blue parlor, going through the latest issue of La Belle Assemblée with Hetty Wootton. The girls’ heads were bent close together, fair and dark. “. . . puffings of reverse satin,” he heard Grace say.
Adam backed quietly out of the room. He went to his study, poured himself a glass of brandy, and sat at his desk, a clean sheet of paper in front of him. He dipped his quill in ink and began to write.
Grace
Miss Knightley
Miss Knightley’s maid
Myself
The four of them had witnessed the incident outside Hatchard’s on Tuesday afternoon. On Wednesday afternoon, he’d told Jeremy and Alvanley about it. That evening, Tom had paid Sir Arnold Gorrie a visit.
Adam rolled the quill between his fingers. He didn’t t
