Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. “It is a hateful story. Sheppard, as I told you, is in Bedlam, an incurable maniac; while her son is in the New Prison, whence he will only be removed to Newgate and Tyburn. Young noblemen ought to be indulged in their frolics. I don’t care if you never tell me any of your secrets. You came out like an ant for your nuptial flight. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. He passed, and came loitering back and stood beside her, silently looking into her face.
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