Once Upon a Time in Bath (The Brides of Bath #7) - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,70

closed? Wolf was so devious, he might try to find a way of stopping the wedding from taking place.

Why was Henry Wolf so obsessed with Annie? Just purchasing the IOUs from Mrs. Starr would have cost a king’s ransom. Yet he was willing to hand them back to Appleton and not even seek a dowry. All in an effort to make Annie his wife.

Which would never happen as long as Appleton drew breath.

Appleton wasn’t the only angry man in the chamber. Wolf could barely conceal his fury as his gaze shifted from Appleton to Dot. He quickly feigned civility. “I regret that I must leave as soon as you’ve come, my lord, but I have exceedingly enjoyed my stay with your delightful sisters.” His gaze went to Annie, and he bid her good-bye.

Appleton ignored him, directing his comment to Annie. “I thought you would still be at the dressmaker’s.”

A puzzled look on her face as she eyed Wolf’s back while he left the chamber, she said, “We just returned as Mr. Wolf drove up. He wasn’t here more than a quarter of an hour.”

Appleton glared at Annie and did not speak until the house’s front door closed. “Have I not warned you against that man?”

His sister bristled. “Honestly, Timothy, I am three-and-twenty years of age—old enough not to have to have my brother screen my callers.”

“I have never screened your callers. Wolf is the only man I’ve ever tried to shield you from.”

“Well, I found him to be a perfect gentleman,” she said, jutting out her chin with an air of defiance. “And you cannot deny he’s sinfully wealthy.”

“You must trust me on the depravity of the man’s character.”

She glared at him and stalked from the chamber.

He turned to the other sisters. “Neither of you will encourage that man’s attentions in any way. Is that understood?”

Her eyes wide, Agnes nodded.

His angry glance moved to Abby. She shrugged. “I did not find Mr. Wolf appealing in the least. Even if he is possessed of a great fortune.”

His sisters left the chamber.

“I’ll see you home in the coach,” he said to Dot, “and then I’ll be early to bed for I have to leave before dawn.”

* * *

Appleton lost count of how many times he had to change horses on his journey to London. He’d denied himself for so many hours, his hunger had abated, only to be replaced with a gnawing void in the pit of his stomach. He would not permit anything to keep him from making Redmayne’s establishment before it closed this day.

Night came early this time of the year. When he finally reached Savile Row in London, lanterns lighted the shop’s doorways against the darkness, and each shop window was illuminated from within.

Through the large window at Mr. Redmayne’s premises, a well-dressed man was hanging up a jacket. Thank God, I’m not too late.

Appleton handed off his horse to an hostler and entered the shop.

“Ah, Lord Appleton,” a smiling Redmayne said, “how good it is to see you.” The tailor’s discerning eye swept over his patron’s dust-covered boots and the general disarray of Appleton’s clothing. “Have you come from Bath?” As a good businessman, Redmayne was obliged to be acquainted with the habits of the men who patronized him.

“Indeed I have.”

The tailor’s brows lowered. “I will own, my lord, I’m surprised to see you since it was only last month that you took possession of three of those coats which I am gratified to say you admired so much.”

“What a good memory you possess. As it happens, I’ve come for information. It may be a matter of life or death. I can say no more.” Death. Ever since he’d visited the place where Ellie was murdered, he feared another death was imminent.

Even worse, he feared for Dot’s safety.

“Pray, my lord, what information could I possibly possess that could be so important?”

“Has anyone purchased a replacement of one of your special buttons in the past two weeks?”

Redmayne’s eyes widened. “As it happens, I did receive such an order—and I was instructed to send it to an address in Bath!”

Appleton’s pulse thundered. His stomach went queasy—and not from hunger. He was about to learn the identity of Ellie’s killer. It was likely someone he knew. All day he’d been hoping Redmayne could provide this information, and now that he was going to, Appleton felt sick. “His name?”

“Humphrey Mitchell.”

Appleton internally slumped. It couldn’t be Mitchell! Appleton had known him all his life. In fact, the man was the father of Abby’s