I prepared to take my leave and return to Grenville's box, but Lady Aline stopped me. "I am off home to host a card party for about a dozen friends. You will of course escort us, dear boy. You cannot let a helpless widow and spinster travel across London alone in the middle of the night."
I wanted to laugh. Lady Aline had her own carriage and retinue of loyal servants, and any man fool enough to rob her would find himself at the business end of her thick walking stick. Likewise Lady Breckenridge was well looked after; her footmen were stronger and more agile than I.
But Lady Aline wanted me, for what reason I did not know, and so I answered, "I will happily escort you to Mayfair, but I will not stay for cards. I have not the head for them tonight, and I have an early appointment tomorrow."
"Pity," Lady Aline said, struggling to her feet. I rose quickly to mine and helped her. "You are such a splendid conversationalist, Lacey. You do not say only what everyone wishes to hear."
"You mean I am rude."
"I mean that you are refreshing. That is why Grenville favors you; you are nobody's toady, and the poor man must grow weary of toadies. He undoubtedly favors the unknown actress for the same reason. Difficult to find novelty in your life when you have everything handed to you. John, my boy, run and fetch my carriage."
The youthful footman jumped and ran out to obey his mistress. Two maids entered a moment later with wraps for the ladies, and we made ready to leave.
I could not simply abandon Grenville, so I sent Lady Aline's footman when he returned around to say that Lady Aline had requested my presence. Grenville would understand. When Lady Aline commandeered a person, they stayed commandeered. She would have made a fine press-ganger.
Lady Breckenridge had traveled to the theatre with Lady Aline, so the three of us journeyed to Mayfair in Lady Aline's carriage, the two ladies facing forward, I facing the rear as a gentleman should. The carriage rolled north and west, leaving Drury Lane at Long Acre, then traveling through narrow byways to Leicester Square and beyond to Piccadilly, from which we turned north into the heart of fashionable London.
Lady Aline lived in Mount Street, around the corner from Lady Breckenridge's house in South Audley Street. Lady Aline's home was a typical London townhouse, brick with white pediments over the windows and an arched front door painted dark green with a brass doorknocker in its center.
As soon as we stopped, a footman hurried from the house to set a stool in front of the carriage door and assist us down. Another footman unrolled a rug from stool to door so that his mistress and her guests never had to tread on London's dirty cobblestones.
Relieved of wraps, we went upstairs to Lady Aline's opulent sitting room. She bustled out with her servants, bellowing orders like a sergeant-major as she chivied them in preparations for her card party. The servants hurried after her, leaving Lady Breckenridge alone with me, which, I realized, had been Aline's intention all along.
Lady Breckenridge pulled a gold case from her reticule and extracted from it a thin black cigarillo. She held the cigarillo loosely in her fingers, pointing it ever so slightly at me. I took the cigarillo, lit it with a candle in an elaborate silver candelabra, and handed it back to her.
"Thank you," she said. She drew a long breath of smoke, as though she'd been wanting to do nothing but that all evening. "The theatre is tedious," she remarked. "I long for country walks-or rather walks in the country garden. I am not one to tramp mannishly across wet meadows and scramble through hedgerows and think it entertainment."
"Do you ride?" I heard myself speak the words, but my attention was on the glisten of moisture on her mouth and the way her lips pursed as they closed around the cigarillo.
"Of course," she answered, as though there should have been no question. "I imagine you have gone off the exercise after living in the saddle for the King's army."
"Not a bit. The one enjoyment I had in Berkshire this spring was riding again whenever I wished."
Her brows lifted. "The groom up and being murdered must have been inconvenient then."
"The one thing I did right in the eyes of Rutledge the headmaster was to ride every day. He approved of cavalrymen."
"And yet, in London you remain stubbornly on foot."
"Lack of steed, my dear lady," I said. "I am acquainted with a gentleman who lets me ride his horse when available, but I can only prevail upon his charity so often."
"Oh." She inhaled smoke again, regarding me as though she'd never thought of this impediment before. "Ride with me tomorrow in Hyde Park. I keep two horses, and one is fat and lazy and in need of exercise. I keep the horse for my son, but he has not been here much this Season. He stays with my mother-the country air is much better for him."
I had met her son Peter not long ago, a small, dark-haired boy of five, who was now Viscount Breckenridge. I'd heard a few vicious people draw attention to the fact that six years before, Breckenridge had been in the army on the Peninsula, implying, of course, that the child wasn't Breckenridge's at all. But I could not agree. The lad had Breckenridge's sturdy build, somewhat scowling demeanor, and focus of purpose. Officers did take leave to see family if necessary. I imagined that Donata had not been pleased to see her husband return.
The thought of Breckenridge insisting on his connubial rights with Donata stirred anger in me, although Breckenridge had been dead for a year.
"I hope he dances in hell," I said.
Lady Breckenridge blinked. "Who does?"
"Your husband."
She gave me a look of surprise, not having the benefit of my train of thought. "I hope so too, but I was speaking of riding in Hyde Park."
"My apologies, but I must decline."
"Must you? I see."
Anger sparked in her eyes. I said quickly, "I have an appointment tomorrow. More than one, in fact."
Lady Breckenridge shrugged as though it did not matter. "So you said. Has it to do with your missing game girls?"
"No." I came to her and plucked the cigarillo from her gloved hand. She watched me without expression as I set it on the edge of a table. I cupped her shoulders and turned her to face me. "My wife has returned to London. The first appointment is with her, to speak about divorce."
Her pupils narrowed to pinpricks, and she drew a quick breath. "I remember you said you wanted to find her, to end the marriage."
"If I can. That is why it is complicated."
Lady Breckenridge opened her lips to respond, then she closed them again. I searched her face, looking for what she truly felt, but Lady Breckenridge was a master at hiding her emotions. I'd come to know her well enough, though, to see the tightening around her eyes, the small tug of the corner of her mouth. She was unhappy, but living with Breckenridge had taught her never, ever to show her hurt.
"I should not call on you again until I know what is what," I said. "Because I am Grenville's friend, and because divorce is so sordid, it will get into the newspapers. I do not want you to be dragged into it as well."
Her brows rose. "Goodness, it is far too late for that. Gossip about you and me is already all over London, and I will get into the newspapers whether you are seen calling on me or not."
"That is likely true." My fingers tightened on her smooth shoulders. "But I am imagining cartoons portraying me carrying on with one woman while I am busily discarding the other."
"Carrying on?" she repeated sharply.
"A poor choice of words, but ones the newspapers will likely use. I hope to do this as quietly as possible, and if anyone can make it happen quietly, it is James Denis. But even he cannot guarantee there will be no damage to you."
"Ah, the intriguing Mr. Denis. He has promised to help?"
"He has begun helping me whether I wish him to or no. That is another reason the appointment will be complicated. I do not know exactly what he will want in return for this favor."