The Glass House

I left the Brandon house for the icy night, swearing under my breath. Brandon could wind me into anger faster than any man alive, and it always took me a good while to cool down.

I knew bloody well that Brandon would never be able to provoke such anger if I hadn't once loved him. He'd been good to me when I'd needed his help, and he'd used his influence to benefit me many times.

I had not realized at the time that in return he'd wanted unconditional love and unquestioning obedience. And I had ever been one to question my betters.

A boy darted into the street, sweeping horse dung from the cobbles, clearing a path for me. I tossed him a penny for his trouble as I made my way across the slick street.

I was not far from Grosvenor Square, and I walked there, making for the home of Sir Gideon Derwent. It would the height of rudeness to arrive without invitation, but I was restless and annoyed and very much wanted to ask Mrs. Danbury a few questions. I could not tamely return home and brood; I wanted to push on with the investigation, to do something.

I regretted my impulse, however, because when I arrived at the Derwent house, I learned that Lady Derwent had taken ill.

Chapter Nine

I was surprised that the footman let me into the house, but he took my hat and greatcoat and led me upstairs to the grand sitting room on the first floor. In only a few minutes, Sir Gideon himself entered the room, followed by his son, Leland.

Leland, in his early twenties, had fair hair and guileless gray eyes. His father was a portly version of the son, slightly faded. Both father and son looked out at the world in all innocence, seeing only what they wished to see. They believed me to be a man who'd had all the exciting adventures that they had not and never would. They were endlessly interested in tales of my life in India and France and Spain.

Father and son advanced upon me eagerly, but I saw worry on both faces. Typically, Sir Gideon brushed aside his own fears and was anxious to learn why I'd come.

"To inquire about Jean," I answered.

"Poor child." Sir Gideon shook his head. "You were right to take her out of that place."

I could imagine no greater contrast to The Glass House than this one. The ceiling of the drawing room loomed twenty feet above us and was decorated with intricately carved moldings. Landscapes and portraits of Derwents covered the yellow silk walls, and matching silk adorned the chairs and settees. It was elegant, tasteful, and serene, everything The Glass House was not.

"Her story is a common one, I'm afraid," Sir Gideon went on. "She came to London to find work in a factory and was met at a coaching inn by a procuress." He shook his head. "We cannot find all these poor children, alas, but I will discuss The Glass House with my colleagues. That at least will be finished."

"Attempts have been made to shut it down before," I said.

"Yes. Odd that. You would think the outcry would be great. But I am determined to change this."

Next to him, Leland nodded in fervent agreement. I had the feeling that the corrupt magistrates would meet their match in the Derwents.

I steeled myself to ask Sir Gideon if I might speak with Mrs. Danbury, but before I could inquire about her, the lady herself entered the room.

She looked at me without surprise; presumably, a servant had told her I'd arrived. She crossed the room and pressed a kiss to her uncle's forehead. "Captain Lacey," she greeted me.

As usual, Mrs. Danbury was cool and composed, comfortably elegant in a dark blue gown with a sash of light blue. Her hair, as fair as Leland's, was twisted into knot and bound with a ribbon. I had risen from my chair at her entrance. I bowed over her hand politely, and her gray eyes met mine.

She flushed slightly and moved back to Sir Gideon. "Aunt is asking for you. And she sends her greetings to Captain Lacey."

Sir Gideon excused himself and hurried from the room, clearly worried about his wife. Leland stayed and pretended he wanted to chat, but I saw that he, too, longed to dash upstairs to see how his mother fared. At last Mrs. Danbury told him to run along, saying cheerfully that she'd keep me company.

Leland departed with relief, leaving the double doors open-me alone in a closed room with Mrs. Danbury would have been most improper. The room was so large, however, that if we spoke in low voices in the middle of it, no one passing would hear us.

As soon as Leland disappeared, I asked, "How is Lady Derwent? In truth?"

Mrs. Danbury let out her breath. "She will recover this, I think. But she grows weaker with every attack."

She knew, as well as I did, that the day would come soon when Lady Derwent would not recover. "Please give her my best wishes," I said.

Mrs. Danbury nodded, and I could see she was pleased that I cared.

"I suppose you heard about Inglethorpe," I said after a moment.

"Yes, my uncle told me of it. It is gruesome. Poor man."

"Did you know him well?" I asked.

She looked up at me, surprised. "Hardly at all. He was a friend of my husband's. My second husband, that is, Mickey Danbury."

I raised my brows. "He was your husband's friend, but you did not know him?" My wife had known all of my friends, whether she liked them or not, and Mrs. Brandon was well acquainted with Brandon's cronies.

Mrs. Danbury flushed. "I rarely saw my husband's acquaintance."

I did not pursue it. I knew that in many marriages in the ton, the husband and wife lived entirely separate lives. I found this attitude strange, but many in the upper classes married for financial reasons or for family connections. I wondered what Mrs. Danbury's reasons had been.

"I was surprised to see you at his gathering, yesterday," I said.

"He invited me. I chanced upon Mr. Inglethorpe the other day in Grafton Street, and he asked if I'd like to attend. I was interested; I did not see what harm it would do."

I drew my thumb along the handle of my borrowed walking stick. "I wonder why he invited you, if he did not know you well."

A spark of anger lit her eyes. "I haven't the faintest idea, Captain. He simply happened to, that is all."

I made a placating gesture. "And you attended out of curiosity. What did you think of it?"

She hesitated. "I found it most strange. I have never felt a sensation like that. Had you?"

"No. It made me forget myself." I smiled. "As you observed."

Her flush deepened. "And I as well. I was a bit ill afterward."

"I must apologize for taking the liberty of waltzing with you," I said. "I cannot account for my lack of manners."

She eyed me curiously. "Why did you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why did you waltz with me?"

I remembered hearing music in my head, a tune of a fine waltz, and looking down at her bright smile and curved waist. "I wanted to," I said.

Her cheek tinged with a blush. "It was I who made a fool of myself. In front of Lady Breckenridge too."

It surprised me that she should care for the opinion of Lady Breckenridge, even if Lady Breckenridge was a few rungs higher on the social ladder. Mrs. Danbury had prettier manners, but Lady Breckenridge wielded more power among the ton.

"I must also apologize for leaving you there when I dashed off," I said. "My only excuse is that I wanted to ask Lady Breckenridge a question before she disappeared. But I ought to have seen that you reached your carriage safely, at least."

Mrs. Danbury seemed far more comfortable with my polite apologies than with my questions. "Not at all, Captain. I left soon after that."

"Perhaps you can help me, then. Do you remember what became of my walking stick? I left it behind far too carelessly."