However, at the next intermission people came into their box and private discussion was impossible.
When the play came to an end, with all the villains dealt with and the virtuous rewarded, Kitty was keen to return home and learn what Sidmouth had said. However, she learned that they were to host a supper at the nearby Bedford Hotel.
As they walked there with their guests, she said, “You didn’t mention this.”
“Did I not? A theater party must be fed.”
“It could be seen as a wife’s duty.”
“Then be pleased I spared you it.”
His terseness could only be because he was still simmering over the scene with Edison. Surely he couldn’t fault her for that?
Sir Francis Burdett and his wife were of their party, and the German gentleman Herr Grassmyer. They had been invited during the evening, and she wished she’d known and invited a few of her own acquaintances. In particular, her most ardent admirers!
The arrangements were perfect, however, largelybecause the Bedford Hotel was expert at such events. Their private room was elegantly furnished and the supper delicious. There had been no difficulty over the extra guests, and it seemed the hotel expected that. Two extra tables stood against the wall, and one was easily added to the end, and covered and set in a moment.
Braydon had probably arranged such suppers a hundred times and she hadn’t, but she couldn’t rid herself of grievance. She made sure it didn’t show, however, as she played hostess, and gradually her pique faded as she watched him play the charming host.
He was so comfortable in this setting and so well liked by this variety of people. At first impression she’d judged him aloof, but she should have remembered then that he’d quickly become friends with Ruth and Andrew.
It couldn’t be easy for him to have men clustering around his wife, and Edison had been outrageous. And yet, once she’d objected, he hadn’t interfered. Perhaps he wouldn’t have criticized her if he’d had a chance. It was doubtless Sidmouth who’d put him on edge earlier.
She relaxed into good food, fine wine, and excellent company that was sufficiently varied to be interesting. They mostly even avoided politics. Sir Francis did once mention the Regent’s visit to London, saying he wished he’d lingered to attend to business, but no more than that. His wife, a very gracious lady, complimented Kitty on her gown—and then asked the name of her mantua maker.
Kitty was delighted to be able to say, “A Mrs. Saunders of Moor Street, ma’am. A simple establishment, but Mrs. Saunders is very talented.”
“So I see. I will visit her.”
Kitty had to suppress a grin at the excitement likely to land on Moor Street in the near future, but she was delighted for Janet. And this would be only the beginning. No matter what happened about the Abbey, she’dreturn in spring for the season and wear wonderful gowns, and Janet’s fortune would be made.
As they returned home in their carriage, Kitty told Braydon.
“More exciting than you realize. Lady Burdett is the daughter of Coutts, the banker, and not short of money to spend. Nor are her well-married sisters or her wide acquaintance.”
“How lovely. But what of Lord Sidmouth? More drama?”
“In a manner of speaking.” She thought perhaps he wouldn’t tell her what had been discussed, but then he said, “He ordered me to cease investigations.”
“About the attempted assassinations? Why? They’ve found the culprit?”
“He said it was the Regent’s wish. That the Regent wished to avoid any alarm.”
She read his tone. “That makes no sense. Those who know, know, and any enquiries won’t make matters worse.”
“So why?”
It was a serious question. Despite a glass of wine too many, Kitty applied her mind to it. “They don’t have the culprit, or he would have said so. The Regent is the culprit? No, that’s incredible.” She looked at him. “The Regent is afraid of what you might discover?”
“Clever lady. Seems the most likely, doesn’t it? Or Sidmouth is afraid of what I might discover. I have no proof it’s the Regent’s wish.”
“Heavens! But if Sidmouth devised the plot, why bring you in to investigate? He could have kept it in the Home Office and muddled it away to nothing.”
“An excellent point. You could be an investigator.”
“If I weren’t a woman,” she said, remembering the conversation in the theater box, “with a feeble woman’s brain.”
“Have I ever accused you of that?”
