“Mr. Grenville has a nice residence in the Italian states, sir. Two, in fact. One near Venice and one south of Rome.”
I looked straight at him. “You suggest I retreat to one of these places?”
Bartholomew flushed. “If you must, sir. Be a better place for her ladyship and the youngsters than watching you be dragged to Newgate.”
I could not say he was wrong. “I am hoping it is a monstrous mistake.” I glanced into the mirror to see that my hair was already escaping the careful combings Bartholomew had spent the last half hour on. “But I will keep it in mind. A house south of Rome would be handy for the ruins of Herculaneum and Pompeii.”
“As you say, Captain.” He was humoring me. I finished dressing without bothering to continue the discussion.
Donata had returned home as I’d dressed, and Gabriella and I waited downstairs for her to change for the evening. I did not mind the wait, as I welcomed the time to speak with my daughter. We did not talk of important things, but the little pleasantries of the day and her interest in the people Lady Aline took her to meet. Another father might grow listless at his daughter’s chatter, but I treasured every moment of it.
Donata spoke little as we rode in the carriage to the Steine gardens, and not at all to me. Her coolness unnerved me, but I chose to say nothing for the moment.
I tried to admire the gardens lit with lanterns and the walks lined with bright summer flowers, pale now in the darkness, but I could find little joy in them. The fact that all of Brighton laughed and played under the stars when Joshua Bickley had died rather horribly made me unhappy. But he’d been an ordinary lad, and a Quaker, nothing to do with the wealthy gentry who’d come to Brighton for the sea air and company. They’d already forgotten him.
I saw no sign of any of the Friends, though I had not expected to. To my relief, I saw no sign of Marguerite Gibbons either.
As usual on our nightly outings, Donata was greeted by her friends, who were eager to sweep her away. Gabriella glanced longingly back at me as she dutifully put her hand on Donata’s arm and strolled off with her.
Grenville met me on one of the long paths, he too alone. Marianne had her own acquaintances in Brighton and had fallen in with them, so Grenville and I wandered by ourselves, though not for long. Grenville, ever popular, was quickly hailed.
One of the gentlemen who caught up to us was Lord Armitage. This time upon seeing him, I did not feel the strange dizziness that had come over me when I’d spied him at the lecture.
I recalled what Lady Aline had told me about his history, and wondered how easily he rested knowing his lady had married him only because his brother had died. They’d seemed companionable enough at the supper and lecture, but who knew what truly went on in a marriage?
Lord Armitage had a large voice and the booming confidence of a man few contradicted. He had dark hair and light green eyes, and though he was not very tall, he had the muscular physique of a man who kept his daily port and beefsteak from settling on his body.
“Grenville.” He engulfed Grenville’s hand. “And Captain Lacey.” He gripped me with excessive power. “I heard Desjardins nearly potted you today, the ass.”
“Indeed.” Grenville touched the side of his head. “I had to confirm that my ear was still attached.”
“He’s a blunderer with a blunderbuss.” Armitage bellowed laughter at his joke. “He means no harm, the dullard. Never has adjusted to English ways.”
“If he left France during the Terror he’s been here nearly thirty years,” I said.
“Indeed. And yet …” Armitage threw out his arms. “Ispent plenty of time on the Continent and Peninsula, as you know. Never could understand the Portuguese. Their language sounds like Spanish but isn’t, and those black cloaks they wear—like medieval monks. Very strange.”
“Those were students,” I said. The universities at Oporto and Coimbra had swarmed with young men in swirling black, much like what young gentlemen wore in the Inns of Court in London. “They dress in the cloaks.”
“Can’t think why,” Armitage said with good humor.
Grenville lifted his quizzing glass but did not gaze through it. “A strange attitude for a diplomat,” he said. “Are you not supposed to be … diplomatic?”
Armitage found this hilarious. “When I’m at the negotiating table, I know how to push through a treaty, never fear. But I mean the habits of the common folk of these countries were a mystery to me. Couldn’t ever make them out, whether in Spain, the Austrian Empire, or Venice. Glad to return home, my plenipotentiary days behind me.”
Several young men in the latest stare of fashion—coats bright yellow, pantaloons billowing—dashed past us, laughing and swearing in high-pitched voices. Grenville regarded them with raised brows.
Armitage, not noticing them, turned his gaze on me. “You landed well when you reached home after Spain, did you not, Captain? Rich widow, eh? La Breckenridge is quite a catch.”
Something hot pinched between my eyes. “I will thank you to speak civilly of my wife, sir.”
Another laugh. “To be certain, to be certain. No offense, Lacey. Desjardins tells me you asked him about Isherwood. You and he were at odds all night. I remember the colonel from my brief time on the Peninsula. You once had a tendresse forhiswife, I recall hearing.”
My voice chilled further, even as I made note that he and Isherwood had been acquainted in the past. “Nothing I intend to discuss,” I said.
“A gentleman doesn’t talk about his affairs, and all that rot, eh?” Armitage said. “Shewasn’t much of a lady, in fact. Isherwood was well rid of her.”
Grenville sent him a cool look. “I say, have a care, Armitage.”
