“I’ve written to Grenville about him. I will be curious as to what he has to say—Grenville has made a study of characters in London. His observations are invaluable.” I realized I missed that as well. I was glad Grenville had found some happiness, but I also hoped he would not absent himself from London for too long a stretch.
I found Eden staring at me with an infuriating smile hovering about his mouth. “You rub shoulders with the famous and casually tell me you await his opinion. My, my.”
I set down my pen. “I believed Grenville would be too pompous for words when I first met him. He has his moments of pomposity, but he really is a clever chap, and can be very kind.”
“I read that he’d married an actress. I imagine the mothers of thehaut tonare weeping over that. They must abandon their dreams of having Mr. Grenville—and all his money, connections, and influence—for a son-in-law.”
“They are unhappy, yes.” Several ladies had taken Donata aside and made their feelings clear, knowing she and I were Grenville’s close friends. We ought to have stopped the match, was their decided opinion. “I have been blamed for introducing the pair, and it is true, I did. Or rather, Marianne rudely pushed her way into my rooms to help herself to candles and intrigued Grenville by not being impressed by him.”
“A deadly sin?”
“A puzzling encounter. They danced around each other for a long time, but it was clear a passion had developed. I think them well matched.” I lifted my pen again. “I should not gossip. Grenville has been a very good friend to me. He will weather the storm.”
“I wish him well,” Eden said. “If he can aid me, I will be forever in his debt.”
I noted the little Eden had related next to Fitzgerald’s name. “I have promised many that I will quit London at the end of the week. This includes my wife and my son, and I cannot break my word to them.”
“Which means we must clear up my problem in the next few days.” Eden lowered his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. “I say, Lacey, you have no need to help me at all. This is my conundrum, not yours.”
Yes, I could retire to Oxfordshire and let Eden sort things out with Pomeroy. But I would worry and wonder, and before long I’d be back, unable to cease probing until a solution was found.
“I would never turn my back on a fellow of the Thirty-Fifth Light,” I assured him. “Plus I am intrigued by the mystery for its own sake. I only meant to warn you that we must work swiftly. And you are most welcome to travel to Oxfordshire with me, as well as on to Gloucestershire. Donata’s father’s house must have fifty bedrooms, her family is quite hospitable, and Grenville would be delighted to welcome one of my old friends.”
I wasn’t certain how delighted Grenville would actually be, but he’d politely accept Eden, and I knew Grenville would like Eden after a time. Everyone did.
Eden chuckled. “Fear not, Lacey. I am not in need of charity. I have plenty of funds for my rooms, and I can go rot at my uncle’s leaky pile if I truly need a roof—one full of holes—over my head. My trouble is not cash but finding a way to make myself useful. In the army, we never worried about what we’d do day after day. We knew. Once I had no one to command me, I rather blundered about. I must cease.”
“I do understand. When I returned from the Peninsula, I was sunk in melancholia. Wounded, with little but my half-pay packet, knowing no one … that is why I grew interested in helping others when the magistrates could do little.”
“Convivial of you. Ah well. I will hit upon something. Please do not suggest I marry, as every other person does. A married man must support a wife, and we have already exhausted the topic.”
“Right then.” I capped my ink bottle and tossed the pen to its tray. “We will work tirelessly in the next few days to clear your name and then you can return to deciding what to do with the rest of your life.”
“Done.” Eden lifted his cup in a toast, and I did likewise.
IPLANNEDto spend another agreeable evening indoors with Donata, but Eden, who’d departed some time after our brandy and coffee, sent me word that he’d run Mr. Fitzgerald to earth at White’s. Fitzgerald had been pleased to meet Eden again and invited him, and by extension, me, to dine with him at the hallowed club.
I did not like to leave Donata alone, but she told me to go, that she’d enjoy the hours to herself. She never had many, and I know sometimes she found me hopelessly underfoot.
I kissed her, had Bartholomew dress me in one of my better suits, and departed.
Brewster accompanied me in the hackney south to St. James’s Street, where we had begun our day, though this time we stopped shy of Jermyn Street, in front of the imposing edifice of White’s.
“I’ll be waiting,” Brewster told me as I prepared to enter. “If you need me, shout out of a window.”
“I hope to be safe from Creasey’s menhere,” I told him. “I doubt they’d be admitted. The doorman is formidable.”
“You joke, as per usual, but you never know. His Nibs has plenty of acquaintances inside White’s, and Creasey probably does to. Don’t let any of them stick a knife in your back.”
With that, he gave me a scowling nod and faded into the shadows.
I realized Brewster gave me good advice. I would take care to whom I spoke.
I was not a member of this bastion of upper-class gentlemen, but I had entered its hallowed halls as a guest of Grenville. Eden met me on the doorstep, and together we went inside. We were greeted by the doorman, who was indeed formidable—none would pass who did not belong. When Eden told him our names, the doorman gave us over to a butler, who led us upstairs and through a vast hall to a dining room.
The elegant room boasted a ceiling of gilded plaster leaves surrounding a large chandelier of glittering crystals. A fireplace graced one wall, the fire built high. A large dining table reposed in the center of the room with smaller tables off to the sides.
The butler led us to one of these private tables where a round-stomached man in a finely tailored suit waited. He vaulted to his feet as we entered the otherwise empty room.
