“I am. Though I seem to be one of the few who believes him.” Even Gibbons had seemed annoyed he hadn’t witnessed the murder and so couldn’t be certain.
“You were the only one who thought your Colonel Brandon innocent of stabbing a man,” Aline reminded me. “You were proved correct.”
I could have had Brandon released sooner during that incident if he hadn’t been such a fathead. I wondered why Denis was behaving similarly, in his own way.
As the opera wound on, I decided to seize the opportunity of mining Aline’s knowledge of London society.
“Who is the Honorable Enoch Haywood?” I named the man who’d had an appointment with Denis in Seven Dials the night before the murder. “I’ve never met him, have I?”
“Almost certainly not.” Aline lifted her fan from her lap, snapped it open, and moved it languidly in front of her face. “His brother, the Earl of Shawbury, is a bit of a recluse, only coming to Town when he must. Haywood is the ambitious one, hobnobbing like mad with those he believes will advance his political career. Grenville steers clear of him, as does Donata. So, no, you likely have not met him.” Her eyes twinkled with sudden impishness. “Would you like to?”
“I should speak to him, yes,” I said, trying not to sound too eager.
“Then you are in luck. He is here tonight.” Aline turned to the rail of the box and vigorously waved a gloved hand. “Halloo, Haywood,” she shouted across the crowd. “Come here and speak to me, lad. At once.”
Chapter 13
A small man in a box opposite us snapped his head up at Aline’s call. A look of dismay came over his face, which he quickly masked.
“It isn’t necessary to bring him on the moment,” I protested, but in truth, I minded not at all. I couldn’t predict how long it would take Grenville to hunt down Mr. Haywood and persuade him to speak with me.
Such was Aline’s power that the gentleman rose, bowed to his companions, and made his way out of his box.
Not long later, the footman who attended Donata admitted a slim man who halted, nonplussed, when he beheld the seats full of duchesses and marchionesses. The ladies turned to stare at him, a few lorgnettes rising.
I watched Haywood’s annoyed bewilderment rapidly become smooth cordiality. “Good evening,” he said to the assembled company. He bowed to Donata. “Mrs. Lacey.”
Haywood was no doubt priding himself on giving Donata the correct form of address. Many stumbled over Lady Breckenridge, her former title, often settling on Lady Donata, acknowledging her as an earl’s daughter. But technically, once married to me, she’d become plain Mrs. Lacey. I couldn’t decide if Haywood was deriding her on her comedown or showing off his knowledge of protocol.
“Over here, Haywood.” Aline motioned imperiously to him.
I’d risen when the man entered. Haywood reached out a hand when Aline introduced me to him as though he didn’t mind me towering over him.
His hand was small, like his stature, but his grip was firm. Though Grenville and Downie both agreed Haywood was more likely to flee than to murder anyone, he stared at me with the determination of one who’d fought to prove his worth his entire life.
Haywood was in his mid-forties, I judged, with dark hair just thinning on top, a sharp face, and a sharper nose. He was dressed in a black frock coat, a watered silk waistcoat, and a voluminous cravat, which was glaringly white. I noted that though his clothes likely had been tailored for him last week, he avoided the excesses of some fops. His cravat was neatly tied, his collar points low, his hair combed simply. No garish cravat pins or long watch fobs marred the lines of his suit.
“Captain Lacey.” Brown eyes glittered up at me in frank assessment. “Pleasant to meet you, sir.”
I expected him to remark that I was Grenville’s friend or make some reference to the highborn company I kept these days, but he said nothing at all. He’d known full well who I was before he’d come in here, as though he kept a dossier in his head of every person in London.
Perhaps he did. Unlike his earl older brother, who was born to his position, the Honorable Mr. Haywood had to strive to make his own living. His children would carry no courtesy title, and if the earl had plenty of offspring, Haywood’s sons would move further and further from inheriting the peerage. Shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves in three generations was the saying, the consequence of primogeniture.
The fact that Haywood didn’t fawn over meeting a friend of the great Grenville increased my respect for him. That he’d obeyed Lady Aline’s summons without hesitation did as well.
Then again, perhaps he’d learned how to say the right things to the right people at the right time, like many other successful MPs.
I gestured for him to sit, and he took the chair I’d vacated beside Lady Aline. I moved down one to sit next to him. Haywood and Aline and made polite remarks about the weather, her family and his, and what they most wished to do when they returned to the country in the summer.
Haywood behaved as though he wanted to do nothing more in the world than sit and converse with Lady Aline, but he twitched. Because of the closeness of the chairs, I felt when his heel jumped up and down, the man impatient to finish this ordeal.
“Captain Lacey wished to become acquainted with you,” Aline said when the inane chatter ran out. “I will leave you to it.”
She heaved herself up, obliging Haywood and me to spring to our feet once more. Gabriella began to rise to assist, but Aline waved her down. She snatched up her lorgnette and reticule and swayed past the other ladies into the small sitting room beyond the box. On stage, the soprano burst into a beautiful run of notes, tugging at the heart and pulling even the most jaded spectator’s attention.
“Captain?” Haywood addressed me warily as we resumed our seats.
I bent closer to him so our words would not reach the ladies behind us. “You had an appointment with James Denis last night, I believe.”
