continually attempt to recruit you. I have not said I would not give the necklace to de la Fontaine. His son-in-law has a political bent. He hopes to win a seat in the House of Commons as soon as he can. Perhaps I can help him with such a thing.'
Which meant that Denis would control that seat in Commons, and de la Fontaine's son-in-law would back any bill Denis wanted him to, vote the way Denis wanted him to-jump up and touch the ceiling whenever Denis wanted him to.
'For once, could you not do something out of benevolence?' I asked. 'Imagine what such a gesture would do for your credibility.'
Denis signaled to the pugilist at the door, who came forward. The interview was at an end. 'I told you about the necklace as a courtesy, Captain. What I do with it is for me to decide. I imagine de la Fontaine will have it in the end.'
'Leave him alone,' I said with heat. 'He has lost everything. Let him die in peace.'
Denis's brows rose the slightest bit. 'The Comte de la Fontaine used to be a great tyrant. He is one of the reasons the revolution in France began at all. He fled as soon as the tide began to turn, because he would have been among the first to the guillotine. The cry for his arrest had already gone out.'
'He lost his only son, in our war.'
'Fighting the republican bastards who drove him from his home,' Denis said smoothly.
'Perhaps.' I stood up, finding myself next to the pugilist who'd halted beside my chair. 'But he's had to live thirty years in poverty in the damp of London, and is now a poor relation to his rather thick English son-in-law. That is enough of a punishment for any man, do you not think?'
Again, the look of near amusement. 'As you say, Captain. I will keep you informed. Good day.'
I knew Denis wanted me to be grateful to him for bothering to tell me about the necklace at all. He also wanted to rub my face in the fact that he'd used everything I'd done in my investigation to further his own wealth and power.
He might be right that de la Fontaine had possessed the same kind of arrogant ruthlessness that Denis himself had now. But the world turned, and it changed, and eventually all tyrants fell to become dust.
I wrote to de la Fontaine, telling him that Denis had the necklace, and suggested he apply to a magistrate I knew who was not in Denis's network. I then wrote to the magistrate in question, informing Sir Montague Harris of all that had happened, though I kept silent on the roles Mrs. Dale and Lady Clifford had played in the necklace's loss. After all, they'd only disposed of an inexpensive copy.
I had no way of knowing whether de la Fontaine would act against Denis or end up bargaining with him. Or perhaps drop the matter altogether.
I somehow did not think he'd choose the last recourse, and I was correct. Several days later, Sir Montague replied to me, saying that he'd spoken to de la Fontaine, but that de la Fontaine had not wanted to prosecute either Denis or Lord Clifford.
I received a letter from de la Fontaine himself soon after that. In it he thanked me for my assistance, told me that the necklace had been returned to him, and made a vague suggestion that perhaps we might share fine brandy again one day. Nothing more. Not until months later did I see his son-in-law stand for Parliament and be elected by a landslide. James Denis had won again.
For now, I was finished with the business. I tied the last two threads of the affair the day after I received de la Fontaine's letter. The first came in the form of a note from Lady Breckenridge, calling in her favor and bidding me to attend her at her home.
Chapter Ten
'Such a delight,' Lady Breckenridge said. 'Captain Lacey answers a summons. I hear from Grenville that you do not always comply.'
She'd received me in her sitting room, she wearing a deep blue afternoon dress, its decolletage trimmed with light blue ribbon woven through the darker cloth. The ribbon matched the bandeau in her hair and brought out the blue of her eyes.
She did not invite me to sit down. We stood near the fireplace, the heat from the coals soaking into my bones. I leaned on the walking stick she'd given me, its handle warm under my palm.
'I can be abominably rude at times,' I said.
Lady Breckenridge shrugged, her shrugs as smooth and practiced as Denis's own. 'You do not rush to obey those who seek to command you. Your independence makes people puzzle over you.'
I gave her a wry smile. 'They puzzle over why a poor nobody does not hasten to snatch from every hand.'
'Your behavior does give others something to talk about, Lacey.'
'Including you, my lady.'
Her gaze went cool. 'I admit to the curiosity, but I choose very carefully to whom I speak about what.'
I believed her. 'I beg your pardon,' I said. 'I was teasing and meant no censure. You have invited me here to call in your favor. Perhaps you should tell me what it is.'
She smiled. 'Have done with it, you mean? I can imagine you wondering like mad what I would ask of you as you rode over from Covent Garden. But you may cease worrying. The task is very simple. I wish for you to meet my son.'
I blinked in surprise. I'd never met Lady Breckenridge's son, who would be about five by now. The young Viscount Breckenridge stayed with his grandmother in the country much of the time, so I had been told, tucked away with nannies and tutors and other caretakers.
Lady Breckenridge seldom spoke of the boy, but observing her now, I realized that her silence was not because she had no affection for him. I saw in her the same thing I'd seen in Marianne during the Sudbury School problem-a woman who loved desperately and protected fiercely.
I gave her another half bow. 'I would be honored, my lady.'
'Very well, then.' She turned from me in a brush of faint perfume and tugged on a bell pull. When the ever- efficient Barnstable glided in, she said, 'Tell Nanny to bring Peter downstairs.'
'You mean you wish me to meet him now?' I asked. 'He is here?'
Barnstable had already disappeared to carry out his lady's wishes. 'Before you can change your mind,' she said. 'Shall we?'
She slid her hand into the crook of my arm and more or less forced me to guide her out of the room.
The staircase hall of Lady Breckenridge's house was plastered in pale colors, with niches holding vases of hothouse flowers. Paintings from centuries past hung on the walls-originals, not copies. Wide stairs with a polished railing ran up into the dim recesses of the house.
I heard a door shut high above us. In a few moments, two people came down the stairs: a tall, slender woman in neat black, and a small lad for whom the black-clad nanny slowed her steps.
The boy's suit was a miniature of what Grenville would wear, down to the pantaloons and well-shined pumps. However, Viscount Breckenridge would never attain Grenville's taut slimness. He had a sturdiness that spoke of developing muscle, and in a dozen or so years, he would attain the large, powerful build of his father.
The lad stopped a few stairs above me and stared with undisguised curiosity. I was in my regimentals, my braid neatly fastened, my unruly hair somewhat tamed, my boots as polished as Bartholomew could make them. I saw the lad take note of my height, the breadth of my shoulders, my bearing, my uniform.
'This is Peter,' Lady Breckenridge said, a note of pride in her voice. 'Peter, this is Captain Lacey, my friend I have mentioned.'
Peter was inclined to do nothing but stare, but at a surreptitious nudge from his nanny, he bowed correctly. 'How do you do?' he asked.
He was far too polite for a lad of five. He ought to be tearing up and down the stairs and shouting at the top of his voice. But perhaps he'd been persuaded to be on his best behavior for me-either that or I'd stunned the lad.
