that although I'd sent Janet away all those years ago, I'd never truly let her go.
They said their good-byes and walked on together. My feet led me the other way, toward Long Acre. After I'd gone perhaps ten paces, I stopped and looked back. Janet walked beside Foster, equal to the small man's height. She turned her head and looked back at me.
She'd always been able to tell what was in my heart. I imagined, as our gazes locked, that she could tell what beat there now.
At last she turned away, and I walked on, but the world had changed.
'Gossip is flying about you, my friend,' Lucius Grenville said as his butler silently presented me a goblet of French brandy. I thanked him and sipped the fine liquid, my eyes closing briefly in appreciation.
We reposed in the upstairs sitting room of Grenville's Grosvenor Street house. The facade of the house was simple, almost austere, in the style of the Adam brothers from the later years of the last century. The inside, however, was lavishly furnished. This room in particular showcased items from Grenville's travels: carpets from the Orient piled the floor, a silk tent hung overhead. Ivory and bits of Egyptian jewelry filled a curio shelf near the door, and a gold mask of some ancient Egyptian adorned the fireplace mantel. Furniture ranged from a Turkish couch to mundane straight-backed chairs set at random around the room. Real wax candles, dozens of them, brightened the gloom and softened the colors around us.
I recalled the faux Egyptian room in Horne's house and wondered if the man had tried to emulate this chamber, though it was unlikely he'd ever seen it in person. If he'd meant to imitate, he'd fallen far short of the mark.
Grenville was a slim man a few years younger than I, with dark hair that curled over his collar and sideburns that drew to a point just below his high cheekbones. His eyes were black in his sharp face, his nose long and sloping. He could not be called a handsome man, but there were hordes of women, respectable matrons and Cyprians alike, willing to forgive him for it.
In that morning's post, I had found a letter from Grenville, informing me that his carriage would call for me at eleven o'clock to carry me to his home. I was torn between annoyance and relief. He'd solved the problem of my seeking him by him seeking me, but his abrupt habit of summoning me whenever he wished to see me grated on my pride.
Horne had also written me that he'd had an answer from Mr. Denis, and would I call at number 22 that afternoon at five o'clock? I replied, answering in the affirmative.
I'd bathed and breakfasted and thought about Janet Clarke, who'd once been Janet Ingram.
Janet had been the widow of a young infantryman, left on her own very young, without money or protection. One night I discovered a card game in progress among my men-the winner would take Janet home with him. When I broke it up, she grew angry and demanded to know where I thought she was to sleep that night, if I were so clever. I said I supposed she could stay with me. Which she did, for six months.
She never spoke much about her past, although she did tell me she'd been born in a village on the east coast of England, near Ipswich. She'd had little to look forward to, she said, except backbreaking work on a farm or being pawed at by the local lads. When young Ingram had passed through her village, boasting that he was taking the King's shilling and going off to chase the Frenchies out of Portugal, Janet had seized a chance to escape her narrow life, and left with him.
Life following the drum was hard for a woman, as I well knew, but many of them, like Louisa Brandon, developed a resilience that any general would envy. They suffered loss and deprivation and hunger and exhaustion, and every battle, successful or not, brought much death. Wives so easily became widows; many more than once.
Janet herself had developed enough resilience to survive her husband's death and declare she would become the wife or mistress of whoever won the card game. My men were annoyed with me for taking her for myself, but I ever after rejoiced that I had. During those six months I was more alive then I had been in the decade before or the years since.
We never spoke of love, or later. During the war in Spain and Portugal, you had only now, because tomorrow, a battle or a French sniper could change your life forever. When Janet received word that her sister was dying, I'd sent her home, knowing she would not come back. We did not promise to write, or to meet again, or to wait. Time had passed, but she was still beautiful. Still Janet.
Grenville held up his forefinger, which was encircled with a diamond-encrusted ring. 'First, you escort Mrs. Brandon to the opera, while her husband is conspicuously absent.'
I said, 'Any slander regarding Mrs. Brandon will be silenced at the end of my pistol.'
Grenville grinned and shook his head. 'Your honor, and Mrs. Brandon's, seems to be unquestionable. Though the most malicious tried valiantly to make something of it, that story was quashed.'
He lifted his second finger alongside the first. 'Second, you are putting up notices about a young woman I have never heard of, which means you are involved in something interesting.'
'That is almost close to the truth.'
Grenville raised the next finger. 'Third, you single-handedly threw a dozen cavalrymen out of Hanover Square yesterday, where they were making a nuisance of themselves. Lieutenant Gale is fuming.'
'Five,' I said.
'I beg your pardon?'
I took another sip of brandy. 'I threw only five cavalrymen out of Hanover Square.'
Chapter Six
Grenville half smiled at me, as though he thought me joking. He wore monochrome colors today, his black and white suit as understated as the exterior of his house. A ruby stick pin adorned his white cravat like a drop of blood.
As I continued to sip brandy, his eyes widened.
'Good Lord, Lacey, you are serious. You astonish me.'
I settled myself on his Turkish divan, stretching my left leg to ease the ache in it. 'Is that why you asked me to call on you? To discover which rumors were true?'
'Only in part. The other was to get your opinion on this brandy.' He held up his glass, showing amber depths glowing behind crystal facets.
'It is truly remarkable,' I conceded. 'An excellent choice.'
'I enjoy giving you food and drink, Lacey. You do not wait to discern what I want you to say before pronouncing judgment. If something truly disgusts you, you do not hesitate to declare it so. I appreciate your honesty.'
'And I thought I was only being rude,' I said. 'I went to view Ormondsly's new painting last night. I was surprised you did not attend.'
'Were you?' Grenville leaned against the mantelpiece, crossing one polished boot over the other. 'What did you think of the painting?'
I had barely noticed the damned thing. My attention had been distracted by watching for Grenville, trying to keep up my part of the conversation, and staring at the lovely Mrs. Danbury. I shrugged. 'It was… '
He gestured, diamond rings glinting. 'Exactly. Ormondsly is young and talented, but unperfected. In a few years' time, he will amount to something-if he does not murder himself with his opium eating before then. If I praise his painting now, artists of more merit will be undeservedly ignored; if I slight his work or give it lukewarm praise, his career will be over before it begins. Best to pretend I regretted I hadn't the opportunity to view the work. I will see it in private, with him there, and tell him what I truly think.'
He took a sip of brandy, finished with his lecture.
I said dryly, 'It must be difficult to have such power.'
For a bare instant, anger sparkled in his dark eyes, and I wondered if I'd gone too far. He'd summon his large footmen to toss me out, and I hadn't had the chance to finish this excellent brandy.
Then his good humor returned. 'Society does put a value on my opinions that is far higher than it is worth. To
