I made a formal bow. 'How do you do, Your Lordship.'
I'd never been one to seek the company of children, except for my daughter, but I decided that a brief smile was called for. Young Viscount Breckenridge grinned back at me then quickly hid it.
A pang bit my heart. My daughter and I had exchanged such covert smiles when we were supposed to be formal and serious, knowing we'd both be scolded if caught. I missed her with an ache that had never subsided.
'Do you ride?' I found myself asking the boy.
'Yes, sir.' The small voice held a scoff, as though I were an idiot for asking. He was a lordship after all, born to horse and hound.
'Perhaps your mother will allow you to ride with me in the park sometime. I have some modest skill.'
'Will you show me how to ride like a cavalryman?' The scorn vanished, and Peter sounded like a normal, eager boy.
I glanced at Lady Breckenridge, but she looked in no way dismayed. She went to Peter and took his hands. 'If you are good, darling. Now give me a kiss good night.'
Peter obeyed, and I was pleased to see that he kissed his mother with affection. There was no strain between Lady Breckenridge and her son.
Introductions over, Peter was taken his slow way back upstairs with nanny. He glanced back down at me over the banisters but did nothing so undignified as wave. I gave him another friendly nod, and he continued climbing, seeking his nursery once more.
I turned to Lady Breckenridge. 'Have I fulfilled my obligation?'
The smile she gave me eased the some of the hurt in my heart, enough to make me believe that the pain could be assuaged a bit were I often enough in her presence.
'Excellently well, Captain,' Lady Breckenridge said. She touched my arm again, her fingers warm.
I dared lift her hand to my lips. 'I am pleased to hear it, my lady,' I said.
The last thread of the necklace affair was tied when I accepted Grenville's invitation to dine at Watier's that night. Watier's, famous for food provided by chefs of the Prince Regent, offered the deepest gaming in London. Games of macao and whist relieved gentlemen of their fortunes in one room, while the dining room provided excellent cuisine with which to ease the sting.
Grenville was in full dress that evening, which meant that he wore a suit so tailored to his figure that he might have been poured into it. Pantaloons that emphasized his muscular calves were buttoned at the ankle above fine leather pumps. His quizzing glass hung on a fine gold chain, ever ready for scrutinizing the gauche.
After we'd finished our excellent meal and looked in on the games room, I was dismayed to see Lord Clifford making so bold as to approach us. A few of the dandies looked up with interest when Clifford walked to Grenville and put a hand on his shoulder.
Grenville glanced disdainfully at the large hand on his immaculate frock coat, but Clifford did not notice the censure. He let go only after he'd turned Grenville away from the crowd.
'I want to thank you, Grenville,' Lord Clifford said.
'Do you?' Grenville's voice was icy. 'Whatever for?'
'For agreeing to stay out of my business. Decent of you.'
I suppressed my sudden urge to punch the man, but this time it was Grenville who took retribution. He stepped back one pace, lifted his quizzing glass, and studied Clifford through it.
'Let me see,' Grenville said. 'You stole an extremely valuable necklace from a wretched French emigre who was trying to remove his family from the dangers of France. A necklace you later sold-probably for a fraction of its worth-to cover your debts, whatever they were, giving your wife a copy so she wouldn't guess what you'd done. Then, when the false necklace goes missing and Lady Clifford seeks our help, you harass and browbeat her so much that she attempts to take her own life. All the while betraying her with her closest friend and companion, the only comfort she has. I'd say there was not much decent in the entire business.'
Clifford flushed. 'I told you, Grenville, what goes on in a man's household has nothing to do with you.'
'Oh, but it has. Your wife reached out to me and Captain Lacey, because she had nowhere else to turn. And you may be correct that your household is your business, but the fact remains that you stole the diamonds from de la Fontaine in the first place. Not very sporting of you. In fact, one might call that a crime.'
'Fontaine was hated among the French,' Clifford said. 'They'd applaud me.'
'Ah, you are a latter-day Robin Hood, stealing from the corrupt rich to give to the… well, to yourself. And then to sell them and drape your wife in paste diamonds. Dear me.' Grenville shook his head.
We had the attention of much of the room. Though we spoke in low voices, Grenville's attitude of derision spoke volumes.
'I had to sell them,' Clifford said. 'I'd promised Derwent a large sum for his damned reforms and then had some bad luck at games. I sold the necklace to pay my debts and not leave Derwent standing. Would have made me a laughingstock. Nothing else to be done.'
'You might have explained to your wife,' I said. 'You ought to have trusted her with the truth.'
'Damn it, Lacey, you've met my wife. You know what she is. She would never be able to keep her damn fool mouth shut. She'd blab all to her blasted companion, upon whom she's much too dependent. A wife should know who is master, after all.'
So, he'd taken Mrs. Dale to his bed to keep Lady Clifford under his thumb. A man who ruled his household by manipulation, lies, and fear. How was he better than a French aristocrat who'd made a hundred peasants labor for him?
He wasn't. De la Fontaine had risked all and given up everything to take his children out of danger. Even after it had been safe for him to return home, de la Fontaine had stayed in his reduced circumstances to be with his one remaining child and his grandchildren.
Grenville's look turned to one of unfeigned disgust. He sniffed, lowered his quizzing glass, adjusted his gloves, and said, 'I believe, Lord Clifford, that I will have to disapprove of you.'
'What the devil does that mean? Why should I care whether you approve or disapprove of anything I do?'
Lord Clifford did not realize his danger, but I knew quite well what Grenville meant. Clifford might be an earl, but such was the power of Lucius Grenville in the fashionable world that if he wanted a man to be cut, that man would be cut. One can be an earl, I could imagine Lady Breckenridge saying in her clear, acerbic tones, and still be invited nowhere.
Grenville did not wait. There, in the very crowded gaming rooms of Watier's, with one movement of his slim shoulders, with one spin on his immaculate heels, Grenville turned his back on Lord Clifford, and ruined him.
