I accepted her terms. I seated her in the wing chair, sat down to my afternoon repast, and began my tale.
The next afternoon, I departed London. Grenville offered his chaise and four to take me to Berkshire, and I accepted. While I disliked taking favors, I could not argue that his private conveyance would be much more comfortable than a mail coach crammed with passengers.
Grenville declined to accompany me himself, and I knew why. Lucius Grenville, the renowned world traveler, suffered from motion sickness and ever did his best to avoid it.
Bartholomew was proud to be going with me to Sudbury in his capacity as my personal servant. I knew that Grenville had admonished him to keep him informed of any excitement I might find there.
Before we left London proper, I had one more call to make. I bade Bartholomew wait for me in the chaise in South Audley Street, while I knocked on Lady Breckenridge's door.
To my good luck, Lady Breckenridge was at home. Barnstable led me upstairs to her private chambers, and announced me, after first inquiring about the state of my leg. I assured him that his cure had done me well, and Barnstable went away, pleased.
I had not seen or spoken to Lady Breckenridge since our adventure at The Glass House, although she had responded to my inquiry through Lady Aline that she was resilient and in good health. She'd even thanked me for giving her an evening free of ennui.
Today Lady Breckenridge reclined on a chaise longue in a lacy peignoir, her dark hair in loose curls under a white cap. She held a slim, black cigarillo in her fingers, and woody-scented smoke hung in the room.
'You have come to say good-bye?' she asked me without rising. 'You are always the gentleman, Lacey.'
'I try to be.'
'Berkshire.' Lady Breckenridge took a long pull on the cigarillo. 'The country is hopelessly dull, you know.'
'I'm looking forward to dull,' I said.
We regarded each other a moment in silence. Our silences were not like the silences between me and Louisa Brandon; I did not know Lady Breckenridge well enough to discern what she was thinking.
'I came to tell you that any letter addressed to me at the Sudbury School, near Hungerford, will reach me,' I said.
'Ah.' Lady Breckenridge set the cigarillo carefully on her dressing table. 'You wish me to include you in my correspondence.'
'I would honor any correspondence from you.'
Her brows arched. 'A lady writing to a gentleman. How scandalous.'
'I believe you enjoy scandal.'
She looked at me a long time, a glint of humor in her eyes. 'Yes. I believe I do.'
I gave her a military bow. 'I will say good-bye, then. Thank you.'
I was uncertain what I thanked her for-perhaps for simply existing.
'A moment.' Lady Breckenridge rose gracefully and glided across the room to the armoire. 'I meant to send this on to you. But I may as well give it to you now.' She withdrew a long bundle, unwrapped it, brought what had been inside to me and put it into my hands.
It was a walking stick. The stick had a polished mahogany cane, burnished a rich red-brown, and a gold handle in the shape of a goose's head.
Lady Breckenridge closed her fingers over the handle and gently slid it outward to reveal a blade. 'It has a sword, like your old one,' she said. 'And it's engraved.' She turned the handle over in my palm and indicated the inscription: Captain G. Lacey, 1817.
I slid the blade back into the sheath. 'It is a thing of beauty. Thank you.'
'Grenville said he would buy one for you. But I told him I was already having one made and not to spoil my surprise.'
I smiled. 'It is a fine gift.'
She looked pleased then strove to hide it.
Friendship, I had learned, was a gift not to be scorned.
I leaned down and kissed her lips, then departed for Berkshire.
