In the course of lending Bonnie Brock our assistance, the play affectingly showed Bonnie Brock falling in love with Lady Dalby, while her affections were torn between the two very different men. In the end, once Maggie is saved, it’s clear Lady Dalby’s heart is inclined toward the criminal. But having realized he cannot protect her no matter how hard he might try, Bonnie Brock chooses not to fight for her and instead sends her away with Mr. Gale.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Gage scowling, not so much at the play as the sounds of a woman weeping in one of the boxes near ours. A swift glance around the theater showed me she wasn’t the only person moved. Several ladies dabbed at their eyes with their handkerchiefs. If nothing else, the Theatre Royal’s rendition of Bonnie Brock’s story had cemented him in the minds of many as some sort of dashing and roguish tragic hero. A fact that Gage was obviously displeased by.
For my own part, I felt conflicted as I allowed Gage to escort me from the box after the play ended. On the one hand, this version of the story had downplayed some of the more scandalous implications made about our relationships with Bonnie Brock, but on the other, it had also left out many of the more dangerous and unsavory truths about the criminal and his gang of cutthroats. Neither the book nor this play was a true representation of Bonnie Brock or his life, and within that fiction lay the seeds of trouble.
I schooled my features into an expression of bland courtesy as we approached the lobby of the theater, where the mass of society streaming from their boxes congregated to wait for their carriages. Recognizing the need for Gage to remain by my side, Philip peeled off to collect our party’s wrappings. But even with my husband and sister flanking me, they could not shield me from the slings and arrows of whispered speculation and disapproving glares.
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at one such matron, who had been rather infamous in her younger days for her number of affaires de coeur. It was all quite ridiculous how society believed what it wished to and conveniently forgot what it did not. If I’d learned anything from my time spent with the Duchess of Bowmont, it was that society would write your narrative unless you refused to let them. While my feelings about the duchess and her family were conflicted after the murder investigation we’d conducted at their estate in January, I had to agree she knew how to weather a scandal and turn it to one’s advantage.
My gaze snagged on the form of a man standing across the lobby. I pulled Gage and Alana to a stop as the man passed behind a pillar, trying to locate him again, wondering if my eyes deceived me. My nerves tightened at the possibility that he might be here, that I’d practically conjured him with my thoughts of his mother, and yet Lord Henry had not sought us out as he’d promised to do. As he promised to do months ago.
“What is it?” Gage murmured in alarm.
“I thought I saw . . .” My words trailed away as I strained my neck, finally catching another glimpse of the man. But though his hair was the same auburn hue, he wasn’t the duchess’s son. “I thought I saw Lord Henry Kerr,” I finished flatly, struggling to hide my disappointment and irritation.
“Returned from escorting his brother abroad,” Gage replied sharply beneath his breath, leaving out the words so evident in the glint of his eyes. His brother the murderer. For the Duke of Bowmont had exerted his privilege to have the charges against his fourth acknowledged son dismissed while Lord John Kerr was spirited away rather than face the consequences. It was true there had been extenuating circumstances behind the murder—ones that might have made the homicide defensible—but Lord John’s failure to appear at the magistrate’s hearing had soured both my and Gage’s belief in justice.
Yet it wasn’t these facts that made me so anxious about seeing Lord Henry. Rather it was the secret I’d uncovered about him just hours before he’d disappeared to escort his brother from Scotland. A secret he had begged me to allow him to reveal to Gage, swearing to do so as soon as our inquiry was solved. That he had left me a note of apology, pleading for my forgiveness and promising to visit us in Edinburgh as soon as Lord John was settled abroad, had not assuaged my irritation. Every day that passed without his arrival made my anger burn hotter. For I had now found myself in an impossible situation, and all because of him.
“Yes,” I murmured fretfully, already anticipating how furious my husband was going to be when he learned Lord Henry was his half brother and that I had known this fact now for nearly two months.
Gage’s gaze scrutinized my features in concern, driving the dagger of guilt even deeper. “Surely you’re not concerned for his safety?”
“No, I . . .” But I couldn’t think how to finish my sentence.
“Because given his motives for committing murder in the first place, I doubt Lord John would harm any member of his family.”
“Well, let’s not discuss that here,” Alana snapped, impelling us forward again and saving me from making another bumbling response.
But we only managed to take two more steps before we were accosted by a gentleman reeking of cheroots. I recognized his smug dissipated countenance from an investigation we had conducted a year before. I hadn’t liked him then, and time had not improved my impression of him.
“Lady Dalby,” Lord Kirkcowan drawled. “Er . . . excuse me.” He flashed me a nasty smile. “Slip of the tongue, Lady Darby. Fancy meeting you here.” His eyes cut toward Gage. “And with
