"Your help in that matter was invaluable," I said. Lady Aline's observations and knowledge of people in the haut ton had assisted me when Brandon had been accused of murdering a dandy in a ballroom in Berkeley Square.
"You flatter me, Lacey. I only answered questions about who did what at the Gillises' ball. You and Donata put the pieces together."
Lady Aline approved of my fondness for Donata Breckenridge, whose mother was another of Lady Aline's great friends. Lady Breckenridge's first husband had been a monster who'd died the summer before. Donata was resilient and bold, but I knew that her marriage to Breckenridge had hurt her deeply. He'd conducted his many affairs in an embarrassingly public manner and was never apologetic about it.
Donata had rouged her cheeks tonight, adding color to her pale skin. Her deep blue gown covered her modestly, but like Marianne's, it was cut to enhance her pretty plumpness and hide anything not desirable. I'd had the great fortune to have undressed her myself, and knew that nothing about her was not desirable.
At this moment, Lady Breckenridge was peering avidly through a lorgnette at Grenville's box, the feathers in her headdress falling loosely down either side of her face. "Is that your Marianne Simmons?" she asked me.
I had told Lady Breckenridge of Grenville's heretofore secret liaison with Marianne, and to her credit, Lady Breckenridge had kept it quiet.
"That is certainly Marianne," I said.
"You know her?" Lady Aline asked me with fervent interest.
"She used to live in the rooms above mine. Grenville met her while she was trying to help me find the young ladies who'd been kidnapped in the Hanover Square affair."
Marianne had helped only for the promise of a reward, and Grenville, astounded by her, had handed her twenty guineas without thought.
Lady Aline tapped my arm with her closed fan. "You wretched boy. You never told me the most delicious gossip in all of London. I had to learn it from my servants. I shall never forgive you for this."
I knew from her teasing tone that she had already forgiven me. "It was Grenville's business, not mine."
"And you are a true and loyal friend to keep it so close to your chest. That is what I admire about you, Lacey." Lady Aline flapped her fan, never minding that she'd completely turned around her opinion in a matter of seconds. "She is a stunning creature, is she not?"
I admitted to myself that Marianne had cleaned up nicely. I knew, too, that she was fond of Grenville, and he of her, and I hoped they could tear down the walls of mistrust between them and nurture that fondness.
"I prefer the present company," I said.
I was slapped with the fan again. "You silver-tongued rogue. And people wonder why I invite you everywhere."
I smiled politely, but my heart was not in the banter tonight. I should have been happy sitting between a lady I considered a good friend and one for whom I bore increasing affection, but I was still too dazed from my encounters with Carlotta and Gabriella and preoccupied with the meeting tomorrow to enjoy myself.
I had contemplated courting Lady Breckenridge when I was free of my marriage, and in fact, had already gained her permission to do so. This summer, I would go with her to her father's estate to meet her family, and I looked forward to the visit. I was at last discovering the peace of being in love without drama.
Yet tonight, I could not be comfortable, and I knew that Lady Breckenridge sensed my distance. She behaved as usual, making acid comments about people she observed and blatantly watching Grenville's box through her lorgnette. She talked of a violinist she'd recently decided to sponsor-one of a string of unknown artists, poets, and musicians she prided herself on introducing to London society. This one was young, French, and difficult, but his playing had already wormed its way into the hearts of the right people.
I listened and made the correct responses, but Lady Breckenridge knew she did not hold my interest. She watched me from the corners of her eyes but asked no questions.
Lady Aline, on the other hand, leaned toward me, all eagerness. "I heard from Louisa that Bow Street has asked you to look into another matter for them. Do tell us about it."
Lady Breckenridge lowered her lorgnette and tilted her head to listen, letting black curls spill over her shoulders to mingle with the feathers. I glanced behind me, but the three ladies in the chairs in the back of the box had their heads together, nattering madly over something else.
"The matter does not seem important to the magistrates," I said. "Pomeroy thought to have me poke around. It is a rather sordid topic for ladies."
"But we like sordid things, Lacey," Lady Aline said. "It makes us feel morally superior."
Lady Breckenridge slanted me a smile, enjoying Lady Aline's joke. "A corpse in a ballroom is also sordid," she said. "And yet we were quite interested in that."
I protested out of politeness, because a gentleman should, but I knew that these ladies were not wilting misses and more resilient than any generals' wives I'd known. "It involves street girls," I said. "A few have gone missing."
Neither lady blushed nor grew horrified that I mentioned such a subject.
"You are correct," Lady Breckenridge said. "That is sordid, but not in the way you meant. Why should these ladies go missing?"
"Perhaps they've simply run off to seek their fortunes," Lady Aline said.
"The men with whom they lived reported their absence with concern."
"Poor things," Lady Aline said. "Their lovers often beat them, I do hear. Perhaps they ran away from them."
"Or found better accommodation," Lady Breckenridge, ever practical, said.
"Either may be the case. I will meet with one of the men tomorrow and ascertain what sort of person he is. That will tell me much about why the girl is gone."
"Louisa said you asked for her help," Lady Aline said. "But she did not specify of what sort."
Lady Breckenridge brushed at her skirt as though she'd found a stray speck of dust. "I cannot imagine what Mrs. Brandon knows about street girls."
"Oh, she takes them in, my dear," Lady Aline said. "They do not stay, but she's rescued a few urchins in her time, given them employment, and found places for the best of them. A few simply run off with the spoons, of course, but Louisa is not deterred. She has a good heart. Is it one of her strays you are after, Lacey?"
"A young woman I know who was formerly a street girl, yes. Black Nancy is now a most-respectable maid in Islington."
Lady Aline nodded as though it all made sense. Lady Breckenridge's bosom rose with a sharp breath, but the only expression she made was to raise her brows the slightest bit. "You know quite interesting people, Lacey."
I kept my tone light. "I have had an adventurous life."
She did not answer but kept her gaze trained on me. Her good opinion mattered to me, and I did not want to sense it drifting away.
"I wish to ask this young woman if she knew any of the missing girls," I went on.
Lady Aline nodded. "Go to one of them. That is good logic."
Lady Breckenridge said nothing. She raised her lorgnette again and scanned the crowd, slightly turning her body away from me.
Lady Aline pumped me for more information about the missing girls until she was satisfied she'd heard everything, then she moved on to other gossip. Lady Breckenridge made the occasional desultory comment but stayed rather silent, for her.
Near to midnight, the theatre crowd began drifting away. The ladies with Lady Aline had departed early, as it was Wednesday, and Almack's Assembly Rooms in King Street, St. James's, closed their doors at eleven, no exceptions.