flicked an appraising glance at Mrs. Summers, looked back at Mélanie, and gave a cautious nod.
Half an hour later, Manon, dressed in a brunette wig and a suit of boy's clothes normally worn by Chérubin in
The Marriage of Figaro
, left the theater in Cecily Summers's carriage, accompanied by Simon and Mrs. Summers. They were bound for Mrs. Summers's villa in Rochampton until such time as the threat had been dealt with. Mrs. Summers's husband and children were in residence at the villa, and Mrs. Summers would join them there when the theater had closed for the summer. Mr. Summers, a former rifleman, should be able to cope with any unexpected incidents.
When Simon and the two women had left the theater, David stared at the dressing room door with the expression Mélanie had seen on Charles's face when she went into danger without him.
"The best thing we can do for them is stay here out of sight for half an hour," Charles said. "No one should know we're at the theater, but if we show our faces there's always the chance someone will make the connection."
David grimaced and nodded. Then he spun round to face Charles. "This settles it. I'm going to my father with what we know. Honoria may be in danger."
"David, listen—"
"No, you listen." David strode across the room, kicking over a basket of fans and sending a gold brocade robe and a red velvet gown fluttering on the clothesline. "This is my cousin we're talking about. I care about what happens to her, even if you—"
He broke off, his face suffused with horror at his own words.
Charles looked back at him, white-faced but steady-eyed. "Believe it or not, I'm not entirely lacking in concern for Honoria's happiness myself."
Mélanie sat stock-still watching her husband and his best friend engaged in a silent duel she could only begin to guess at. Echoes of whatever had happened on that long-ago visit to Lisbon reverberated between them, quickening the air and chilling Mélanie's soul.
David swallowed. "I'm sorry. But—"
"Damn it, David, if you go to your father, what then? One man's dead and someone shot at Mélanie and me last night and made a very creditable effort to kill Manon just now. If you go to your father with our suspicions—and he doesn't laugh in your face or commit you to Bedlam—he'll storm about and tell half the Cabinet. Our unseen enemies will know what we know and we'll lose what little leverage we have, along with any chance to investigate quietly. Not to mention that it will be twice as hard to protect Manon."
"Then what do you suggest we do?" David demanded.
"It's entirely possible the 'Honoria' Francisco referred to has nothing to do with Honoria Talbot. Still—" Charles drew a breath. "Did Honoria ever say anything that could connect to any of this? Anything to indicate she might know about danger, that she was afraid of anything—"
"We may be cousins, but we're hardly confidants." David drew a breath. "You always knew her better than I did."
"Once, perhaps. I haven't seen her for a long time." Charles ran his fingers down a silver tissue cloak that hung from the clothesline.
"She's never been one to reveal a great deal of herself," David said. "I own I was shocked when—"
He bit back the words. The subject he and Charles had not discussed since the Glenister House ball hung between them like gunsmoke. For a moment Mélanie was afraid that if she drew a breath the pressure in the air would hurt her lungs. She was afraid that if she looked into Charles's eyes, what she saw there would cut even deeper.
"She didn't say anything to you about why she's marrying my father?" The question seemed to burst from Charles's lips in spite of himself.
"Only that it's what she wants. You know Honoria when she makes her mind up."
"Yes." Charles glanced away. "I can't imagine your father was overjoyed at the match. In fact, I'm surprised he agreed to it."
David shot a glance at him. "He didn't at first. According to my sister, Mr. Fraser called on
Half an hour later, Manon, dressed in a brunette wig and a suit of boy's clothes normally worn by Chérubin in
The Marriage of Figaro
, left the theater in Cecily Summers's carriage, accompanied by Simon and Mrs. Summers. They were bound for Mrs. Summers's villa in Rochampton until such time as the threat had been dealt with. Mrs. Summers's husband and children were in residence at the villa, and Mrs. Summers would join them there when the theater had closed for the summer. Mr. Summers, a former rifleman, should be able to cope with any unexpected incidents.
When Simon and the two women had left the theater, David stared at the dressing room door with the expression Mélanie had seen on Charles's face when she went into danger without him.
"The best thing we can do for them is stay here out of sight for half an hour," Charles said. "No one should know we're at the theater, but if we show our faces there's always the chance someone will make the connection."
David grimaced and nodded. Then he spun round to face Charles. "This settles it. I'm going to my father with what we know. Honoria may be in danger."
"David, listen—"
"No, you listen." David strode across the room, kicking over a basket of fans and sending a gold brocade robe and a red velvet gown fluttering on the clothesline. "This is my cousin we're talking about. I care about what happens to her, even if you—"
He broke off, his face suffused with horror at his own words.
Charles looked back at him, white-faced but steady-eyed. "Believe it or not, I'm not entirely lacking in concern for Honoria's happiness myself."
Mélanie sat stock-still watching her husband and his best friend engaged in a silent duel she could only begin to guess at. Echoes of whatever had happened on that long-ago visit to Lisbon reverberated between them, quickening the air and chilling Mélanie's soul.
David swallowed. "I'm sorry. But—"
"Damn it, David, if you go to your father, what then? One man's dead and someone shot at Mélanie and me last night and made a very creditable effort to kill Manon just now. If you go to your father with our suspicions—and he doesn't laugh in your face or commit you to Bedlam—he'll storm about and tell half the Cabinet. Our unseen enemies will know what we know and we'll lose what little leverage we have, along with any chance to investigate quietly. Not to mention that it will be twice as hard to protect Manon."
"Then what do you suggest we do?" David demanded.
"It's entirely possible the 'Honoria' Francisco referred to has nothing to do with Honoria Talbot. Still—" Charles drew a breath. "Did Honoria ever say anything that could connect to any of this? Anything to indicate she might know about danger, that she was afraid of anything—"
"We may be cousins, but we're hardly confidants." David drew a breath. "You always knew her better than I did."
"Once, perhaps. I haven't seen her for a long time." Charles ran his fingers down a silver tissue cloak that hung from the clothesline.
"She's never been one to reveal a great deal of herself," David said. "I own I was shocked when—"
He bit back the words. The subject he and Charles had not discussed since the Glenister House ball hung between them like gunsmoke. For a moment Mélanie was afraid that if she drew a breath the pressure in the air would hurt her lungs. She was afraid that if she looked into Charles's eyes, what she saw there would cut even deeper.
"She didn't say anything to you about why she's marrying my father?" The question seemed to burst from Charles's lips in spite of himself.
"Only that it's what she wants. You know Honoria when she makes her mind up."
"Yes." Charles glanced away. "I can't imagine your father was overjoyed at the match. In fact, I'm surprised he agreed to it."
David shot a glance at him. "He didn't at first. According to my sister, Mr. Fraser called on
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