Brewster regarded me in irritation. “No, you won’t. I won’t be explaining to your lady wife why I let you get bashed about because you insisted on being private. My life won’t be worth a farthing. I’ll go if I have to stand in the street to be run down by passing carts.”
I hid a sigh. The errand would be taxing enough without having to explain to Donata why I’d gone. She’d have the truth out of Brewster quickly enough. There was no question which one of us he’d obey if pressed.
“St. James’s first then,” I said. “We’ll find Eden and ask him what his business was here last night.”
The task was not so simple. When we arrived in St. James’s Place, Eden was out. His landlady had no idea where he’d gone or when he’d return. No, he hadn’t moved out—all his things were still in his rooms, and he’d bade her a cheerful good morning as he’d gone.
I handed her my card. “Please tell him to call upon me at his earliest convenience,” I said. I touched my hat and departed.
“So polite we are,” Brewster growled as we walked away. “At his earliest convenience. I’d say I’d pull all his teeth out if he didn’t come to me right away.”
“I doubt such a threat would frighten Eden. Besides, if you tell a man you’ll pull out his teeth if he doesn’t come to you, it hardly motivates him to find you.”
“Yes, it do. Because he’d know if I ever found him again, he’d be gumming porridge the rest of his sorry life.”
Statements like these made me realize why I preferred Brewster as a friend, not an enemy.
We emerged from St. James’s Place to the corner where the carriage waited. “Brook Street,” I told the driver.
Brewster was silent as we traveled the short distance northward into Mayfair, through Berkeley Square and on to Brook Street. Brewster offered to remain in the hackney, but I told him he might as well take some relaxation in the kitchen. Here, I knew, they’d give him tea, or beer, or whatever he liked.
I plied the knocker on the front door and was told by the cool footman who opened it that Mrs. Brandon was indeed at home and would receive me in her breakfast room.
CHAPTER 18
“G abriel, how delightful.” Louisa Brandon came to me in a waft of lemony scent and kissed my cheek. “Please, sit. Coffee, Albert.” This last was spoken to another footman, who had the silver pot in his hand and was setting down a porcelain cup at a place opposite Louisa’s before she finished her command.
I bowed. “Thank you for seeing me and rewarding my appallingly bad manners.”
I took the offered seat, relaxing into its comfort. Louisa’s room was bright and sunny—she loved yellow—filled with touches of softness, such as the cushions I reposed against and the thick carpet on the floor.
“Friends do not stand on manners. How is Anne?” Louisa sent me her warmest of smiles. “Is she not the most beautiful babe on this earth?”
One of Louisa’s greatest regrets was that she had never borne children. Her series of miscarriages were responsible for the only lines on her face. She’d turned her attention to my children with great joy, reveling in details of Anne’s babyhood and every change it wrought. She’d been thus with Gabriella as well, which had earned the great jealousy of my first wife.
“I will not argue about that,” I said, my pride surging. “I am very sure she can say Papa, but Donata tells me I am dreaming this.”
“It will not be long.” Louisa thanked Albert for pouring the coffee and waved him off. He set down the pot, bowed, and retreated from the room. “Anne will be talking, and running everywhere, driving you spare, as your Mr. Brewster might say.”
“I look forward to it. And I know she adores her Aunt Louisa.”
Louisa sent me a shrewd glance as she lifted her cup. She drank tea, but she kept coffee for her husband or wayward guests.
“I will not press my way into Anne’s affection. The last thing I want is to make Mrs. Lacey unhappy.”
“Donata knows my fondness for you has taken on the ease of friendship.” I sipped coffee, enjoying its rich flavor. I hadn’t been this warm or comfortable since I’d left my house earlier this morning.
“That you love her distractedly is obvious,” Louisa said. “I was thinking more of my foolishness regarding you. She knows all.”
“It was a long time ago.” Louisa had come to me once, begging me to run away with her. I had been sorely tempted, but we both had been glad I’d sent her home.
“Not all that long ago. I have come to my senses, but a wife is aware of a husband’s past and never quite loses the worry.”
I knew Louisa spoke not only of Donata, but of herself. Brandon had given her cause to doubt him more than once.
I let the subject drop. I wanted Anne to know the Brandons, who had been an important part of my life, but equally I did not want to upset Donata by forcing the matter.
“As enchanting as I always find your company, I actually came here to see your husband,” I said. “Is he about?”
“He went to Tattersall’s. It is hunting season, you know, and when we return to the country, he wants to put a new horse into the field. His usual mount is aging and will be retired to the pasture.”
“Fortunate horse. If Brandon will return soon, I’ll sit and enjoy the coffee. If it will be a long time, he can call on me, if he’s able. I want to ask him about carbines.”
Louisa’s brows rose. “Carbines? You intrigue me. Truth to tell, I have no idea how long he will be. It is Aloysius, looking over horseflesh. He becomes immersed.”
I understood this. All cavalrymen were horse mad.
“In any case, I will drink this excellent coffee and visit. We’ll chat like old friends who haven’t seen each other in years. Ah … Miles Eden has resurfaced.”
“Has he?” Louisa asked with interest. “He rather disappeared after Waterloo. He went to Antigua, did he not?”
“Indeed.” I told her the tale, including the fact that our old friend Eden had been accused of murder. Louisa listened with rapt attention.
“Surely not, Gabriel,” she said when I’d finished. “Captain Eden—Major Eden—was a bit reckless, but never murderous. Why would he creep into a gentleman’s bedchamber in the middle of the night and bash him on the head? Still less, slit his throat.” She shivered. “It’s horrible, and Miles Eden is not a horrible man.”
“I wish I knew why he’d gone to Cable Street last night. I couldn’t find him this morning to give me his explanation.”
“I admit that looks a bit suspicious, though he might have had a perfectly reasonable excuse.”
“Will it be reasonable enough for Pomeroy?”
“Or reasonable enough for you?” Louisa took another sip of tea. “You seem to want him to be guilty.”
I stared in amazement. “I do not. I like Eden. His high spirits helped me through many a battle and again when Carlotta deserted me. I fear he is responsible, rather. I do not want to let sentiment stand in the way of the truth.”
“You are letting worry stand in the way of it. If he is guilty, then there is nothing more for you to do, and you walk away from the matter. A much more difficult task is to believe in him in spite of the evidence—or in spite of coincidences. You stood by Aloysius when no one else, including me, was convinced of his innocence.”