Chapter Four
After telling his hackney driver to trail the carriage Boiselle rode in, Adam couldn’t have been more surprised when Boiselle’s stopped at Lady Eleanor’s house in Mayfair. The earl’s daughter played hostess for her father now that her mother had died, and the earl didn’t seem the type to mingle with actors. Again, Adam had to open his list of suspects to an entirely new group of people.
Waiting until Boiselle entered the house, Adam paid the hack driver and followed. As the brother of the Duke, Adam never had to worry about needing an invitation when he arrived at a ball, because all of Polite Society knew he was the unmarried heir-apparent to the dukedom, and they’d be more than happy to welcome him as a son-in-law.
Boiselle presented an invitation at the door, and he looked completely at ease entering the ballroom. There were no shocked faces nor whispers behind fans following him into the room, which confused Adam.
Was he so well-loved an actor that everyone wanted him on their guest lists? That didn’t make sense. An operatic diva perhaps, and one of a few noted actors whose friendship gave one a certain cachet, might be accepted into Society, but this man was no one. Worse, he was a spy pretending to be no one.
Adam followed far enough behind him to not be obvious. Boiselle greeted guests here and there, but didn’t stop to linger. Who was he there to meet?
Eventually, the spy joined a group of men and ladies who seemed to know him well. Adam searched the ballroom for any acquaintance with whom he could strike up a conversation and blend in to the guests. Then he saw her—the girl from the theatre. Who was she? He’d assumed she was a poor woman who must work to support herself, but in that case, she’d never be allowed to attend a ball like this.
She stood with another young lady, and an older one who was likely their mother. He approached them.
“Madam, forgive me for not finding our host for a formal introduction, but I believe your daughter and I have an acquaintance, however brief, although we didn’t exchange names.”
The matron looked at the young ladies, neither of whom responded. “You must be mistaken. My daughter is rarely out in society without myself or her brother at her side.”
“I’m Lord Adam St. Peters.” He only resorted to tossing his name into the conversation when absolutely necessary. Instinct told him not to mention the theatre.
The concern on the woman’s face slowly relaxed, to be replaced by the widest grin as the name sunk in. Identifying himself as the brother of a duke opened numerous doors.
“I’m Henrietta Harrow, and this is my daughter Charlotte.”
She was the wrong young lady.
Almost as an afterthought, she added, “And her friend, Miss Mary Jane Watson.”
Miss Watson pinned Adam’s gaze and shook her head almost imperceptibly. Clearly Mrs. Harrow wasn’t aware that she visited the theatre…worked at the theatre until all hours of the night. How intriguing. He’d love to learn more, but that wouldn’t happen while she stood with her chaperone.
“Miss Harrow, may I request a dance later this evening?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Harrow glowed.
“Miss Watson, are you free for the next set of dances?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice was much softer than at the theatre, even though she’d spoken in a stage whisper there. He could barely hear her over the voices and music in the large room.
The thrill her words gave him must be due to being able to find out more about what she was doing at the theatre, not because of any attraction on his part. Was she connected to Boiselle? He smiled politely. “Will you walk with me while we wait?”
She looked to Mrs. Harrow for permission. The woman quickly masked her scowl. “We’re honored, sir.”
Adam offered his arm and he and Miss Watson made a wandering path through the crowd. “I didn’t expect to find you at an assembly such as this.”
“I hate them. I refuse to flutter my fan and encourage men I don’t care to know.”
He chuckled. “Why does that not surprise me? All I know of you is that you’re quite comfortable backstage.” Would she give away her connections, or did she have reason to keep them to herself?
“I would prefer to perform, but my father would ban me from leaving the house until he’d arranged a suitable marriage for me, and then only with my mother at my side.”
“I understand. My mother has a list of young ladies for me to consider. Like you, I enjoy other activities more.” Adam stepped back to let her pass through a tight squeeze, then continued when he was again by her side. “Your father allows you to work at the theatre? I’d think that would be even less desirable than in front of the curtain.”
“He doesn’t know. Please don’t let on to Mrs. Harrow where you saw me. If she asks, say it was the lending library. I’m there almost every day.”
Adam took note of that. Knowing her better would give him an excuse to spend more time watching Boiselle. Steering her toward where he last saw the spy, he said, “I saw someone you might know…Mr. Tilney is here.” He used Boiselle’s pseudonym.
“Oh, him. We might pass each other in the hallway by their dressing rooms, but we’ve never spoken. He thinks too highly of himself to make him worth getting to know.”
The music ended and the string quartet paused before starting the next set. Adam said, “We should take our place with the others. I wouldn’t wish to miss our set.”
Standing opposite Miss Watson in the two lines of dancers gave him ample time to study her. Her warm brown hair was braided and swept up in a crown, with curls hanging freely around her round face. Her cheeks bloomed even before the exertion of the dance. He’d noticed her eyes were a striking shade of green, almost the color of jade. They hinted at an adventurous side of her, which coincided with her nighttime escapades.
“When we met, were you there to see Miss Clarke? I know you denied it, but what other reason could there be?” she asked.
Here was the awkward moment he’d hoped to avoid—his reason for being there. “I share your passion for the theatre, and wanted to see if there was a way I could help. The excitement in the air feeds my soul. Like you, I can’t tread the boards of the stage without causing my family distress. I must live vicariously through the actors.”
The dance began, so they were only able to converse when they drew close. “Speak to the manager and he’ll find you some work,” Miss Watson said.
“I shall do that.” He’d continue to shadow Boiselle as long as necessary—speaking of which, where was he now? Making the sweeping turn the dance required, Adam swept his gaze around the room in search of the spy. He was nowhere.
Miss Watson noticed his distraction. “Are you hoping to meet someone here? It would be impolite of you to look for your next dance partner while dancing with me.” Her expression gave no hint of the emotion behind her reprimand.
He grew warm with chagrin. “Why no, I can’t imagine finding a lovelier partner. You dance very well.”
Her light laughter rang out. “Save the flirtation for your next partner, sir. I’m not looking for flattery, nor do I want a beau. I’m here at Miss Harrow’s request, since she feels the same way.”
“You speak your mind quite directly.”
“So Mother tells me. I have no desire to make some poor soul believe I’m attracted to him. Let him move on to a more willing victim.”
Grinning, Adam shook his head. “Victim? Do you feel all brides and grooms are wed under duress?”
“I’m aware of gentlemen in need of an heir, and ladies who require a man to take care of them…isn’t that the same thing? I would only marry for love, and my parents are fully aware of that, which leads us back to why I’m here. Their dearest hope is that eventually I’ll fall in love.” She laughed as though that was the grandest joke she’d heard.
The set ended, and Adam led Miss Watson back to her friends. “I’ll see you in the next few days at the theatre. I hope I’m not too bold to ask if I might speak to you there?”
She shook her head with a laugh, sending her curls fluttering. “You’re an interesting sort of man, Lord Adam. Polite Society has no influence on one’s behavior behind the curtains. Speak to me as you will; everyone else does.”
Taking his leave of her, he confirmed which dance Miss Harrow had open, then went in search of Boiselle. He needed to focus. He’d never gather the information he needed on the man if he wasn’t there to see him contact his fellow conspirators. There was too much at stake to dally about.