Soon, he would know for certain whether Willard was the man Mrs. Cartwright had seen with “Temperence” at that disreputable party outside Brighton. Not only that, but he’d also have the exact location of said party. More witnesses would surely follow. And then…
Well, then, very little could keep him from demanding satisfaction.
He grimaced.
He’d much rather have had Mrs. Cartwright identify Willard in a less public manner. But he hadn’t been able to think of a better way. He had to be present when she named the viscount.What better place for her to study the son of a peer than the one location the aristocracy came to see and be seen?
The crowds around Neville grew thicker as they made their way into the main hall. Hat low, and head angled, he presented his tickets to the ticket taker and then proceeded to the separate pit entrance. Only when they had finally reached their seats did he breathe easy once again.
Even without his hat, he was unlikely to be identified at a distance. The unfashionably high points of his collar concealed the angle of his chin. And, as with the other times he’d met with possible witnesses, he had sought help to further conceal his identity.
Earlier this evening, an associate of Harris’s, Neville’s manager friend, had come to the back entrance of his London home. He’d used his vast collection of pastes and powders to transform Neville’s face while Neville’s valet looked on in worried disapproval.
To Neville’s own eye, he appeared leaner, harder, and older. But should he have to face a close friend—or old enemy—directly, he doubted that friend would be fooled.
“Ah,” he said. “Looks as if the royal box will remain empty tonight.”
“What a shame,” she replied. “Seeing a Royal is ever so exciting, don’t you agree?”
“Indeed,” he answered dryly.
He’d told her before that Lord Eltenham’s box—the one his son Lord Willard would likely use—was two boxes down from the specially appointed box the Prince Regent would occupy, should he or his family choose to attend.
He waited for her to find the right location, forcing himself to stay calm.
Though people in boxes were always more concerned with people in other boxes than the riffraff below, he had to take care.He must keep himself angled away from Willard’s box as much as possible lest he be recognized.
“What a fine neckcloth you’re wearing this evening, love!”
He slanted her an alarmed glance. They’d been friendly, of course, to cover the nature of their association, but she’d never called himlove.
“Makes me want to—” She leaned forward while trailing her fingers along his collar. “There are several men in the box,” she whispered. “I—I am sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t recognize any of them.”
Ah. Neville’s heart sank.
He’d been certain she’d identify Willard.
Subtly, he glanced over to Eltenham’s box.
He didn’t need a long perusal to pick out at least four of them as the pups that had accompanied Willard on the prior evening. However, Willard himself was not present.
He pursed his lips, leveling his gaze at the orchestra. Could the three empty seats in the box’s front row mean Willard had yet to arrive?
Absently, he touched his chest.
The paper she’d given him crackled reassuringly beneath his fingers.
Odd, that. He hadn’t even been sure Mrs. Cartwrightcouldwrite.
Apparently, she could. She’d not only sacrificed precious paper but gone to great length to deliver the letter in a clandestine manner. He wondered if he’d made other assumptions about the woman that would also turn out to be wrong.
Right now, however, he had to grant her his trust. She was his only clue—the only person who’d answered the notice he’d put inThe Timesseeking information on Miss Wilson. But his moment of doubt had strengthened his feeling of unease.
“That’s enough.” He lifted her hand from his neck.
The older woman beside Mrs. Cartwright sent Neville an approving look, while her escort gave him a curious,why-would-you-be-such-a-stickglance.
“Later, my dear,” he forced.