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“You know I enjoy Shakespeare.”
“I didn’t realise quite how excessively.”
Their carriage finally reached the head of the queue and halted before the theatre steps. The door opened to reveal Richard, ready to hand their mother down. Samuel’s smile vanished.
“Richard,” Mother exclaimed as she disembarked. “I didn’t know you would be joining us.”
“I told you, I’m dedicating myself to securing a bride. I’ve always found the theatre a perfect place to peruse women.”
“Richard,” Mother said sharply.
Samuel alighted and a footman closed the carriage door as Samuel gave their driver a nod of dismissal. He tugged his coat straight and tapped down his hat.
Richard offered their mother his arm.
“We do have a box, do we not? I simply mean that I may sit on high and look over the available young ladies below.”
“But not the ones on the stage,” Mother insisted, resisting Richard’s attempts to escort her to the theatre steps.
“Oh no. Not the ones on stage. Not for a wife.” Richard offered his arm again.
Did Samuel detect regret in Richard’s voice? Mother sighed, but accepted Richard’s arm and began walking. Samuel followed the two into the throng of theatre goers. They made their way up the grand steps and through the foyer, then up the interior stairs, seeking their box. When they reached it, Richard pulled aside the curtain with a bow to their mother.
“You get settled in your favourite seat, Mother, while I speak with Sammy.” Their mother looked between them in undisguised concern, but nodded before turning away. Richard released the curtain to grab Samuel by the arm. “We need to talk.”
“Quite possibly, but you don’t need to restrain me. I’m not going to run.” Samuel tugged his arm free. “Over there.”
He led the way to one of the curtained alcoves set along the outer wall of the theatre.
They stepped in, but Richard remained by the curtain, peeking out. Finally, the commotion in the hall diminished, then ended. Richard let the curtain fall back into place. His features, set in grim lines, appeared exceedingly dire in the flickering light of the single candle the alcove held.
“There have been two more pages from the journal published in the Paris paper.”
Shock ricocheted through Samuel. Somehow, he’d hoped that Richard’s scandal would simply fade.
“Has she reached out to you at all?” Samuel asked. “If you could locate her and make amends, or at least get the journal back, maybe this—”
“You think I haven’t tried?” Richard cut in. He pushed a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know what country she’s in.”
Samuel searched for a ray of hope.
“Has any of the information leaked so far been damaging?”
“Only to England’s pride, because the articles taunt the Crown.” That was bad enough. The pride of the Crown was easily pricked and notoriously difficult to appease. “It gets worse,” Richard said quietly.
Samuel pushed his glasses up on his nose. “How?”
“They’ve found Yvette’s house. I thought to retrieve my possessions, to take anything that might incriminate our family, but when I went by, someone was already there and… and men were at the bank today, as well, asking questions about the account.”
Samuel looked about, although he already knew the alcove held no chairs into which he could slump.
“That’s it, then. If they know Yvette is behind the leaks and they know our family pays for her house, then that’s it.”
“They don’t know that I gave her the journal.”
Samuel tried to breathe evenly. This was bad. Dreading the reply, but with a need to understand exactly how very bad, he asked, “Which general? When did you take it?”
Richard stared at him, the mingled uncertainty and sorrow etched into his features unnerving.
