“Damnation,” Valentine muttered. “Now my mother will want to know why we didn’t tell her we were coming.”
Greystone borrowed Lydia’s glasses and observed the crowd. “What makes you think Terence is here tonight?”
“Selina said they were coming. Apparently, it is Mr Maverick’s final performance.” Then again, she had made no mention of Terence attending. “Justin should be here.”
During the first act, Greystone continued to scan the sea of heads. Lockhart sat silently with his thoughts. Whenever he felt a spark of anger at both his and his father’s mistreatment, he took hold of Claudia’s hand and stroked her palm. She wasn’t particularly interested in the play, either, and they spent more time looking at each other than the fools on stage.
“I’ve found your cousin,” Greystone said, looking to the middle tier and to the left of the plush boxes. “He’s sitting with Selina, but Terence isn’t with them.” Without warning, a muttered curse burst from Greystone’s lips, and he almost dropped the glasses. “Damnation.”
“What is it?” Panic rose in Lockhart’s chest.
“I locked gazes with Selina. She’s watching me through her glasses.”
“Let me see.” Lydia took the glasses and stared into the crowd. “Yes, she is most definitely watching this box.”
What was Selina’s problem? Was it dissatisfaction with her husband? Was it guilt for abandoning Lockhart on the docks? Was it fear? Perhaps when it came to caring for his father, she was the villain, not the nurse.
Lockhart pondered those thoughts during the second act until a comment made by the character Dromio disturbed his reverie.
Every why hath a wherefore.
The words tormented him. There was a reason someone had framed him for murder. He just couldn’t see it. There was a reason Terence had married Selina. He just needed to ask his brother to learn the answer.
“Wait,” Greystone whispered. “I see him. I see Terence.”
It seems the Divine had heard Lockhart’s musings and extended a helping hand.
“He’s in Mrs Fanshaw’s box and looks remarkably relaxed. The woman can’t take her eyes off him.”
“Mrs Fanshaw?” Lockhart grimaced. “The woman is old enough to be his mother.”
“Some men are happy to overlook the age difference when weighted against her yearly income,” Aveline said. “She’s had endless suitors these last few years. Most of them riddled with debt.” When Valentine stared at his wife and arched a brow, she said, “What? Lady Cartwright told me. The matron prefers gossip to examining literary texts.”
Lockhart contemplated the information.
Was Terence in financial trouble? His brother had a fondness for the card tables. Was he simply hoping their father would die so he could get his hands on his inheritance? Lockhart suppressed a gasp when another thought struck him. Had the fiend at the inn mistaken Lockhart for Terence? The rogue had come looking for money. Had Terence set the trap?
Anger burned in Lockhart’s veins.
Every why hath a wherefore.
And he’d damn well learn the truth before the week was out.
“Excuse me for a moment.” Lockhart pushed to his feet. He bent down and kissed Claudia on the forehead. “Wait here. I’ll be back soon.”
“Where are you going?”
He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “To speak to Terence.”
She grabbed his arm. “Please be careful.” Fear danced in her eyes. “Promise me you won’t do anything foolish.”
Valentine glanced in their direction. His knowing smirk mirrored Drake’s wide grin.
“My friends will keep you company until I return.” Lockhart looked into her eyes. Despite it not being written in the stage directions, he placed a chaste kiss on her lips and exited the box.
Something told him he was getting closer to the truth. The thought drew him along the corridor, towards the grand staircase. He would knock on Mrs Fanshaw’s box and demand answers.
As he moved past the impressive chandelier hanging from the domed roof, a figure stepped out of the shadows.