I still hadn't quite recovered my guilt over the incident, though Grenville had cheerfully taken the entire blame himself.

"I will write to her," I said. "And discover whether she will condescend to see me. If she does not think it too dangerous to associate with me."

"She would be an excellent person to ask for the lady's point of view."

"I hesitate to mention it," I said. "But so would Marianne. She's been an actress for some time, so she'd have seen female rivalry, as well as, I'm sorry to say, petty theft."

Grenville's expression went still, even blank, which I'd come to learn was his way of stemming his anger. Marianne Simmons, who had lived upstairs from me before Grenville had spirited her away to a fine house in Clarges Street, was a bit of a sore point between us.

Marianne, as poor as she was, did not like cages, no matter how luxurious, and she'd flown from Grenville's almost at once. I knew why, and the reason was a good one, but I suspected she'd not yet told Grenville. She'd softened toward him when he'd been injured, but I hadn't spoken to her since his recovery.

"I am afraid I've not seen much of Miss Simmons of late," Grenville said in a cold voice. "But please, do ask her advice if you think it would be helpful."

"I've not seen her either. I wondered if you had."

"Not since shortly after our return from Sudbury." His frown held frustration, anger, and concern.

"I would not worry about her. Marianne is resilient and will turn up when she feels it necessary."

"Indeed."

Grenville glanced out the window again, and though he'd never admit it, even under torture, I knew he was struggling to regain his composure. The closest we'd come to a permanent falling out had been over Marianne. He knew that I knew her secret, and that I had given her my word not to tell him. Grenville and I had made an agreement not to speak of the matter, but I knew it grated on him.