"I do not know," Penrith gave a shrug, decidedly more decorous than Robert deserved, "But if it does not, at least someone has gained from it, no?"
Rob nodded, humbled by his friend's graciousness.
"And it is a darn sight better than dunking oneself in the Serpentine, is it not?" Penrith continued with a sniff, "And you still owe me a vowel for losing that race, Montague. The water between your ears has surely dried out enough by now for you to recall what you owe me."
On that less than magnanimous note, and with a wicked grin, Penrith took his leave.
Robert remained seated for a spell longer, nursing his brandy with an absence of enthusiasm.
Would Julia be more inclined to believe in his good character if he actually exhibited that he had one? She had been inclined to believe him a liar and a rake, and who could blame her? Though Robert was not the former, the latter was most certainly true, and there were some who thought that both went hand in hand regardless.
If Robert were to make the papers for some good deed, rather than for some silly escapade, perhaps then Lady Julia might find some faith in him.
Robert set down his brandy—though it was more than half-full—and set out for home. He mounted Dobbins, who had been watched over by one of White's fastidious footmen and made the short journey home at a trot.
Outside Staffordshire House, as he was dismounting, a small urchin raced forward, out of the shadows, taking him by surprise.
"I have no coin, boy," Rob said, as he handed the reins to a waiting footman, which was true—for he had given it all to young Tim.
"Gem'll see me right," the young boy whispered, "'E sent me 'ere to tell you that the gentleman wot you asked about will be attending the theatre later t'night with your giggler."
It took Rob a moment to translate the young boy's warbles, but once he did, excitement gripped him.
"What play?" he questioned, "And where?"
"Theatre Royal, Covent Garden," the young lad answered, "An' Romeo an' Juliet."
How apt.
"My thanks," Robert said, his brain awhirl.
"You's welcome, m'lord," the boy answered, doffing his grimy cap at Robert before disappearing back into the shadows.
Robert turned for the house, racking his brains as he tried to recall what Balthazar had read to him just that morning about the Shakespeare festival which the three Theatres Royal were hosting.
He snapped his fingers as he finally remembered what it was that the valet had said. The Drury Lane, Covent Garden, and Haymarket Theatres were all hosting plays in tandem. The Taming of The Shrew, Twelfth Night, and Romeo and Juliet were all being shown the same night.
Tickets, Balthazar had read, had sold out many moons ago, but thankfully Robert was above such things as having to purchase a ticket for the stalls.
He rented a box, the best in the house, and should he wish to attend it was free to him. If Pariseau was to be there, accompanied by Lady Julia, Robert had ever y intention of also being present, and even greater intentions of playing the peacock so that Julia might see just what she was convinced she did not want.
But just who could Robert cajole to accompany him tonight?
An idea struck Rob, which he initially pushed away, but as he clambered the stairs to his rooms, it took flight.
Why play the peacock for Lady Julia, when he could play the benevolent, generous hero of the poor?
"Balthazar?" he called, as he pushed open the door to his dressing rooms.
The valet looked up from the cravat he was pressing with a flat iron.
"I need you to transcribe a missive," Rob said, "And then have a footman bring it to St Giles."
"Might I ask why we are sending missives to The Rookery?" the valet queried, wearing a look of pain upon his lined face.
"Because we are bringing The Rookery to the theatre," Rob replied, his grin so enthusiastic that it did not falter, even when faced with Balthazar's horrified expression
Chapter Seven
