CHAPTER 5
Between mundane everyday chores, working on sketches for her next satire, and her new family demands—including a trip with the dowager and the boys to Gunter’s Tea Shop for ice cream—the next few days were so filled with activity that concern over the Queen’s Landing murder slowly receded from Charlotte’s thoughts.
Bow Street seemed to have lost interest, as well. According to Raven and Hawk, none of their friends on the street had heard any further murmurings about an investigation. The clerk’s death, like his life, was fast fading into oblivion.
“M’lady, m’lady!” A breathless Hawk hurried into her workroom, a pristine white note clutched in his muddy fist. “Aunt Alison’s footman just delivered this for you.”
The dowager had insisted that the boys call her “Aunt Alison.” They in turn had explained that Wrexford called them “the Weasels”—which had greatly amused her, though thank heaven they had refrained from explaining why. Alison still didn’t know the real story of how they had come to be Charlotte’s wards.
And much to her credit, she hadn’t asked.
Hawk placed the note on Charlotte’s desk and looked expectantly at the ornate pink wax wafer. “Maybe it’s another invitation to Gunter’s.”
“You mustn’t pester her for sweets every time you see her. It’s not polite,” chided Charlotte as she cracked the seal. “Drat,” she added under her breath. “I do hope she’s not asking me to accompany her on a round of morning calls. I have work to do.”
Sighing, she quickly unfolded the thick stationery and read over its contents.
“Is . . . is it bad news?” asked Hawk as he watched her face.
It took Charlotte a moment to react. “Hmm? No, no, it’s not bad news.” She read it again. “Just very unexpected.”
After refolding the note and placing it in her desk drawer, she rinsed her brushes and put her paints away. “I have to pay a visit to Aunt Alison. Tell Raven that McClellan will have refreshments ready for when Lady Cordelia arrives for his lesson.” A pause. “And I do hope that she will stay for supper.”
“Shall I fetch you a hackney?” he asked.
“Thank you, yes.” Charlotte tucked an errant curl behind her ear, a part of her wishing she could avoid the meeting. The changes in her life were already dizzying. To think of adding yet another spin was daunting.
Especially this one.
“What if . . . ,” she whispered to the now-empty room.
A gust of air grazed against the windowpanes, the muted rattle mocking her fears. Whatifwhatifwhatif.
“Even if I’m knocked on my arse, I shall simply pick myself up.” After all, she had long ago learned the art of survival.
* * *
The wheels clattered over the cobblestones, but the dowager’s well-sprung carriage softened all the little bumps of Charlotte’s return ride home. She leaned back against the soft leather squabs, still of two minds about Alison’s unexpected proposal.
Yes or no?
The dowager had made it clear the decision was hers alone to make. Was she dithering out of pride? Or was it out of cowardice?
Uncertain of the true answer, Charlotte turned her gaze to the window and watched the fast-fading afternoon glow give way to twilight. Nothing ever stood still—or so the earl would tell her.
The thought brought a reluctant smile to her lips. Wrexford wouldn’t allow her to turn in endless mental circles. He would force her to confront the conundrum with logic and come to a rational decision rather than cowering behind her conflicted emotions.
“Logic,” she murmured as the dowager’s coachman pulled the team to a halt in front of her residence. She suddenly found herself in need of the earl’s counsel—and yes, his cajoling.
After hurrying up the entrance steps and through the front door, Charlotte quickly removed her bonnet and cloak, only to pause on seeing that the parlor was dark and deserted.
Puzzled, she headed for the kitchen, where a glimmer of light flickered beneath the closed door.
“McClellan?” she said on entering the warm, spice-scented room. The boys, she noted, were sitting at the worktable in the center of the space, quietly—too quietly—eating a stew of beef and potatoes. It took her a moment to spot the maid in the far corner by the stove, sliding a baking pan into the oven.
“Is something amiss?”
Raven answered before McClellan could respond. “Lady Cordelia never showed up for our lesson,” he said.
“She was feeling poorly when she left here the other day, so whatever illness she has must be keeping her abed,” reasoned Charlotte. Though it was odd that one of Woodbridge’s servants had not brought word of it. “I do hope it’s nothing—”
“She’s not ill,” interrupted Raven. He put his spoon down. “She’s gone.”
“Gone?” Charlotte shot a look at McClellan, who responded with a grim shrug.
“Aye,” answered Raven. “When she didn’t come, I went to Lord Woodbridge’s townhouse to ask about her. The house was locked up, and no lights were showing in any of the windows.”
Recalling the recent scene between brother and sister, Charlotte felt a frisson of alarm but was careful to mask it. “I imagine Lord Woodbridge was called away to his country manor and Lady Cordelia went with him. There are any number of things on an estate that can require immediate attention from the owner.”
The boy shook his head. “The knocker was still up.”
Not a good sign, she conceded. When a family left Town, it was customary to take down the brass knocker from the front door as a signal to all that the family wasn’t in residence.
A glance showed McClellan’s expression mirrored her concern.
Yet another reason to send word for the earl.
“When you’re finished with supper, why don’t you boys run around to Lord Wrexford’s residence and ask if he might pay us a visit?”
Raven and Hawk slid down from their stools and were off in a flash.
McClellan set a fist on her hip as the front door banged shut. “Can you think of any reason for Lady Cordelia’s absence, m’lady?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Charlotte repressed a sigh. “But I’m not at liberty to explain the details. I happened to witness a private scene between her and her brother. Suffice it to say, the family is wrestling with some demons.”
“Aren’t we all?” muttered the maid.
“Yes, well, misery may make welcome company,” replied Charlotte wryly. “However, that doesn’t help to solve one’s problems.”
“Perhaps Wrexford will have some ideas.”
“Let us hope so,” Charlotte replied. “For I fear that Raven will take it awfully hard if Lady Cordelia is caught up in some trouble.”
* * *
Darkness had settled over the city by the time Wrexford arrived at Charlotte’s residence. Just as well, he thought as he mounted the steps and rapped on the door. As a widow, Charlotte was allowed a good deal of leeway regarding the strictures of Society, especially as word had been discreetly passed to the neighbors that McClellan was a maiden relative, which allowed a gentleman to visit without stirring scandal.
Still, given her reintroduction to the beau monde, he didn’t wish to provide the tabbies with grist for gossip by being too overt about his visits. That they could count on not being skewered by A. J. Quill helped quash any speculation. Given that Charlotte had attacked him before, the other satirical artists would assume that she would be the first to know of any indiscretion.
McClellan answered his knock and took his hat and coat.
“Halloo, Mac,” he said. “The Weasels seemed rather blue deviled when they brought Lady Charlotte’s message. Have you cut off their jam tarts for some misbehavior?” A pause. “If it has to do with some noxious odor, the fault lies with Tyler and me.”
“I wish it were that simple, milord,” replied the maid, a worried expression on her normally stoic face. “But I’ll leave it for Lady Charlotte to explain.”
H
e glanced at the parlor. An ominous silence hung heavy in the air, despite the cheery glow of lamplight spilling out through the half-open door.
“She’s waiting for you,” said McClellan. “Shall I bring you some tea?”
“It sounds like I may need a good Scottish malt instead.”
“Aye,” came the terse reply. “I put the bottle on the sideboard.”
Not a good omen.
The maid retreated toward the kitchen, leaving him to enter the parlor on his own.
Charlotte looked up. “Thank you for coming so swiftly, Wrexford,” she said, closing the notebook in her lap and setting it aside. “I’m very grateful.”
He moved around the armchair, choosing instead to sit on the sofa beside her. “How can I help?”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure where to begin. I had intended to ask your advice on a personal matter. But on returning home from a meeting with Aunt Alison, I learned of an unsettling turn of events that’s even more pressing.”
“Go on,” he encouraged, sensing her uncertainty.
“Lady Cordelia—and her brother—appear to have gone missing . . .” She explained about her friend’s abrupt departure from the previous lesson and her failure to show up for the afternoon appointment.
“It’s odd, but not overly alarming,” responded Wrexford after taking a moment to think over what she had told him. Seeing she was about to speak, he quickly added, “Though what you saw and heard the night of the ball does add an element of concern.”
“I wonder where they’ve gone,” she murmured.
“They could very well be at their country estate. It’s expensive to keep up the trappings of an earldom,” he pointed out. “Wine merchants, tailors, bootmakers, carriages, servants . . . If Woodbridge is in financial straits, he may have decided to escape for a bit from the dunning of his creditors. And leaving the knocker up doesn’t give away his flight.”
“I suppose that makes some sense,” said Charlotte. “And Lady Cordelia may have felt compelled to go with him, both as a measure of support and to counsel him on the dangers in . . .” Her mouth tightened for an instant. “In whatever havey-cavey business is going on.”
“Let’s be careful not to jump to conclusions.” Speculations had their own inherent dangers. “In my scientific experiments I’ve learned that one must follow the empirical evidence, rather than assume the result before it’s happened.”
“I—”
Charlotte’s reply was interrupted by McClellan, whose brusque knock was followed by the click of the door latch. “Forgive me for interrupting, but Mr. Sheffield is here and asking to see you. He says it’s urgent.”
“Merciful heavens!” Charlotte rose, her look of alarm mirroring his own misgivings. Sheffield, for all his exaggerated quips, rarely indulged in true melodrama.
“Please have him come in,” she went on.
Their friend pushed through the door an instant later, looking more agitated than Wrexford had ever seen him.
“Lady Cordelia!” he exclaimed without preamble. “Hell and damnation! Lady Cordelia has gone missing!”
CHAPTER 6
A shiver snaked down Charlotte’s spine as the lamplight played over Sheffield’s pale face and the flicker of fear in his eyes. His attraction to the brilliant Bluestocking had been apparent since their first few encounters, but she hadn’t realized how serious his feelings had become.
She looked to Wrexford, who was already up and moving to the sideboard. “Sit,” he said, thrusting a glass of whisky into Sheffield’s hand, “and drink, Kit. Then tell us what has you so worried.”
Sheffield set it aside untouched and raked a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. “She’s gone!” His boots beat an agitated tattoo on the carpet as he began to pace around the room. “I tell you, she’s vanished into thin air!”
“Sit,” repeated the earl. “We can’t be of any help while you’re babbling like Hamlet.”
Expelling a ragged sigh, his friend dropped into one of the armchairs. “Right. Cold-blooded logic and precise order,” he muttered, then took a moment to compose himself.
“Logic,” murmured Wrexford, “is how one solves a problem. So, yes, let us try to apply it to this one.”
The earl’s dry tone seemed to soften Sheffield’s distress.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, pressing his palms to his temples. “It’s just that . . . well, I’m worried.”
“Understandably so,” cut in Charlotte. “Lady Cordelia didn’t show up for her tutoring session with Raven, which seemed decidedly odd. However, Wrexford has pointed out that there are any number of reasonable explanations for why she might have left London without informing her friends.” She quickly recounted what the earl had mentioned, and repeating it made her feel more convinced he was right.
Sheffield, however, shook his head. “No. She wouldn’t have left without telling me.”
“Kit—” began Wrexford.
“She wouldn’t have!”
The earl fixed him with a searching stare. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because we had a meeting scheduled, and she wouldn’t have missed it unless something was wrong.”
“What sort of meeting?” asked Wrexford.
As Sheffield averted his eyes, Charlotte saw a flush steal up to his cheeks. “I prefer not to say.”
Hell’s teeth. Her dismay deepened. Sheffield’s charm and good looks made him a great favorite with the ladies, and he made no secret of his occasional dalliances—though in the past they had always been with married ladies, who knew the rules of the game. If he had seduced an innocent . . .
Affairs of the heart could unleash unpredictable and explosive emotions.
The earl must have read her thoughts, for he grimaced and uttered a scathing oath. “Damnation, Kit,” he added, disappointment resonating in the gruff growl.
Sheffield flinched, as if struck. “You think . . .” A sputter. “No, no, I swear, it’s nothing like that.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sworn to silence, so I can’t reveal the reason.”
His chest rose and fell. “But what I can say is that her brother has been acting erratically lately—all ebullience one moment and then plunging into the depths of despair in the blink of an eye. As the three of us know from our previous investigation, the family is facing financial difficulties because of the late earl’s profligate spending, though they hide it well. And we also know Woodbridge allowed Cordelia to rescue him from the last crisis.”
“And you fear he has done so again?” A note of skepticism colored the earl’s question.
“Yes.” Sheffield scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Lady Cordelia has appeared increasingly distracted of late.” His eyes narrowed. “And the last time I paid a visit to their townhouse, I was passing the drawing room—the doors were half-open—and saw Woodbridge with several other gentlemen. There were papers being signed, and when one of them caught sight of me, he quickly nudged the doors shut.”
“Have you any proof that something unsavory is going on?” pressed Wrexford.
Sheffield remained silent—which to Charlotte was an eloquent enough answer.
Catching a quick warning glance from the earl, Charlotte agreed that for the moment it was best to make no mention of the scene she had witnessed between the brother and sister. Their friend’s emotions were already too much on edge. “Sheffield, perhaps—”
“Something is wrong,” he insisted. “I . . . I just know it in my bones.”
“I’m sorry, Kit,” responded the earl. “But we’ll need more than that.”
“Can’t we ask Griffin to do some investigating?” asked Sheffield.
“And give him what to go on?” The earl made a face. “The only bones Griffin cares about are the ones on his supper plate. Unless you can put more meat on the ones you’re offering . . .” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug.
Their friend blinked. “So, you won’t help me?”
“We didn’t say that,” answered Charlotte qu
ickly. “Of course we’ll make some inquiries. But without any clearer idea of where or why, I fear we’ll be stumbling around in the dark. Is there nothing else you can tell us?”
Sheffield held himself very still for a long moment and then abruptly got to his feet. “Thank you. I won’t take up any more of your time.”
“Bloody hell,” muttered Wrexford as their friend kicked the door shut on his way out.
Charlotte heard the hint of pain beneath his exasperation. His gruffness hid a deep loyalty to his friends, and she sensed that Sheffield’s obvious disappointment had cut him to the quick.
“You mustn’t feel guilty, Wrexford,” she counseled. “Right now, he’s caught up in a maelstrom of emotions. You were right to press him on the facts. Without some sort of solid information, it’s hard to know how to help.” The lamp flame shivered. “I, too, am very fond of Lady Cordelia. But we both know she’s not afraid of taking risks—or of breaking whatever rules are necessary to achieve her goal.”
“Lady Cordelia would never be involved in anything evil.” Raven suddenly appeared in the doorway, a wraithlike shadow silhouetted against the darkness of the corridor. He lifted his chin. “I’m sure of it.”
Charlotte felt her heart lurch, all thought of chiding him for eavesdropping chased away by the look on his face. “I fear it’s not that simple, sweeting. There are times . . .” Oh, how to explain it? “There are times when a choice isn’t a clear-cut one between good and evil.”
Raven blinked, his sharp features pinching in disbelief as he shot a glare at Wrexford. “D’you think she’s guilty?”
“You’ve grown up on the streets, lad,” replied the earl, “and have seen that life rarely gives us the luxury of seeing the world in black and white. What m’lady means is that sometimes we’re forced to find our way through a confusing muddle of greys.”
Thank you, Wrexford, she thought, flashing him a grateful look.
“You heard Mr. Sheffield. He doesn’t think her capable of evil,” retorted Raven.
“Mr. Sheffield has certain feelings for Lady Cordelia,” said Wrexford. “His judgment is colored by his emotions—”
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