The door was opened by a pleasant-looking butler.
Jacob presented his calling card. “Jacob Baker for Lady Sarah Crawford.”
The butler nodded and let Jacob in, closing the door behind him on the chill and damp of the day. The Crawford entryway was well lit, but more importantly, it was warm. Jacob shrugged out of his coat and handed it, along with his hat, to the butler. He was admitted to a formal sitting room where the butler instructed him to wait.
He meandered through the room, looking at the paintings of past Crawfords and the knickknacks that made up the Crawfords’ lives.
He paused at the tall window that overlooked the street and peered out, that uneasy feeling following him into the house. The day was growing darker with rain clouds, and he knew he was perilously close to being past the proper time for calling on people. A steady pitter-patter of rain pelted the window, and he wished he were back at his house, in front of his fire, with his law books, researching a new case.
The door behind him opened, and through the reflection of the window he saw a woman enter. When he turned he surmised that this could not be Lady Sarah, unless Charlotte’s good friend was about twenty years older than her.
“Lord Ashland.” The older woman smiled as she glided toward him, and he presumed that this must be Sarah’s mother, Lady Crawford.
She had the latest gossip. Armbruster was correct. Everyone knew.
He bowed. “Lady Crawford, I presume?”
She nodded, her eyes curious. She was a handsome woman and, in her youth, would have been a beauty of the first water. Blond hair swept away from her face, and a lithe figure was clothed in a very becoming blue gown.
“I have come to speak to Lady Sarah, if you don’t mind.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “Of course I don’t mind. She’s on her way down. In the meantime, I will ring for tea.”
“Oh, you don’t need to go to the trouble. I just wanted a few words with her.”
The smile slowly faded, and Jacob suddenly realized what this looked like. A newly minted, available earl calling on an available young miss on the spur of the moment.
He wanted to tell Lady Crawford that he was not here to court Lady Sarah, but then he realized something important. If they presumed he was here for romantic reasons they would be more willing to let him speak to Sarah.
So instead he smiled. “Tea would be nice. Thank you.”
Everything once again right with her presumption, she went about ordering the tea while Jacob tried to figure out how to get out of the mess he’d inadvertently created.
Lady Sarah appeared as the tea rolled in. She was a beautiful young woman, an exact replica of her mother, twenty years younger.
She approached him, her smile as warm as the tea was going to be.
Jacob bowed over her hand. “Forgive me for arriving unannounced.”
“All is forgiven,” she said. “Please, let’s sit.”
To Jacob’s relief, Lady Crawford took her tea to the other side of the room and let the two of them have some privacy.
After they were settled, and a sip of tea lay warm in his stomach, Jacob gathered his thoughts. “I’ve actually come to talk about Miss Charlotte Morris,” he said.
Sarah’s hand jerked, and she placed her full cup of tea in her saucer with a forceful clatter, making her mother look up with a slight frown.
Lady Sarah put her cup and saucer on the table and faced Jacob fully.
“What about Charlotte Morris?” Sarah asked in a low voice so her mother didn’t overhear.
Jacob scooted closer to the edge of his seat, closer to Sarah, but not close enough to cause concern. “I hear you two were good friends.”
“We are.”
Present tense. That was interesting.
“When was the last time you heard from her?” he asked.
“Why should I tell you?”
Protective, as well.
Jacob weighed the information he had, trying to decide what and how much to tell Sarah. The hell with it. He’d tell her what he knew and see where it went from there.
“Lady Morris paid me a visit.”
Sarah’s lips twisted in distaste.
“She asked me to locate Charlotte.”
Sarah’s gaze widened. “Locate? You mean she’s missing?”
Jacob hesitated. “She’s been missing for almost three weeks now.”
Sarah sat back, clearly stunned. Her fear-filled gaze met his. “What happened to her?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping you had some answers.”
Sarah shook her head, mute.
“Lady Morris seemed…”
“Harsh? Cruel? Unfeeling?”
“Stern. Rigid.”
Sarah twined her fingers together. Her knuckles were white. “You’re far nicer than I am regarding that witch.”
Jacob shot a glance at Lady Crawford, but she was intent with her needlework.
“You don’t hold a high esteem for Lady Morris?”
“She’s a miserable woman whose goal is to make everyone around her just as miserable.”
“Charlotte didn’t like living there?”
“Charlotte hated it.”
“Did Lady Morris abuse her?” Jacob found a hard kernel of anger at the thought of Charlotte being beaten.
“Maybe. Probably. Charlotte never said. But there were other things. She called Charlotte’s mother a whore and told Charlotte that she was a whore, too. She made Charlotte pray for hours on end, on her knees, on a rough floor. Sin to Lady Morris is worse than, well, there is nothing worse than sin in her eyes, and everything is sinful.”
Jacob absorbed this new information.
“She’s not a nice woman, my lord.”
“No. It doesn’t sound like it.”
“I’m not surprised Charlotte ran away.”
He looked at her sharply. “Do you think she ran away?”
“Well of course. What else… You don’t think…” Her eyes widened. “Do you think Lady Morris did something to her?”
He thought of the dead women but refrained from mentioning them. It was a delicate subject, not appropriate for mixed company. But more than that he didn’t want to worry Lady Sarah unnecessarily.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what happened to Charlotte.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “You said Lady Morris asked you to locate Charlotte. I’m assuming she’s paying you?”
“Yes. No. What I mean is that yes, she offered to pay me to find Charlotte, but I turned the offer down.”
Sarah grinned. “I’m sure she hated that. So, if you’re not being paid, why are you here asking about Charlotte?”
Jacob looked down into his empty teacup he was still holding and carefully put the cup and saucer on the table next to Sarah’s. “I don’t know. I’m intrigued by the whole thing. I’m curious about what might have happened to Charlotte. Where did she go? Where is she now?”
Sarah contemplated him for some time, as if she were weighing a decision. “Charlotte and I became friends when we were younger. Her father rented some acreage from my father. Just a little land to farm so he could feed himself and his daughter. Nothing much. He loved Charlotte to distraction. My mother had been friends with Charlotte’s mother when they were younger, and my mother checked on Mr. Morris and Charlotte occasionally. My mother tried her best to be a mother figure to Charlotte, but then Mr. Morris died, and Charlotte was forced to live with her terrible aunt. Lady Morris refused to let Charlotte visit us or us to visit Charlotte. We communicated through smuggled letters.”
“What could Lady Morris possibly have against your friendship? You obviously come from a well-off family.”
“Who knows? She never needed a reason for anything. Maybe she surmised that someone in my family committed some sort of sin.”
“When did you last hear from Charlotte?”
Sarah seemed to think about it. “Maybe a month ago. It’s not unusual for us to go weeks or a month without
communicating. It was difficult to get letters smuggled in. There was a maid in the Morris household that Charlotte could trust. Her name was Penny. But she disappeared around the last time I heard from Charlotte.”
“Disappeared?”
“As you can imagine, Lady Morris can be a difficult woman to work for.”
“I’m beginning to get that impression. After Penny left, your line of communication was cut off?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
They fell into silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Sarah poured more tea, but Jacob was beginning to realize that it wasn’t tea that was going to warm his insides. After hearing about Charlotte’s less-than-ideal life, he was chilled for other reasons.
“Do you think Miss Morris ran away?” Jacob asked.
“If she was smart she would have.”
“But she had nowhere to go, and I would think she had no money. Do you know where she could have gone?”
“No,” Lady Sara said with reluctance. “She has no one. But Charlotte is smart. She would have figured that all out. I’m just a bit miffed that she didn’t contact me.”
Lady Crawford coughed delicately, and Jacob realized by the very dim light coming through the windows that he’d overstayed his welcome.
“My apologies. It’s time for me to go. Lady Sarah. Lady Crawford.” He stood and bowed to Sarah, then to her mother. “Thank you for entertaining me this gloomy afternoon.”
“Our door is always open to you, Lord Ashland,” Sarah’s mother said.
Sarah turned her back to her mother and gave Jacob a sympathetic look as if saying what can I do?
Jacob smiled at her and headed to the front door where the butler was waiting with his coat and hat.
He said his goodbyes and stepped out into the chill, wet evening. The sun was already setting, causing him to shiver against the cold. He wondered if Charlotte was warm, wherever she was.
Chapter Six
When Charlotte’s rescuer had stepped into Sarah’s home Charlotte had felt her two worlds colliding. It was a cold, numb feeling, and she stood in the rain for the longest time in front of Sarah’s house, wondering what he was doing there.
She’d returned to her dismal room but had not been able to sleep. Why had he visited Sarah? Who was he?
By the morning she was convinced of two things: her rescuer’s presence at her best friend’s house was not a coincidence, and she must discover why he was there.
She waited for her moment and confronted Sarah while her friend was strolling through Hanover Square. To say Sarah was shocked to see Charlotte, especially dressed as she was, would be an understatement. But Charlotte had limited time before Sarah’s maid raised an alarm, so they spoke quickly and quietly.
“His name is Jacob Baker,” Sarah said. “He’s a solicitor. Your aunt tried to hire him to find you, but, smart man that he is, he wanted nothing to do with her. However, your story intrigued him, so he’s been doing a little investigating on his own and discovered our friendship.”
“You didn’t tell him anything, did you?” Charlotte asked as the panic built inside her. Her aunt was looking for her?
“I told him everything.”
But Charlotte knew that Sarah didn’t really tell this Jacob Baker everything. Because Sarah didn’t know the real story.
“He genuinely wants to help you,” Sarah said.
“He doesn’t even know me!” Charlotte had an overwhelming urge to flee, to run back to the rookery. To hide. Until now she hadn’t realized how safe she’d felt in one of the most unsafe places in the city. The mere anonymity of the rookery had saved her.
“I think you should go to him, Charlotte. I really feel you can trust him.”
Charlotte didn’t know who to trust, where to turn. What she did know was that while the rookery offered her protection, she couldn’t hide in there forever. She needed a plan. She needed help.
And Jacob Baker seemed to be the only person who wanted to help her. If Sarah was correct, Mr. Baker didn’t trust her aunt, and that was a plus for Charlotte.
So Charlotte found herself standing in front of his home—a stately, middle-class townhome—watching women promenade down the street in their fine gowns and fancy hats as she scratched a spot on her arm and shifted from one foot to the other.
Jacob Baker.
A solicitor.
She wasn’t exactly sure what a solicitor did, but thought it had something to do with the law.
Could he help her?
Should she trust Sarah?
She had been standing there for far longer than appropriate. Surely a neighbor would spy her and shoo her away. But something held her back.
What if Sarah was wrong? What if Jacob Baker couldn’t help her?
She needed to make a decision. Walk away or knock on the door? Walking away would put her right back where she was. Knocking on the door would give her some options, at least.
She climbed the narrow, well-tended stone steps and knocked. The door was answered by a stout woman with rosy cheeks, a small nose, and glittering blue eyes. Frazzled pieces of reddish hair stuck out from beneath a white cap.
The woman’s grin disappeared when she saw a bedraggled, filthy lad. She used the heavy door as a barrier, closing it enough that only her head stuck out.
“Go on, you,” she said. “We don’t give to beggars. Knocking on a respectable gentleman’s door like this. You should be ashamed. Get on.”
Surprised at the vehemence of the woman’s disgust, Charlotte took a step back. Her foot slipped off the step, and she windmilled her arms to catch her balance. She regained her footing and stood straight and tall, like her aunt had taught her to.
“I’m here to speak to Mr. Baker,” she said in as authoritative a voice as she could muster through her sudden fear. What if she couldn’t get past the door? What if Mr. Baker never knew she’d come looking for him?
“His lordship isn’t available for callers this late in the afternoon.”
His lordship?
Charlotte stumbled back to the next step. Sarah had never said anything about Jacob Baker having a title. The calling card Sarah had given Charlotte simply said Mr. Jacob Baker.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t…”
“Go on. Get out.” The short little lady flapped her hands at Charlotte.
The last of her courage fled. Charlotte turned and bolted down the steps as hot tears flooded her eyes.
Why, oh, why had she thought Jacob Baker would help her? She should have stayed in the rookery. She should have never followed Mr. Baker—Lord Baker—like a lovesick, silly little girl.
“Stop!”
The cry came from behind her, and she picked up her pace. If she were caught and reported to the constable she could spend the night in Newgate.
She was damned if she would be arrested now.
“Wait! Please!”
Her foot landed in a puddle, and cold water oozed through her ill-fitting shoe.
“I just want to talk to you.”
The voice was closer, gaining on her. Her heart pounded, and she could feel her legs slowing. Lack of food made her tired and lethargic. There was no way she could outrun whoever was behind her.
Defeated, she simply stopped and hung her head, gasping to drag in a lungful of air. There used to be a time when she could run and run and run and never get tired. When she’d been younger, living in the smog-free countryside with her papa.
The pounding footsteps drew closer, and she turned around to face her pursuer only to find that it was Jacob Baker himself.
He stopped, his chest heaving, dark whiskey-colored eyes assessing her. “I apologize for my housekeeper. She thinks she’s the dragon who guards the den. What do you need?”
Charlotte could hardly believe he was standing in front of her, talking to her. She could reach out and touch him if she wanted but remembered, just in time, that her fingers were dirty. All of her was dirty, and she was certain she reeked.
He had a nice voic
e. She recalled that now from when he’d saved her from the horse.
His brows drew together, and an adorable crease appeared between them. “Can I help you with anything?”
“I…” She had no idea how to start. What to say. Can I trust him?
“I’m Jacob Baker.”
She nodded, her throat closing up, the words stuck.
“Let’s go back to the house,” he said. “You look hungry.”
Her stomach turned over at the mention of food.
He tilted his head in the direction of his home. “We can talk where it’s warm.”
His voice was enticing, as warm as the house would be. His eyes were inviting, open, and sincere. She now knew why Sarah told her to trust this man, but should she? What if both she and Sarah were wrong?
In the end she knew she had no choice. Right now Jacob Baker was the only hope she had.
They walked side by side. He kept pace with her, but they didn’t speak.
Her mind whirled as her stomach churned in apprehension. She had no idea what to say to him. She’d not really thought about what words she would use.
Was she making a mistake? Sarah didn’t know the whole story. No one really knew the whole story, and Charlotte wasn’t sure if she could even tell it.
He opened the door for her, stepping back to let her walk in first. She hesitated, peering into the darkness of the entryway, looking for… She didn’t know what she was looking for.
Her aunt lurking in the shadows, ready to drag her back into that life.
“There’s no one in here except Mrs. Smith, my housekeeper.”
“She didn’t seem to want me here,” Charlotte said.
He appeared surprised when she spoke, and she wondered if maybe he thought her mute. Then she realized that he probably thought her an uneducated lad, and her voice revealed the opposite.
“She’ll be fine,” he said. “No need to worry about her.”
He stood there patiently, letting the warmth of the house seep into the chilled outdoors while she tried to decide if she wanted to go in. It didn’t seem to matter to Mr. Baker that she was taking a long time making a decision.
What did she have to lose? Maybe he could help her, and if he couldn’t she wouldn’t be any worse off than she was before.
An Unwilling Earl Page 4
