by C. J. Archer
"Go on."
"I think it's a man. The hand is neat but sharp. There are no feminine loops or flourishes."
"Almost too sharp." He leaned forward and pointed to the capital letters. All had small but noticeable ink blotches. "It's as if the writer thought for a moment after putting pen to paper, but before writing. As if they were consciously altering the style and shape of their letters."
I saw it now too. "So that doesn't eliminate a female writer."
"Perhaps not. It does indicate that the author is attempting to hide their identity. Because he knows we'll recognize his hand?" He moved his chair alongside mine and leaned in to read. It took me a moment to gather my scattered wits together and concentrate.
"The sentence formation isn't feminine," I said. "It's quite abrupt, and to the point."
"Yes."
"That probably rules out Lady Harcourt, after all."
"And leaves in all the men." He stretched out his legs and rubbed his forehead.
"You're tired," I said.
"Frustrated with the investigation and this arrangement…it can't go on."
"Do you mean us both living here?" I hadn't thought it too terrible of late, but that could have been because we were both preoccupied and busy.
"No, I meant you having to remain inside. You should be out shopping, riding, and doing things young women do at this time of year."
"It hasn't been so bad, but thank you for the consideration. I think Dr. Fawkner has it much worse."
"He deserves it."
"We can't keep him forever. And we must consider the supernaturals too. It's almost Christmas and they'll want to be home."
He drew in his legs and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his head bowed. His hair hung loose around his face, the dark twists obscuring his eyes. I ached to touch his shoulder to offer some comfort.
That thought shocked me to the core. When had I gone from hating him to caring? I didn't want to care. I didn't want to forgive. I didn't want to be at the mercy of his whims again.
I stood and looked away, but my heart remained heavy. "You know there's an easy solution. One that will draw the killer out."
"No, Charlie," he said with quiet conviction. "That is not a solution."
"It is. It's the only one we have."
He got to his feet. "I said no."
I lifted my chin and couldn't help the smile that stretched my lips. "You are no longer the leader. You can't order me about." I had him now.
He opened his mouth and shut it again. He seemed to be warring with himself. I wondered if he wanted to remind me that he could lock me in my room, or that he owned the house and was therefore still master here, but decided those were unwise words considering our history.
"You don't play fair," was all he said.
I laughed. "Says the man who wrote the book on devious play."
The corner of his mouth lifted. He took a step toward me so I quickly retreated to the door and opened it. He wouldn't attempt anything foolish where others could see.
I was wrong. He caught up to me in the corridor and hooked me by the waist. His ragged breathing warmed my forehead, and his hand braced against my hip. He lifted the other hand to my face and gently stroked his thumb across my cheek. He tracked its path with his dark, heated gaze.
The exquisite touch thrilled me, yet pained me at the same time. I wanted more of it, yet I wanted to shove him away from me. I wanted to wallow in his embrace, but I wanted to shout at him too. What was wrong with me? Why was I so conflicted? The choice should have been easy. Mere days ago, when he'd come for me at Inglemere, it had been easy. I'd been determined never to forgive him.
And now here I was, allowing him to tear my self-control to shreds and make a mess of my convictions.
He leaned in and I closed my eyes. He did not kiss me, however, but rested his forehead against mine. "Charlie," he whispered.
With enormous effort, I drew away from him, out of his reach. I forced myself to hold his gaze, but it wasn't easy with the confusion I saw there. I hated seeing him like that.
"You can't keep doing this, Lincoln," I said. "You can't keep changing your mind. You want me, then you don't want me, now you want me again. It's hell on my nerves."
"I never stopped wanting you. Never." He leaned back against the doorframe and dragged both hands through his hair. "But I convinced myself that I was better off without you, and that I was strong enough to push my feelings aside." He folded his arms high up on his chest, and tucked his hands away. "I was wrong."
I swallowed but the lump in my throat didn't move.
"Is there any chance…will you ever forgive me?" he murmured.
"I…I don't know. I think so, but it's not truly a matter of forgiving you. Not anymore. You see, I came to realize something while we were apart. It's not just that you sent me away, it's that I allowed you to do it."
"I don't understand."
"I allowed myself to be manipulated, and allowed you to make decisions about my fate. I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point during our courtship, I stopped being me. I don't want to lose myself, Lincoln. Nor do I want to be at your mercy again, or anyone else's."
"You won't be. The cottage will see that you always have somewhere to go. You had no choices before, now you do."
"Perhaps. I don't know. I haven't had time to think it through."
"Take as much time as you need. I'll be here."
I tried to smile but it felt flat. I walked away, but it wasn't easy. Every piece of my heart wanted to turn around and throw myself into his arms. But my head told me to keep walking, to not give in to whims, or I'd regret it.
I was no longer sure which part of me should rule.
Lady Vickers cleared her throat, startling me. "Oh," I said. "I didn't see you." I glanced back along the corridor, catching Lincoln watching. He stepped back into his rooms. "How long have you been there?"
"Long enough to see you two," she said. "Don't worry, I couldn't hear anything. But I have eyes. I know what's what."
I sighed. "Please, I'm not up to a lecture right now."
"That's unfortunate, because you need one."
I got the feeling there would be no escaping her. I suddenly had immense sympathy for Seth. "Will it take long?"
She scowled. "Enough of your lip, young lady."
I laughed, in spite of my mood. "You think that's lip? You ought to come with me to visit my old haunts. You'll see and hear things that would make your hair curl."
Her lips turned white and her nostrils flared. If she stamped her foot, she'd resemble a bull preparing to charge. "As the senior woman of the house, and someone who has experienced love, loss and everything in between, I thought to offer you some advice."
"I don't want any advice," I said walking off.
"That's too bad, because I'm giving it to you regardless." She trailed after me down the stairs. If I went to the kitchen, would she follow?
I headed to the sitting room instead where Seth and Gus sat, quietly talking. Lady Vickers wouldn't dare upbraid me in front of her son and one of the servants.
Once again, I was wrong. "How long are you going to punish him for sending you away?" At least she didn't waste time skirting the point.
"I'm not punishing him," I said breezily, sitting on the sofa. Both Gus and Seth gave us their full attention. It would seem they were as interested in my answers as Lady Vickers.
"Aren't you?" she said mildly.
"He did a heinous thing, Mother," Seth said before I could respond. "He took Charlie away from her home."
"Aye," Gus chimed in. "She'd been livin' on the streets for years, with no home, no one to care for her, and just when she gets settled here, he sends her off."
"I know her history," Lady Vickers said crisply.
I looked from one to the other, my heart in my throat, tears in my eyes. I ought to stop them, and remind them that I was right here, but I couldn't.
"You know it, but you don't tru
ly know it, Mother," Seth went on. "Let me explain. Charlie was only a little girl when her father banished her. Girls are supposed to trust their fathers. It's the one person a girl should know is on her side, and Holloway wasn't. He pushed her off the end of the pier and she had to swim or drown. She swam, but only just. Then she comes here, and just as she begins to hope that she could once again have a home and is surrounded by people she can trust, Fitzroy does exactly the same thing as her father did. He took away her home, her family, and dropped her off the end of the pier." He shook his head. "He ought to be punished."
"I'm not punishing him!" I swiped my damp cheeks and stood.
Lady Vickers caught my hand, but I wrenched free and ran out of the room. I halted in the doorway. Lincoln stood there, his eyes huge black pits surrounded by deep shadows. He stared at me, unblinking, not breathing, his hands fisted at his sides. He'd heard everything.
"I didn't get to finish," Lady Vickers announced, joining me.
"I don't want to hear it!" I snapped.
"Very well." She cleared her throat. "This letter came for you. That's why I was looking for you, but then I saw…." She handed me the letter then returned to the sitting room.
Lincoln didn't move. He seemed to be waiting for me to do or say something first. I couldn't think what. I'd said everything I needed to say already.
I opened the letter because I could no longer bear to look at his haunted eyes. I drew in a steadying breath, but my hands still shook as I read. It was from Alice, and she had news. Dreadful news.
Chapter 17
Lincoln strode to my side, but didn't get too close. "What is it? What's happened?"
"Alice's dream came to life again." I showed him the letter. It was brief, only a paragraph long, but it told me everything I needed to know. Alice's parents refused to keep paying for her place at the School for Wayward Girls, and had forbidden her to return home. They'd disowned her and Mrs. Denk had given her until Christmas to leave. That very night, Alice's dream had come to life again. This time, two fat twins visited the school looking for her, both of them bumbling fools, according to Alice. She'd met them often in her dreams. Two portly idiots were better than an army, but Mrs. Denk became cross and ordered them to leave. Apparently the men wouldn't listen to her. I wondered if she marched them down to the dungeon to teach them a lesson.
"Alice will come here," Lincoln said, handing the letter back to me. "Write to her today and send her some money for the journey."
I nodded through my tears. Why was I still crying? I was happy to be seeing her again, yet I couldn't stop. "Thank you, Lincoln."'
"Don't thank me." He walked away and did not look back.
"What is it?" Seth asked, joining me.
I showed him the letter. "Alice is coming to stay."
He laughed as he read. "I hope we get to experience these dreams of hers. Her fat twins will get along superbly with Gus and Cook."
"Hopefully a safe environment will put an end to that."
"How safe is it here at the moment?" He put his arm around my shoulders. "Let's go see Cook. You look like you could do with a slice of one of his cakes."
The evening at the Overtons began well enough. Miss Overton stuck to her mother's side so I simply avoided them both during the pre-dinner drinks in the drawing room. Lincoln managed to slip out of their trap, too, thanks largely to Lady Vickers accosting Mrs. Overton. Catching one Overton inevitably led to the capture of the other.
"Two birds, one stone," Seth muttered in my ear. "But my mother needs to think again if she's setting her sights on that girl for me."
"She might be quite lovely, when she's separated from her mother's skirts," I said.
"How will we ever know? I prefer a girl with a mind of her own."
"Like Miss Yardly?" I nodded at the buxom woman giggling at something Andrew Buchanan had said. I'd been prepared to like her for her spirit until I saw her fawning over him. He was a cad and not very good at hiding the fact. Clearly she had poor taste.
"Not like Miss Yardly." Seth turned his back on the couple and gazed over my head at the rest of the party. There were twenty, mostly young and eligible, the girls with their chaperones, of course. It would seem Mrs. Overton had matchmaking in mind.
So did Lady Vickers. The two of them put their heads together and nodded at various members of the party as they talked. I suspected they were pairing us up in some sort of game.
"Vickers," declared a gentleman, clapping Seth on the back. "Good to see you again. It's been a while."
Seth shook the man's hand. "A long while. I thought you'd left London."
The man grinned. He had straight, white teeth that dazzled against his tanned skin. His hair was as fair as Seth's and he was just as tall. If it wasn't for the three scars on his cheek, he'd have been very handsome.
"I did." He pointed to his scars. "Been in Africa."
"What creature did that?"
He threw his shoulders back, pushing out his chest. "Lion."
"Bloody hell." Seth drew me over. "Charlie, this is my old school friend, Mr. Martin Seacombe. Seacombe, this is Miss Charlotte Holloway, my mother's companion."
Mr. Seacombe did the oddest thing. He held out his hand for me to shake. Most men bowed or kissed women's hands, but he did not. I shook it with a firm grip.
His face pinked and he quickly removed his hand. "Sorry. I've been away so long I've forgotten how to behave around gentler company."
"Don't be sorry," I said.
"Don't worry," Seth said with a grin. "Charlie's not at all gentle." He nudged me with his elbow. I wanted to kick him.
Lincoln joined our party and Seth introduced him then asked Seacombe about his travels. He regaled us with the story of how the lion he'd been hunting outsmarted him and hunted him instead.
"He won the battle," Seacombe said with a grin that made his scars pucker. "But I won the war."
We three stared at him. "You killed the lion?" Seth asked.
Seacombe puffed out his chest. "I did."
"Oh."
"The skin and head make an impressive rug on my library floor, as long as you watch your step." He laughed. "What's wrong, Vickers? Lion got your tongue?" He snorted.
"I suppose I don't see the appeal of killing animals for no particular reason."
"That's because you've never experienced the thrill of the chase. It makes you feel alive. When it's a matter of kill or be killed, everything becomes so much clearer." He clapped Seth on the shoulder again. "Wouldn't expect you to understand. You've never been to Africa."
"I have," Lincoln said, sounding bored.
Seacombe gave him an appreciative look. "Shoot anything?"
"Yes."
"Lion? Elephant?"
"Englishman."
Seacombe lowered his glass. Some of the contents tipped onto the floor.
"He talked a lot," Lincoln went on. His face was as hard and blank as ever, but I knew he was mocking the fellow. "I found it annoying." He strolled away only to be hailed by Andrew Buchanan.
"Odd company you keep these days, Vickers," Seacombe muttered into his glass, his gaze following Lincoln.
"Not as odd as it used to be," Seth replied.
The dinner gong sounded and I silently thanked the staff for their excellent timing, freeing me from any more of Seacombe's banal chat. Or so I thought.
I ended up sitting next to him. Lady Vickers bent to my level as I sat. "I asked Mrs. Overton to put you beside Seacombe," she whispered. "I saw you two talking and I knew instantly that you ought to be seated together."
"I don't like him," I whispered back.
"Oh, I don't expect you to. He's an arrogant peacock. No, I sat you next to him to make Fitzroy jealous." She tapper my shoulder with her closed fan. "No need to thank me."
"So you're old Lady Vickers' companion, eh?" Seacombe said to me. "Quite an entertaining woman, that one. Careful you don't follow in her footsteps, though." He laughed. "Wouldn't want to find yourself the object of scan
dal and gossip."
"Mr. Seacombe, how much do you know about me?"
"I know your name."
I smiled and lifted my glass in a toast. "To scandal and gossip, then."
He shrugged and toasted too. "Tell me about yourself. What's your story? How did you get to become Lady Vickers' companion?"
"My mother died, my father disowned me, and I lived in the slums for five years until Mr. Fitzroy kidnapped me. Seth was already working for him, so when his mother returned to England, she came to live with us." I thanked the footman for placing my soup in front of me.
"Well then," Seacombe said with a sniff, "if you don't want to tell me, you only had to say. No need for sarcasm." He presented me with his back and fell into conversation with the woman on his other side.
The question came up again, however. Mrs. Overton, sitting all the way down at the other end of the table, called for silence to ask me. "Who are your parents, child?"
"They're dead." My blunt answer caused Lady Vickers to cough into her napkin, but it didn't put off Mrs. Overton.
"When did they die?"
I decided to tell her about my adopted parents, not my real ones. That real story was too complicated to go into. "My father only a few weeks ago, and my mother when I was thirteen."
She frowned. "Only a few weeks ago? But you've been at Lichfield Towers for months, have you not?"
"I have."
"Why not with your father?"
"Because he threw me out of the house when my mother died."
The collective intake of breath made the ensuing silence seem even louder.
"It's a complicated situation," Lady Vickers said, giving me a hard glare.
"But where did you live before Lichfield and after your father threw you out?"
"Here and there," I said.
"Where?"
"She was passed around between family and friends," Lady Vickers said quickly. "No one you know. All reputable people, of course, but not like us."
"In London?" Mrs. Overton asked.
"Yes," I said at the same time that Lady Vickers said, "No."
"Well, if they're in London, perhaps I have heard of them. Where do they live, these family and friends?"
