Chapter 26
The study table was no longer orderly. Letters lay open across its surface, ledgers half-unfurled, notes scrawled in Christopher’s blunt hand.
The fire had burned low without either of them noticing.
Edward stood at the head of the desk with one palm braced against the wood as Christopher finished speaking.
“I spoke with two men from the village near Hawthorne Hollow,” Christopher said quietly. “They remembered Armitage being there the week of the crash. Drinking. Asking questions. Flashing coin.”
Edward’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained even. “That proves nothing.”
“No,” Christopher agreed. “But this might.”
He slid a folded sheet across the desk. Edward unfolded it slowly.
It was a copied ledger entry—a payment made under a pseudonym Christopher had already confirmed William used when gambling outside London. The sum was substantial. Unreasonably so. And dated three days after the Westbrook carriage overturned.
“Local men?” Edward asked.
Christopher nodded grimly. “Men with reputations for settling matters quietly.”
The room seemed to constrict around them.
“And Thomas?” Edward asked flatly.
Christopher hesitated just long enough to answer the question without speaking. “There are rumors,” he said suggestively, “that your brother extended William credit in the past. Small sums at first. Later, larger ones. Nothing proven. But enough to suggest familiarity.”
Edward straightened slowly, every muscle locking into place. “My brother was not a criminal.”
“I did not say he was.”
“Then do not imply it.”
Christopher held his gaze steadily. “I imply only that William attaches himself to weakness.”
Silence settled heavily between them. Edward looked down at the ledger again, the date burning into his vision.
Three days after the crash.
“If this is true …” Christopher began.
Edward cut him off. “If this is true, then William paid someone immediately after the Westbrooks died.”
The implication settled like ash.
The door opened without warning. Both men turned sharply.
Charlotte stood in the threshold, pale but composed, her eyes moving between them. She had heard enough to understand the tone, if not the entirety.
“How much of that,” she asked quietly, “was I not meant to hear?”
Something tightened painfully beneath Edward’s ribs. “Charlotte—”
“How much?” she repeated.
Christopher stepped back at once, instinctively granting her space. Edward came around the desk but stopped short of reaching for her.
“We have found irregularities,” he said cautiously.
Her eyes flashed. “I heard enough.”
She stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind her. “What did he do? Do not soften it.”
Edward did not raise his voice. “There is a ledger entry. A large payment made to men in Hawthorne Hollow shortly after your parents’ carriage overturned. Witnesses place William in the area that same week.”
The words seemed to strike her physically, and her spine stiffened.
“He said he was investigating,” she said bitterly. “Investigating.”
“He may have been,” Christopher said quietly. “From the inside.”
Charlotte turned on him with unfiltered fury. “So he paid them? Paid men to sabotage my parents’ carriage? To frighten them? To extort them?”
“We do not know that,” Edward said sharply. “Not yet.”
She looked at him then—not wounded, not weeping, but blazing.
“You already believed it,” she said. “You would not have sent Lord Christopher if you did not.”
Edward met her gaze and did not lie. “Yes.”
The admission fell heavily between them.
“And Thomas?” she asked.
“There are rumors of prior dealings,” Edward replied. “Nothing more.”
“Rumors are enough to stain a reputation forever.”
He could not argue that.
Christopher cleared his throat. “We are close to something, Miss Fenton. But not close enough.”
She folded her arms tightly across herself, as though holding her composure in place. “You should have told me,” she said to Edward.
“You had just collapsed.”
“That does not make me fragile.”
“No,” he answered evenly. “It makes you human.”
The tension in the room sharpened. No one moved.
“We leave for Lady Amelia’s gathering within the hour,” Edward said at last. “We will not allow William to think we are shaken.”
She gave a short, humorless laugh. “I am not shaken.”
Edward almost believed her.
Christopher began gathering the papers. “I will depart ahead of you and continue inquiries while you endure polite society.”
Edward nodded. Christopher paused beside Charlotte. “We will not let this disappear.”
“Do not,” she replied steadily.
When he left, the door closed with quiet finality. Edward and Charlotte remained on opposite sides of the desk, distance stretching between them like something deliberate and necessary.
“You need not attend if you do not wish to,” he said.
Her chin lifted. “I will attend.”
“This will not be simple.”
“Nothing has been simple,” she replied.
He studied her. The anger did not diminish her. It made her formidable.
“We require proof,” he said. “If we move too quickly, he will vanish. And we will be left with nothing.”
After a long moment, she nodded. “I understand.”
“You will not confront him alone,” Edward added quietly.
“I was not planning to.”
“Good.”
Silence lingered again, thick with everything unsaid.
“Do you believe he killed them?” she asked finally, her voice lower now.
Edward did not answer immediately. “I believe he is capable of destroying lives to protect himself.”
That was enough.
She turned toward the door. “I will be ready shortly.”
“Charlotte.”
She paused but did not turn.
“I will find the truth,” he said. “Whatever it costs.”
She faced him then. “And if the truth condemns your family?”
The question struck deep, but he did not waver. “Then it condemns them.”
Something shifted in her expression—not softened, but steadied.
“Very well.”
She left without another word.
Edward remained where he stood, the study suddenly too still. He had promised protection, but protection was no longer sufficient. This was not merely about guarding her from scandal or danger.
It was about justice.
And if William had engineered the death of the Westbrooks, Edward would not rest until he buried him in truth.
Outside, carriage wheels began to ready for action.
Inside, something in Edward had hardened beyond return.
***
The evening had the air of something already spoiled before it began.
Lady Amelia’s drawing room glowed with too many candles and too much laughter, the scent of perfume thick enough to suffocate.
Edward struggled through it as though wading through water, answering polite inquiries, nodding at half-heard commentary, offering the required smile without ever feeling it.
Lady Amelia remained at his side with determined doggedness.
If he paused, she paused.
If he turned, she turned.
If another gentleman attempted to claim his attention, she reclaimed it before the conversation could root.
“You must tell me,” she was saying lightly, her fan moving in calculated rhythm, “how Ashford fares in winter. I imagine it must feel terribly isolated.”
“It suits us,” Edward replied evenly.
“Us,” she repeated, her eyes flickering. “You and Julian.”
He did not miss the omission.
A footman approached with a tray of champagne, and in that brief interaction, Lady Amelia was drawn away by a pair of eager matrons.
Edward exhaled.
“You look as though you have been reprieved from something tedious.”
The voice came from behind him—calm, wry.
Edward turned to find Lady Victoria studying him with thoughtful composure, her expression perceptive rather than amused.
“I had not realized I appeared so obvious,” he said.
“To me? Almost painfully so.” Her gaze drifted toward the far side of the room. “And I find I am still capable of seeing what others pretend not to.”
Edward followed her line of sight before he could stop himself.
Charlotte stood near the far wall earlier, composed as ever, Julian at her side. Then she had been drawn into conversation by a cluster of ladies who wore civility like lacquer. He had not liked the way they circled her.
Lady Victoria did not miss it. “Society notices where a gentleman’s attention rests,” she said quietly. “Even when he believes it does not.”
“I hope I have offered no discourtesy,” Edward replied.
“You have offered none, she said at once. “That is precisely the difficulty.”
He held her gaze, steady. “I would not wish to mislead anyone.”
“I did not take you for a man who would,” she answered. Her tone softened. “Nor would I wish you to feel obliged where your heart is not engaged.”
The words landed cleanly, without accusation. Edward felt the instinctive urge to deny it. He did not.
“There are responsibilities attached to a name,” he said instead.
“There always are,” she agreed. “But there is little profit in binding oneself where affection cannot follow. If your heart belongs elsewhere, I would rather know it without spectacle.”
He inclined his head. “You are gracious.”
“I am practical,” she corrected gently. “Do not apologize. That would insult us both.”
Something in him eased, though he would not have named it relief. “You have my respect,” he said.
“And you have mine.”
She withdrew with quiet dignity, leaving him alone with the hum of the room and the echo of her words.
If your heart belongs elsewhere.
He told himself it did not. That such thoughts were indulgent. That this evening required composure.
Lady Amelia returned to his side with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “You vanished,” she said lightly.
“Only briefly.”
Edward’s gaze switched again, unbidden. Charlotte was no longer near the wall.
He did not like that.
A movement beyond the tall windows caught his attention.
The gardens lay dim beyond the glass, lanterns casting long, uncertain shadows across the gravel paths. For a fleeting second, he thought he saw a familiar figure near the hedgerow—tall, dark coat, posture too relaxed for coincidence.
Liam.
The impression vanished as quickly as it came.
Edward’s chest tightened.
“Forgive me,” he murmured to Lady Amelia before she could anchor him again.
She attempted a protest—light, teasing—but he was already stepping away.
He found Christopher near the card tables, expression tight.
“Have you seen him?” Edward asked quietly.
Christopher gave the slightest nod. “I believe so.”
“Where?”
“Near the west garden path. And Charlotte was not in the house.”
A cold line of dread slid down Edward’s spine.
Christopher’s voice lowered. “Find her. And tell her to be cautious. I do not trust this.”
Before Edward could respond, the first notes of music drifted through the open windows.
A quartet. Violin strings rising in practiced harmony.
Lady Amelia’s voice rang out over the hum of conversation. “Come, everyone! The air is far too stale indoors. We shall take our refreshments to the gardens.”
There was a ripple of approval. Laughter. The scrape of chairs against polished floors.
Edward moved with the others, though his attention was nowhere near the pleasantries. He scanned faces. Silhouettes. The dim spaces between lantern light and shadow.
The garden opened before them in soft gold and flickering darkness. Silk rustled against gravel. Glass chimed. The quartet’s music drifted faintly from beneath the trees.
Then the scream came.
High. Piercing. Perfectly timed.