CHAPTER 7
Afternoon was fading to dusk by the time the horses slowed to a halt in the main courtyard of the manor house.
Claiming exhaustion, Cordelia had chosen to be let out at the Dower House, and Charlotte made no effort to discourage the decision.
Given the recent events—a wedding and a murder within the space of twenty-four hours—her friend was no doubt craving some solitude in which to come to grips with the momentous changes in her life.
Charlotte, too, was feeling unsettled by the revelations from Milton’s friends and wanted nothing more than to retire to her workroom and be alone with her thoughts.
Though a pot of tea would be welcome company.
She repressed a wince as she climbed down from the carriage. It would offer comfort rather than raise any uncomfortable questions. Enough of those were already whirling around in her head.
Their country majordomo threw open the front door as she approached. “Welcome home, milady.” Something in his voice immediately stirred a frisson of alarm. “You have a visitor. Lady Peake placed him in the main drawing room to await your return.”
Charlotte untied her bonnet and shrugged out of her shawl. “Who is it?” she asked, handing over the garments.
“Mister George Belmont, milady.”
Peregrine’s guardian.
“He’s been served refreshments—”
The rest of his words were swallowed by the helter-pelter scuff of her shoes as she sprinted for the stairs.
Belmont rose as she rushed into the room.
“Y-You bring bad news about Peregrine?” she asked, her heart clenching in dread.
He blew out his breath. “Alas, the very worst news . . .”
The room suddenly began to sway. Charlotte braced her hands on the back of an armchair to keep herself upright.
“Oh, forgive me, Lady Wrexford! I did not mean—that is, the lad is quite fine in all regards.” A cough. “Save for his educational future. You see, he’s been expelled from Eton.”
Charlotte took a moment to steady her emotions, which required suppressing the urge to laugh once his words sunk in. “I’m greatly relieved to hear that Peregrine has suffered no harm.”
She gestured for him to resume his seat and moved to take the chair facing his. “Now kindly explain the terrible transgression that resulted in such an extreme punishment.”
Belmont made a pained face—or perhaps he, too, was trying to mask his inner emotions. “He set off a stink bomb during the College Headmaster’s Sabbath Day address to the students.”
“Ah.” Her lips quivered in mirth. “I’m sorry,” she added. “I realize it’s not amusing, but . . .”
Belmont cracked a smile. “I know. As his guardian, I should be shocked and furious. And out of a sense of duty, I did appeal to the provost of Eton for a second chance, as it was clearly a youthful prank. But Lord Fenway is very strict in his notions of right and wrong. He absolutely refused to consider it.”
He shrugged. “But the poor lad was so deucedly unhappy there that a part of me is glad that the ordeal is over. However . . . I’m not quite sure what to do.”
“Well, let us discuss the options,” said Charlotte, trying not to let her hopes rise.
“Peregrine insists that he would be welcome to return to your household and be tutored privately along with your two wards. However, it rubs my conscience wrong to slough off my familial responsibilities on you and your husband . . . assuming that you would even consider the arrangement.”
“Mr. Belmont—”
“Wait—please hear me out.”
She gestured for him to continue.
“That said, I face a dilemma. My diplomatic duties demand that I travel to the Peace Conference in Vienna, and it is expected that I will be gone until next spring. My wife just had our first child, and as her health is still rather frail, it has been deemed unwise for her and our newborn to accompany me, so they will be staying with my mother.”
Who detests Peregrine, thought Charlotte.
The boy’s father—the elder brother of Belmont’s father—had inherited the family earldom, and then had married late in life.
The birth of a son had snatched away the fortune and title that Belmont’s parents had taken for granted would be passed to them.
Their resentment was exacerbated by the fact that Peregrine’s mother was of African descent. They thought . . .
Be damned with what they thought.
“There is no dilemma,” interjected Charlotte. “On no account can Peregrine be made to stay with your mother. It would be cruel—to both of them.”
“I know that,” he mumbled.
“Then it’s settled. Peregrine will have a home here.”
“Lord Wrexford will, of course, need to be consulted—” began Belmont.
“There is no need for that,” she said. “Be assured that I know my husband’s feelings on the matter.”
He blew out a sigh of relief. “I don’t know how to repay your kindness, milady.”
“As to that . . .” Charlotte’s expression turned grave.
“There is an important issue that needs to be addressed in order to do the right thing for Peregrine, not just for now but for the future. It’s unfair to treat him like a shuttlecock, batting him back and forth between families whenever the situation changes. ”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That you pass legal guardianship of Peregrine to Wrexford and me. It will ensure that he has a stable home, both materially and emotionally. For us to serve merely as custodians is not ideal, as it would force us to walk on eggshells when making decisions about his well-being. You must trust us to have his best interests at heart.”
Belmont didn’t rush to reply. She appreciated that he appeared to be giving the decision careful thought.
“There is another consideration as well, one that is awkward to raise but must be taken into consideration,” continued Charlotte.
“That you have been a good guardian to your cousin despite the tug of conflicting loyalties is a testament to your integrity, sir. But life is uncertain. If anything were to happen to you, your mother would likely become Peregrine’s guardian.
Surely that should be avoided at all costs. ”
“You truly are willing to accept those responsibilities for someone who is not your own flesh and blood?”
“Ours is an unconventional family, sir. What binds us together is love.”
“Perhaps that’s an even more reliable bond than blood,” murmured Belmont. He smiled. “Then if you are truly sure, I am happy to agree to your suggestion, Lady Wrexford.”
“Excellent. Given your travel plans, we will make sure to return to London in several days so that you and my husband can arrange all the legalities before you leave for Vienna.”
Belmont rose and inclined a bow. “I will bid Peregrine adieu for now and then take my leave—”
“But it’s growing dark, sir. You are most welcome to stay with us for the night.”
“Thank you, but I am anxious to return to London as quickly as possible, so I made arrangements at the inn in Royston, which will save me several hours.”
“As you wish,” replied Charlotte. “Come, I’ll take you to the boys and then have our cook prepare a cold collation for the road.”
Once the farewells were made—a happy occasion, with the dowager adding her heartfelt thanks to the exuberant shouts of joy from the Weasels and Peregrine—and Belmont dispatched with good wishes and a hamper full of delicacies, Charlotte was quick to retreat to her workroom.
Savoring the stillness after all the emotional turmoil of the day, she moved to the bank of mullioned windows overlooking the back lawns and faraway woods.
The symphony of summer sounds had turned more muted as the fast-approaching autumn brought a coolness to the evenings.
Ivy rustled against the glass. Just beyond the gardens, a breeze ruffled through a stand of rowan trees, the moonlight catching flickers of its deep red foliage.
Her breath misted the glass as she reflected on this new death that had disrupted the lives of her family and dear friends.
Murder was so much more than a single act of violence.
Like a terrifying kraken from seafaring legends, it flung out its tentacles and dragged one into a dark maze fraught with unseen twists and turns . . .
A knock drew Charlotte back from her brooding.
Alison entered, carrying a bottle of champagne and two crystal coupes. “I thought a celebration was in order.” She nudged the door closed behind her, and then came to a halt as she caught Charlotte’s expression. “But perhaps I should have brought whisky instead.”
Charlotte forced a smile. “You are right to remind me that darkness should never be allowed to overshadow the special moments of joy.”
“I’m sorry that you had such a difficult day. It is never easy to be the messenger of death,” said the dowager after setting down the wine and glassware. “I imagine that Milton’s friends were devastated by news of his tragic accident.”
Secrets and subterfuge. Disheartened by the thrust-and-parry meeting with the scientific society members, Charlotte suddenly couldn’t stomach playing such games with her loved ones for a moment longer.
“We have not been entirely forthcoming with you,” she confessed. “The magistrate and the coroner gave us reason to believe that Milton’s death was no accident.”
Alison’s brows rose a notch. “And you feared that I would draw my blade and rush willy-nilly into the fray?”
“The thought occurred to me,” she said dryly.
“Hmmph.” But the snort held no real bite. “As a matter of fact, I did bring my sword cane—with our family, one never knows when trouble may strike. But I did promise you and Wrex that I wouldn’t draw it without your permission, so I’m quite insulted.”