CHAPTER 7 #2
“Hear me out before giving me a tongue lashing,” said Charlotte.
“Cordelia felt compelled to begin probing into who might have wished her childhood friend ill by speaking this morning with Milton’s fellow scientific society members, who happen to be gathered at the University of Cambridge for a series of lectures,” replied Charlotte.
“It seemed to me that she was harried enough with all the sudden changes in her life without having her dear friends asking questions and demanding to help.”
The sound of boyish laughter floated in from the corridor.
“If I erred on the side of caution, I apologize,” she continued. “That is why Baz joined Wrex and Kit and Cordelia’s brother in going to confirm the coroner’s verdict of murder. But he doesn’t expect there to be any error—he trained the fellow.”
The dowager dropped any pretense of being offended.
“What a tragedy. The unexpected death of a friend is unspeakably shocking, even more so when it’s because of foul play.
” Her mouth pinched in sorrow. “After all the Sturm und Drang of her courtship, Cordelia deserved a modicum of peace and quiet in which to begin her married life.”
“Peace and quiet.” Charlotte heaved a rueful sigh. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
Alison chuckled. “Now that you have officially added a third Weasel to your household, you had better surrender any thoughts of peace and quiet for the foreseeable future.”
“It is a bargain I won’t ever regret making.”
“Ha, be careful what you wish for!” teased Alison.
Her expression turned wistful. “At least boys are easier than girls. A surrogate daughter would be a joy . . . but raising her would be far more fraught with worries. Given all the strictures of Society, there are so many more perils for a girl to navigate.”
“Indeed.” Recalling her own youthful rebellions, Charlotte felt a little faint. “Lud, I made life an absolute hell for my parents.”
“I have no doubt that you and Wrex would keep a steady hand on the tiller and sail through the rough waters and occasional squalls with flying colors.”
Charlotte wasn’t so certain. All of her natural inclinations were diametrically opposed to what was considered proper feminine behavior by the beau monde. How could she ever stoop to mouthing hypocrisies?
She shook off the question, relieved that it was merely hypothetical.
“Unfortunately, our meeting with the members of the Revolutions-Per-Minute Society offered no easy answers as to a motive for the crime,” continued Charlotte. She told Alison about Wheeler’s revelation.
“A quarrel, especially one only partially overheard, does not mean the angry party is a murderer,” pointed out the dowager.
“True,” agreed Charlotte. “I also had the distinct impression that Milton’s two other fellow society members were not entirely forthcoming with us about who might have wished him dead. I can’t help but wonder why.”
“You suspect one of them might be the murderer?”
“For now, I wouldn’t rule any of them out,” she replied. “Wheeler might be lying.” A pause. “But if that were so, why hasn’t Carrick appeared?”
Silence.
And then a heavy sigh. “Having seen more than our fair share of the evil that man does to his fellow man over the last few months, I suppose we have all become rather cynical,” mused the dowager.
She handed the champagne to Charlotte. “Come, let us pop the cork and add some effervescence to the present. Heaven knows, the coming weeks will likely offer precious little sparkle.”
* * *
Wrexford cocked an ear as he entered the manor house, taking a moment to savor the sweetly familiar sounds of his family.
McClellan’s voice floated up from the kitchens as she passed on instructions for the next day’s supper menu . . . Charlotte and Alison were in the Blue Parlor discussing the merits of Jane Porter’s latest novel . . . the Weasels were upstairs and sounded in high spirits . . .
He turned as Harper padded across the marble entrance tiles and let out a woof of welcome.
“Wrex!” The hound’s bark brought Charlotte hurrying from the room.
Her smile, a blaze of warmth in the late afternoon shadows, was all it took to lighten the heaviness of his heart. Wrexford opened his arms and drew her close.
They stood for a long moment in perfect silence, the tension in his muscles giving way to gratitude. Yes, life was capricious. And unfair. But at that moment the earl considered himself the luckiest man alive.
He tightened his hold.
A heartbeat passed. And then another.
Charlotte eased back and pressed a palm to his wind-roughened cheek. “I take it that there was no mistake.”
“No,” answered Wrexford. “The mortal wound was definitely made by a knife.” He took her hand and brushed a kiss to her knuckles. “Shall we go sit by the fire? Kit and I rode hard to make it back here by nightfall. I would welcome a glass of whisky.”
“Of course. But first let us go upstairs. The boys and I have a surprise for you.”
His throat was parched, and his body ached from the hours in the saddle, but he forced a smile. “Please tell me they haven’t concocted some new and nefarious chemical substance. Their last surprise of dusting the insides of my riding boots with itching powder was not at all amusing.”
Another hoot of laughter sounded from upstairs.
“But I’m glad to hear them sounding more like their usual selves.”
“It’s not a prank, Wrex,” she promised. “Come.”
He let himself be led up to their quarters. The door to the schoolroom was half-open . . .
Hawk spotted him and gave an exuberant shout. “Wrex! Wrex!”
Raven scrambled into view, followed by . . .
Wrexford blinked.
And then all three boys began jabbering at once.
Charlotte waved them to silence. “Peregrine has returned to the nest—” she began.
“Yes, I can see that with my own eyes,” he replied.
“And he’s not leaving!” crowed Raven.
A surge of emotion—an elemental rush of joy—bubbled through his blood, but he forced himself to keep a straight face. “Dare I ask how this came to be?”
The three boys suddenly turned a little green around the gills. After exchanging guilty glances, they looked to Charlotte in mute appeal.
“You’re not going to like it,” she admitted. “But hear me out before reacting.”
“Go on,” said Wrexford. “Surely it can’t be as bad as the possibilities that immediately leap to mind.”
“Peregrine has been expelled from Eton,” she explained, “for setting off a stink bomb during the headmaster’s Sabbath Day speech to the upper-division students.”
“A corking good one,” offered Hawk with a hopeful grin. “It made several students puke and—”
A kick from Raven warned that such gory details weren’t helping their cause.
“Mr. Belmont was required to fetch him,” continued Charlotte, “and he came here to explain that he was facing a difficult conundrum . . .”
Wrexford listened intently as she explained about Belmont’s travel plans and his laudable concerns over Peregrine’s well-being if required to live with his aunt, whose prejudice against the boy was no secret.
“And so, when I proposed that Peregrine return to living with us, he readily agreed.”
Wrexford masked his elation with a stern scowl.
“I’m disappointed in you, Peregrine. Your actions put your guardian, who has been nothing but kind and fair to you, in a damnably difficult situation.
” Knowing that he ought not to be so delighted by the result of the mischief, he added, “Do not think for an instant that behaving badly will always get you what you want—and that goes for all three of you.”
Charlotte drew in a quick breath but remained silent. He didn’t dare glance at her, as he, too, felt his heart clench at seeing them look so remorseful as they struggled to hold back tears.
“That said, lad,” he intoned, “I know that Eton can be a horrid place for any boy interested in intellectual engagement. And I do understand how unhappy and helpless you felt at being trapped in a complicated situation not of your own making. It’s been hard for all of us.
But Belmont is trying to do his best, and like it or not, he is your official guardian—”
“Actually he’s not,” interrupted Charlotte. “At least he won’t be after next week, assuming you approve of the arrangement that I negotiated with him.”
“C-Cousin Belmont has agreed to make you and m’lady my official guardians,” explained Peregrine in a hesitant voice. “T-That is, if you’ll h-have me.”
Wrexford found his throat was too choked with emotion to reply. He swallowed hard . . .
Be damned with words.
In two swift steps he crossed the carpet and pulled the boy into a fierce hug. “My dear Falcon, as if that could ever be in doubt,” he finally managed to say. “Welcome to being a full-fledged member of our family.”
The tears now glittering on every cheek were ones of joy.
“But remember, that now brings both rights and—”
“And responsibilities!” chorused Raven and Hawk.
The earl smiled as the Weasels began cheering their new brother-in-spirit. “Aye, being part of a family means there are responsibilities, lads. And don’t ever forget that.”
Charlotte took a moment to dry her eyes before crouching down to plant a kiss on Peregrine’s cheek. “Well, I think that’s enough excitement for the evening.” She rose, drawing the earl to his feet with her. “Come, Wrex, and let me pour you that whisky.”
* * *
The fire in the hearth had burned down to a mellow glow, the soft whisper of the red-gold coals adding a pleasant undertone to the tranquility of the library.
Expelling a sigh, Charlotte let herself sink a little deeper into the soft leather cushions of the armchair, uncertain of how to define her present state of mind.
“Life,” she observed, “can be such a wondrous but contradictory force of nature, bringing both joys and sorrows within a heartbeat of each other.”
“I might not phrase it quite so poetically,” replied Wrexford from his seat at one of the worktables. “But I shall not insult the Three Fates by calling them bad names.”
“A wise choice,” she agreed.
Paper rustled. He was perusing a book—another one of his father’s, guessed Charlotte. Turning her gaze back to the hearth, she watched the subtle changing of the hues . . . pumpkin orange . . . amber gold . . . lucifer red.
The quicksilver flickers seemed to mirror her unsettled mood.
Despite having spent the last hour telling Wrexford all about the meeting with the three members of the Revolutions-Per-Minute Society, she found that talking over the nuances of what had—and had not—been said had only made things seem more confusing.
“You seem pensive,” said Wrexford, not looking up.
“At this moment, I should be feeling nothing but pure happiness,” she mused. “And yet . . .”
“Emotions are rarely so black and white. As you just pointed out, life requires us to deal with a multitude of challenges all at once.” The book snapped shut.
“The beginning of an investigation is always hard. Possibilities flit around like unseen ghosts. One feels their presence and senses that they are close enough to touch, but when one grabs at them, there’s nothing but air. ”
“I fear that Cordelia—”
The sound of footsteps on the back terrace had Wrexford up in a flash. He moved to a rosewood box on the bookshelves and clicked open the latch. “Extinguish the lamp flame,” he said as he cocked his pistol.
“Halloo? Halloo?”
“It’s Kit!” Heaving a sigh of relief, Charlotte turned away from the side table. “Dear God, what new mischief is afoot?” she muttered, hurrying to open the French doors.
“Sorry,” apologized Sheffield as he and Cordelia stepped inside, bringing with them a swirl of chill air.
“No one answered our knock on the front door, but we noticed the lamps were still burning here as the carriage turned into the courtyard, so we thought that we would check on whether you were still downstairs.”
“Surely you have better things to occupy your time than coming by for a midnight chat,” drawled the earl as he put his weapon back in its case.
A blush rose to Cordelia’s cheeks, but she chose to ignore the gentle teasing. “I finally had the chance to sort through my mail from the last week. And given what Charlotte and I heard earlier today, we both thought you ought to see this without delay.”
She held up a travel-smudged letter. “It’s from Jasper Milton. He must have sent it just before he was murdered.”