CHAPTER 30
Dropping the playing cards in his hand, Sheffield jumped up from his chair as the door bumped open.
“Thank heaven,” he said, a smile chasing the pinch of worry from his face.
Lady Cordelia was on her feet, as well. Darting around the table, she hurried to Charlotte and clasped her in a quick hug, then flashed a grateful look at Wrexford. “Yes, thank heaven you’re both safe.” Her breath caught in her throat. “And the boys—”
“The boys are fine,” assured Charlotte, though a chill touched her spine on thinking about what a razor-thin line had separated life from death for Wrexford. She had taken aim with her pistol when the admiral had forced him toward the wharves, but the angle had made it a dangerous shot....
The scrabbling of the boys and their companion on the stairs drew her back from brooding over what might have been. Wrexford had exercised his lordly prerogative and commandeered one of Griffin’s waiting carriages to carry all of them back to his townhouse.
They burst into the room, the boys nearly tripping over the hound’s long legs in their rush to tell the others about the events of the evening.
“Harper saved the day!” announced Raven.
Much to Hawk’s hilarity, Harper padded over to the hearth and, after a gusty canine stretch, dropped to the floor and promptly fell asleep.
“Hold your fire, lad,” ordered Tyler from the corridor. “And wait until we’re all assembled before you begin.” He appeared a moment later, followed by Woodbridge.
Charlotte knew the two of them had been standing guard at the front and the rear of the townhouse, in case the enemy had discovered where the professor and his Computing Engine were hidden.
She smiled to see they had set aside their weapons and were now each carrying a bottle of the earl’s finest whisky.
Wrexford made an appreciative sound deep in his throat. “Remind me to raise your wages.” After taking the spirits from his valet, he moved to the tray of glasses on the sideboard. Flickers of amber danced through the candlelight as he poured out six measures.
Raven’s face fell.
The earl cast a look at Charlotte, who answered with a tiny nod. He drizzled a small taste of the spirits into the two remaining glasses and handed them to the boys while Tyler passed around the other libations.
“Slàinte.” Cocking a salute, Wrexford swirled the spirits and drained his drink in one swift swallow.
Closing her eyes, Charlotte chose to savor the whisky, slowly allowing its fire to melt the last bit of ice in her blood and form a mellow pool of warmth deep inside her.
Fire and ice. For a moment, the happy chatter of voices around her blurred to an indistinct babble as the spirits stirred the strangest thoughts.
She had left England as a giddy, rebellious schoolgirl, oh-so sure that Love would smooth all of Life’s rough edges.
Those innocent illusions hadn’t lasted long.
She had returned to London as a practical, pragmatic woman of the world, wary of foolish fantasies and youthful hubris.
Survival demanded strength. Emotions made one vulnerable.
The sounds grew a little louder, provoking an odd little flutter inside her rib cage. So it was, Charlotte admitted, an irony that emotion had—against all reason—somehow found its way back into her heart.
It was frightening. I know the pain and heartache of disappointed dreams.
And yet . . .
And yet Love in all its glorious permutations has taken hold of me.
Her lashes lifted, and Charlotte found Wrexford was watching her with a Sphinxlike stare.
In ways I can’t begin to define.
“A penny for your thoughts?” he murmured after coming to stand beside her.
“I’m not sure they’re worth a farthing,” she said lightly.
A tiny crease formed between his brows, but before he could reply, Cordelia set down her glass and cleared her throat.
“Is the evil really over?” she asked, placing a hand on her brother’s arm.
“It is,” replied Wrexford. “The ringleader and his henchmen have been apprehended. They won’t harm anyone else.”
Woodbridge let out a shuddering sigh. “I can’t begin to express my thanks.” He looked around. “To all of you, who risked your lives to save me from my own bloody foolishness.” His gaze dropped to the toes of his boots. “There aren’t words for what you did.”
“Actually, there’s a simple one,” said Charlotte. “Friendship. A bond that brings out strengths that we sometimes don’t even know we possess.”
Cordelia gave her brother a quick hug. “Your intentions were all for the good, Jamie. You were trying to save the estate from our father’s folly and ensure that our tenants wouldn’t suffer because of his spendthrift ways. That you trusted your friend David Mather is only to your credit—”
“Speaking of Mather,” interrupted Sheffield. “He’s on the ship, so perhaps the evil isn’t yet over.”
“Copley explained about Mather in his note,” said Wrexford. “Along with a number of other things.” He blew out his breath. “The details can all be parsed at a later time. For now, I shall try to explain it all in a nutshell.”
Tyler moved over and wordlessly refilled the earl’s glass.
“Like many younger sons, Mather had little money and was jealous of his wealthy friends within the beau monde. So he swallowed his scruples when Copley recruited him to find someone to draw into the scheme for Argentum Trading Company.”
“Which proved to be me, a gullible lackwit,” muttered Woodbridge in self-disgust.
“But it wasn’t just greed. Copley also used a bit of blackmail himself, forcing Mather to cooperate because of his past smuggling adventure, which was more of a youthful lark than any real malfeasance.
However, Mather was never a real part of the conspirators,” continued Wrexford.
“He was horrified by his cousin’s murder and realized that Annie Wright might also be in danger because of her friendship with Henry Peabody. And so he appealed to Copley for help.”
He paused for a sip of whisky. “Copley, as we now know, was being blackmailed by Sir Charles and was a reluctant part of Argentum. The murder also shocked him, and in his note, he said that he had begun to take steps to stop the whole scheme.”
“So, Copley did have a vestige of conscience left,” mused Charlotte.
“Not enough to admit that his facade of being a paragon of perfection was a fraud,” replied Wrexford.
“But in the end, he did atone for some of his sins. When he learned that Sir Charles intended to murder Mather and Annie Wright, he arranged for them to take passage on an East India merchant ship. Right now, they are on their way to Calcutta, and Mather would do well to stay there and begin a new life. And given Annie Wright’s abusive marriage, I imagine she’ll welcome the opportunity to shed her old skin. ”
“Perhaps not as happy an ending as the one for Lady Cordelia and Lord Woodbridge,” observed Sheffield. “But as Mather showed a concern for Annie Wright, I don’t begrudge him a second chance.”
“Most people,” said Charlotte softly, “deserve a second chance.”
“Thanks to all of you, that includes me.” Woodbridge drew Cordelia into a heartfelt hug. “I know how fortunate I am to have a sister who’s not only brilliant but also kind and compassionate to those who aren’t blessed with intelligence.”
Sheffield nodded. “Yes, you are indeed lucky, Woodbridge.”
Charlotte saw a faint blush steal over Cordelia’s face.
“As am I,” said Cordelia. “You didn’t lose faith in me, even when the evidence gave you reason to do so.”
“I think,” answered Sheffield, “that we all had faith in each other.”
Wrexford kept a stoic face, but Charlotte discerned a glimmer of emotion in his eyes.
He shifted his stance before continuing. “That explains the basic machinations surrounding Argentum Trading Company. The last—and perhaps most important—part of Sir Charles’s nefarious scheming involved Professor Sudler’s Computing Engine. He—”
“Hmmph!”
They all turned to see the professor shuffle into the doorway. He was wearing a dressing gown over his nightshirt, and the flicker of the single candle clutched in his fist showed his grey hair was sticking out in spiky tufts from beneath his knitted nightcap.
“I knew they were rotten to the core,” added Sudler darkly. “What the devil were they up to?”
“You should be getting your rest, sir,” chided Cordelia, clearly concerned for her elderly friend. “We can explain everything in the morning.”
“Be damned with rest,” grumbled the professor. “I couldn’t sleep, and then I heard your voices. I want to know whether we prevented them from achieving whatever evil they had in mind.”
“That we did,” answered Wrexford. “Sir Charles had lived most of his life at sea, which gave his extraordinarily gifted mind much free time in which to think. Some of his endeavors were worthy ones, like his scientific book on seashells. But greed quickly came to dominate his thoughts. He devised some lucrative trading schemes, but as sea captains must have skill in mathematics for navigation, it was the rumor of your Engine that sparked his most ambitious plan—”
“Navigation tables!” Sudler slapped his palm to his brow. “Good Lord, how did I not see it?”
“I missed it, as well.” Cordelia grimaced. “I saw only numbers and couldn’t put two and two together.”
“None of us knew that the admiral was involved,” pointed out Wrexford. “It is easy to see what a puzzle represents when all the pieces have been fitted together.”
“True.” The professor shook his head and fixed Cordelia with an apologetic look.
“Much as it may pain you to hear this, my dear friend, this ordeal has taught me that I don’t wish to continue to run computations for monetary gain.
I intend to return to my cottage and continue to work on improving my Engine’s capabilities.
It will be years before it’s fully functional. And then . . .”