CHAPTER 2
Charlotte found herself glancing yet again at the entrance to the drawing room, and wondering why Lord Bethany had sought out Wrexford’s assistance.
The reason couldn’t be a pleasant one. Bethany looked as if he had just seen a ghost.
“. . . And what is your opinion of the artist’s latest exhibit, Lady Charlotte?” asked one of the scholars’ wives.
Drawn back to the moment, Charlotte quickly improvised a reply—never mind that she hadn’t a clue as to which artist was being discussed.
Certain platitudes were never questioned.
“Quite interesting,” she murmured. “His technique shows some new developments, but I’m not quite sure I like his use of color. ”
The others all nodded sagely.
Alison, who had brought Sir Robert over to join the circle, gave her a quizzical look and waggled her brow in warning to pay attention.
After all, the whole point of the evening was to begin playing the role of a countess, one that required poise and politeness, no matter how excruciatingly superficial the situation. . .
The thought made her innards clench.
“It seems we are all being asked to move on to the dining salon.” Sir Robert offered his arm to the dowager.
“I’ll follow along shortly,” said Charlotte, making an abrupt decision. She touched a gloved finger to her topknot and made an apologetic grimace. “I fear I have a hairpin coming loose, and wish to visit the ladies’ retiring room to have it fixed.”
Polite murmurs sounded from her companions as she turned in a rustle of silk and exited into the center corridor.
But rather than turn right and head to the rooms housing the amenities for the guests, Charlotte hurried in the opposite direction.
She was familiar with Kew Palace and the grounds of the Royal Botanic Gardens from several earlier visits.
Just ahead, a side portico led out a walkway that wound down to the west side of the conservatory.
Ignoring a startled footman, she let herself out into the night. The air was chilly, but it was the sense of foreboding that raised a pebbling of gooseflesh on her bare arms.
Has Hawk somehow strayed into trouble?
Raven’s younger brother had become fascinated by the natural world.
Rocks, plants, insects . . . An involuntary smile touched her lips.
Mice and snakes were also part of the little menagerie he had created in their back garden, much to the disgust of his sibling.
Wrexford had encouraged the boy’s scientific interest. As had the earl’s valet.
Indeed, it had been Tyler’s idea to invite Hawk to accompany him here to the gardens earlier in the day.
The valet had offered to help the symposium committee arrange some of the special exhibits within one of the smaller buildings surrounding the main conservatory, and had suggested that Hawk, a budding botanical artist, might enjoy the opportunity to sketch some of the specimen plantings in the outer hothouses.
Given the importance of the event, she had expressed reservations about the idea. But Tyler had convinced her that Hawk’s presence would create no controversy.
But boys being boys . . .
Quickening her steps, Charlotte took a shortcut across the grass, ignoring the damage the moisture and mud were doing to her elegant shoes and gown.
Silks and satins be damned. In truth, she was far more at home in the breeches and boots of a street urchin, prowling the city for the hidden secrets that helped her expose the wrongdoings of the rich and powerful.
A wolf in sheep’s clothing, she thought. A soon-to-be very wealthy faux sheep.
The west door of the conservatory was unlocked, allowing entrance into the section housing conifer specimens from the northeastern states of America.
The pleasant fragrances of pine and balsam, however, did little to settle her unease.
Spotting a trail of lantern lights through the needled branches, she hurried down the path to her right.
After passing through several deserted galleries, she heard voices from up ahead.
Wrexford’s was one of them.
Charlotte hesitated for a moment, then decided to plunge on. She might as well kill two birds with one stone and learn what bumblebroth was now bubbling around her eccentric family.
Wrexford looked around at the feathery sound of her slippers moving over the dark stone. She didn’t recognize his companion.
“Has Hawk gotten into some mischief—” she began, only to stop short on spotting the corpse sprawled on the tiles.
Her throat tightened. “Dear God.” She was no stranger to dead bodies. There was no need to inquire whether the poor fellow was still alive. “What happened?”
“We are still debating the exact cause of death, my dear,” replied Wrexford.
“One of Dr. Hosack’s American colleagues was discovered a short while ago as you see him.
Hosack is convinced it’s murder. I’m less certain, so we’ve just agreed that Henning should have a look at the deceased and see if he can give us a definitive answer. ”
Turning back to the doctor, he added, “Allow me to present my fiancée, Lady Charlotte Sloane.”
“My deepest apologies, milady. I’m so sorry that you had to experience such a ghastly sight.” Hosack flushed, looking terribly uncomfortable. “Along with the horrifying mention of murder.”
Charlotte calmly met his gaze. “No apologies are necessary, sir. My sensibilities are not easily shocked.” A pause. “Wrexford will assure you of that.”
She surveyed the surrounding area, noting there was no sign of a struggle.
Nor was there any obvious sign of injury.
But much as she wished to get a closer look at the body, Hosack was a total stranger .
. . and she was here tonight as a prim and proper soon-to-be countess.
The poor man would likely swoon if she got down on her hands and knees in all her finery.
Clenching her teeth, Charlotte felt a pang of regret at the loss of her anonymity. As a mere nobody among the countless nobodies living in London, she had possessed a great deal of unfettered freedom.
Her new life was promising to be far more complicated.
“Dr. Hosack, please forgive me,” she murmured, turning her attention from death to a more pragmatic matter. “But will you excuse me for drawing His Lordship aside for a few moments? I need to have a private word with him in the adjoining gallery.”
“Y-Yes, yes, of course, milady,” stuttered the American. “I–I apologize again for—”
“Actually, Hosack, I believe we’re finished with our examination, so why don’t you return to Lord Bethany and tell him he may allow the mortuary men to proceed,” suggested Wrexford.
“I’ll remain here to make sure they understand that the body is to be taken to Henning’s surgery.
” The muffled chink of coins sounded as he patted his pockets to find his purse.
“That makes perfect sense, milord.” The doctor looked greatly relieved. “I’m—I’m very grateful to you.”
“It’s the least I can do for you and your friend,” replied Wrexford. His smile at Hosack belied the look in his eyes as his gaze swung back to her.
Damnation. Preoccupied with her own worries about the evening’s festivities, she had neglected to tell him about Tyler’s invitation to Hawk. It hadn’t seemed important . . .
Wrexford waited until they were alone before uttering a low oath. “What did you mean about Hawk? Granted, mischief goes hand in hand with the Weasels—”
“Weasels” was the moniker he had bestowed on the boys during their first encounter, when Raven had stabbed the earl in the leg. That little misunderstanding had long since been forgiven. However, the name had stuck, much to the amusement of the boys.
“No, no, they are innocent of any troublemaking.” At least, she fervently hoped that was true.
“Tyler invited Hawk to come sketch in the outer gardens while he assisted the organizing committee. I’m sure the two of them have returned to Mayfair by now, but the fact that you were summoned by a very serious-looking Lord Bethany had me alarmed. ”
“I think we can rule out the lad as a murder suspect.” The earl’s expression relaxed somewhat. “Though McClellan would claim that he and his brother slay every rule of cleanliness.”
“Muck also goes hand in hand with the Weasels,” said Charlotte, greatly relieved that Hawk was not involved in the evening’s troubling incident. But as for Mr. Becton’s death . . .
“Did Dr. Hosack give any reason for why he thinks foul play is involved?” She glanced again at the supposed victim and the shattered specimens scattered on the floor.
“He suspects poison.”
“Hmmm.” She crouched down beside the corpse and took a close look at the man’s face. “The white crystals at the corners of his mouth?”
“Yes.” The earl waited while she inched back to examine the lifeless fingers, then offered his hand and helped her rise.
“It could be something innocent,” mused Charlotte.
“That was my thought as well.”
A pensive frown pulled at her lips. “At first blush, the circumstances seem to indicate a death from natural causes.”
He then moved around the body, studying the details again before replying. “So they do.”
The thumps and clatter of the approaching mortuary men forestalled any further discussion.
“I think it prudent that you stay out of sight.” Knowing Charlotte was familiar with the conservatory, he added, “I suggest you wait in the study room, where the collection of botanical art is kept. It’s close by and the door affords a measure of privacy.
I’ll come fetch you when I’m done here.”
Charlotte nodded and quietly melted away into the shadows.
Lud, what a coil. There was, she conceded, a certain irony to having a murder mar her first appearance in Polite Society since her engagement. Their good friend Basil Henning often accused her and the earl of deliberately tripping over dead bodies.
An unfair observation, though it did seem to happen with frightening frequency—
“Psst! M’lady!”