CHAPTER 21
“Gone?”
Wrexford met Charlotte’s incredulous stare with a grim smile. “Yes. Gone.”
“Allow me to explain, milady,” interjected Tyler.
“Please do.” She slumped back against the squabs. “How is it that Daggett keeps finding a way to stay one step ahead of us?”
“He hasn’t,” replied the valet. “We can take a measure of solace in the fact that the specimen isn’t in his hands. Alas, it’s merely a matter of bad luck, not cunning malice, that it slipped through our fingers.”
“The collection of plants bound for the University of St. Andrews was taken to the docklands this morning,” explained Wrexford as he took a seat beside her. “The ship taking it to Scotland sailed on the afternoon tide.”
Charlotte muttered an oath, her look of frustration mirroring his own.
“A special courier, traveling by royal mail coach, will almost certainly arrive in St Andrews before the ship,” he continued.
“As soon as we return to my townhouse, I shall write an explanation to Professor Murray, with the request that he entrust both the plant and the documents to the courier in order for them to be returned to the Royal Society.”
“I’ll go,” volunteered Tyler.
“Actually, I think Edwards is the right man for the job,” replied Wrexford. The head groom was the earl’s former batman from his military days and a battle-tested veteran of the Peninsular War. “I’ll have Seth accompany him.”
A spasm of disappointment passed over Tyler’s face, but he didn’t protest.
As for Charlotte, her expression had turned pensive, but Wrexford didn’t like the shadowed look that lingered beneath her lashes.
Damnation. He had an inkling of what she was thinking.
“Don’t let your imagination get the better of you, Charlotte.
Even if DeVere had mentioned Becton’s sketch to Daggett, we know that he never saw it.
In that regard, luck and timing worked in our favor.
Had Moretti arrived a half hour earlier, it would have been a different story.
But even so, it’s too far-fetched to think the captain would have ever worked out where Becton had hidden the specimen. ”
He paused briefly, letting her consider what he had just said before adding, “It was only because of your brother that we pieced together the connection to Professor Murray. And then it took Hawk, who has developed a trained eye for the nuances of plants, to spot it among all the other plants.”
Charlotte took her time in replying. “That makes perfect sense.” Her voice resonated with the same precise control as her pen strokes. “There’s just one thing that bothers me . . .”
Wrexford waited. He wasn’t sure what to expect. But Charlotte being Charlotte, he knew it wouldn’t be something easily dismissed.
The moonlight gave way to sudden gloom. A few fat drops of rain spattered against the window glass.
“Nothing about this mystery,” she said, “has gone according to reason.”
It was his turn to take his time in answering.
“I beg to differ,” he finally said. “Logic didn’t let us down.
We made earlier assumptions based on incomplete information.
In my scientific experience, that leads to errors, causing one to reassess and revise.
Now that we know more of the variables, I believe we’ve created a more accurate hypothesis. ”
With only flickers of watery light breaking through the clouds, it was difficult to read her face. In moments like these, when decisions threatened other lives, Charlotte often retreated into herself.
“You think we have it right this time?” she asked.
“The gods punish mere mortals who have the hubris to claim such omniscience,” he responded. “But yes, I think we have it right enough. I don’t think Daggett is a danger to any of us.”
“Even to Moretti?” challenged Charlotte. “I saw him just now. He’s one of the speakers on tonight’s program.” She went on to tell him about the Royal Society’s request, and her own warning to her old friend.
“You were right to caution him, but I truly believe Moretti is in no danger. As I’ve said before, Daggett is ruthless, but he’s also pragmatic. He would be a fool to pursue his original plan, now that it’s gone awry. And my sense is, he’s no fool.”
She looked away. Only one question now lay between them, and to him it was the most important one. Again, he waited, knowing she must come to the answer herself.
The carriage picked up speed as it turned onto the main road leading into Town. The shower had passed and the swirls of vapor were dissolving into the darkness.
“I confess that my judgment in this affair hasn’t been as sharp as usual,” said Charlotte softly. “I’m grateful for your patience with my uncertainties”—her smile was fleeting, but it warmed his heart—“and will trust your wisdom in this.”
“I won’t let you regret it,” he replied.
Hawk stirred and made a small sound as he curled closer to Charlotte. He had fallen asleep, his head pillowed against her shoulder. She shifted and gently slipped her arm around him.
“Right. Let us look ahead rather than behind us.”
“Indeed.”
The earlier tension in the air gave way to the comfortable rhythms of the road—the muted creaks and jangling of the harnesses, the steady clip-clop of hooves.
Wrexford leaned back and closed his eyes.
And yet his thoughts couldn’t quite settle into silence.
Nor could his heart—it ached for Charlotte.
She was dealing with more worries than anyone should have to bear.
Hawk and Raven were growing older, and mothering them was taking on new and more complex challenges .
. . He also sensed that the new re-connections with her family, while a source of great happiness, had stirred some uncomfortable self-examination.
And then there was their impending marriage.
Any intelligent, independent woman would likely be wrestling with the ramifications of such a momentous decision.
After all, it was, in effect, a surrender of self.
Under the law, a woman became the property of a man when she married, with no more rights than his horse or his hound.
She had no recourse if it turned out that he had an iron fist hidden beneath the velvet glove of his courtship.
So even the most sincere promises from a fiancé must carry an undertone of uncertainty.
Shifting against the squabs, Wrexford conceded the utter unfairness of it.
However, he quickly reminded himself that he had already made sure that would never be an issue.
Charlotte knew that the marriage articles settled enough money on her to provide financial independence.
She would always have the freedom to live an independent life if she so chose.
Though I shall do my best to see it never comes to that.
Aside from marriage worries, Wrexford also sensed that she was struggling with her identity as A. J. Quill, and how to stay true to her principles while balancing all the responsibilities for family and loved ones . . .
He must have made some sort of sound, for Charlotte came alert, and reached over to twine her fingers with his.
“Bad dreams?” she murmured.
“Dreams would imply that I’ve been napping rather than pondering the current situation,” he said lightly. A glance at the facing seat showed Tyler had nodded off.
Be damned if he hasn’t, thought the earl as he lifted her hand and brushed a kiss to her knuckles. “I hope you know—I hope you believe—that you’re safe with me in every way that matters.”
“Wrexford.” Charlotte touched his cheek. “I confess that I am unsettled about a great many things. But you are not one of them.”
“And yet—”
She stilled his lips with hers. Her trust in him took his breath away.
“Whatever lies ahead,” murmured Charlotte, her whisper tickling against his skin, “we shall face it together.”
The rest of the journey seemed to pass quickly and the carriage soon rumbled onto Piccadilly Street.
Wrexford rapped on the trap and called for the driver to head on to Charlotte’s residence. “I shall drop the two of you first, before setting plans in motion for a courier to head to Scotland. Raven and Mac are no doubt anxious to hear about the evening.”
“I wish we had better news,” replied Charlotte as she roused a sleepy Hawk.
“Let us be patient,” he counseled. “Our pieces are positioned well on the chess board. Another few moves, and I expect that the game will be won.”
* * *
Charlotte gave a horrified huff as she opened one eye and saw the bright blade of morning light cutting across her bedcovers. It was later than she wished, given all the tasks on her list. Idling the morning away in sleep was for the indolent rich.
“While I have far too much to do.”
Though it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been working half the night.
After Wrexford had dropped her and Hawk at their door, and explanations had been made to Raven and McClellan, she had slipped into her workroom.
An idea had come to mind for a drawing. The lines had been inked in and the text had been lettered.
All that remained was to paint in the final washes of color.
The government wouldn’t be happy with questions raised about whether DeVere’s time in America had anything to do with his death, given that Quincy had been a victim as well.
But the great unwashed public would lap it up.
They loved any hint that their so-called betters were just as flawed and filthy as they were.
As she dressed, Charlotte turned her attention to more personal matters.
She was determined to take Wrexford’s advice to heart and trust that the investigation no longer posed a threat to family and friends.
What with Becton’s murder, she had given short shrift to the wedding plans, much to the dowager’s disappointment.
A morning spent allowing Alison a more active role in planning the festivities would make her great-aunt exceedingly happy.