Chapter Sixteen
The rain hammered against the carriage windows as they hurried back towards Alverton, the horses’ hooves striking a desperate rhythm against the muddy road.
Charlotte clutched her reticule close, feeling the weight of the documents within - proof that could save or destroy everything she held dear.
Edmund’s sharp intake of breath drew her attention.
“Charlotte...”
She leaned forward, peering through the rain-streaked glass. A familiar figure on horseback approached from a side road - Sir Geoffrey Caldwell, his greatcoat streaming water, his face set in lines of grim determination.
“Stop the carriage,” Charlotte said quietly.
“Are you mad?” Edmund grabbed her arm. “We can outrun him and reach William before…”
“No.” Charlotte’s voice held steel beneath its quiet surface. “I will not skulk away like a thief. Not with such precious cargo.”
Before Edmund could protest further, she rapped sharply on the carriage roof. Their conveyance slowed, though the driver had the sense to stop where the main road held firm rather than risk the muddy verge.
Caldwell reined in his mount alongside them, water dripping from his hat brim as he offered a mock salute.
“Your Grace. What an... unexpected pleasure, meeting you so far from home. I had thought you still safely at Alverton, not visiting certain solicitors in Millhampton.”
“Sir Geoffrey.” Charlotte’s voice emerged steady despite her racing heart. “I was unaware that my movements were of such interest to you.”
“Oh, come now.” His smile held no warmth. “Let us not play such games. My clerk was most specific about your visit to Harrison’s office. About certain documents that you examined.”
Edmund’s hand moved towards his sword hilt, or at least to where it would have been, had he worn a sword.
Of course, he wore no blade - this was not an age where gentlemen routinely armed themselves for morning calls, but his training in arms made it an instinctive response.
Still, something in his bearing made Caldwell’s mount shift nervously.
“Your clerk?” Charlotte arched one brow. “How fascinating that you should have such detailed knowledge of a solicitor’s private business. I had thought the clerk to be employed by Mr Harrison?”
Caldwell’s expression shifted, something ugly flickering beneath his carefully maintained facade of gentility.
The rain continued to pour around them, turning the world grey and indistinct, as though they existed in some strange bubble of time where normal social constraints had ceased to matter.
Charlotte’s heart thundered, yet her mind remained curiously clear.
She could feel the weight of the documents in her reticule, their presence lending her strength even as fear tried to close her throat.
Not fear for herself - she had faced worse than Caldwell’s threats in London ballrooms - but fear for what this confrontation might mean for William.
“Your Grace seems to have developed quite an interest in estate matters,” Caldwell said, his voice pitched to carry through the rain. “How... touching... to see such wifely devotion. Though one wonders what His Grace might think of such investigations carried out behind his back.”
The words struck precisely where he intended, finding the doubt that lurked in Charlotte’s heart.
Would William see her actions as further betrayal?
Would this destroy the fragile trust growing between them?
She remembered his face that morning beneath the oak tree, the vulnerability in his grey eyes as he had spoken of partnerships and shared burdens.
“I wonder,” she replied, forcing her voice to remain steady, “what the local magistrates might think of certain... creative approaches to documentation. Forgery carries quite severe penalties, I believe.”
Caldwell’s mount shifted beneath him, responding to its master’s sudden tension.
“Accusations of forgery are serious matters, Your Grace. One might even call them slanderous. Particularly when made by a lady who seems determined to interfere in business that doesn’t concern her.”
“Doesn’t concern her?” Edmund’s voice cracked like a whip. “You dare suggest that attacks on her husband’s reputation don’t concern my sister?”
“Ah yes, the protective brother.” Caldwell’s smile widened unpleasantly.
“How convenient that Lord Parrington should accompany his sister on such an... innocent shopping expedition. Tell me, my Lord, does your father know that you involve yourself in such matters? That you risk the Earl of Westbridge’s reputation in this. .. unfortunate situation?”
Charlotte felt Edmund stiffen beside her, saw his hands clench into fists. Before he could respond, however, she laid one gloved hand on his arm.
“My brother’s presence is entirely proper,” she said coldly. “Unlike certain other matters I might name. Tell me, Sir Geoffrey - does your bank know that you visit their competitor in York? That you seek refinancing even as you spread malicious rumours about your neighbours?”
For a moment, she was concerned that this piece of Mrs Walden’s intelligence gathering might have been inaccurate, but then, it became obvious that her words had struck home - she saw it in the sudden whitening of his knuckles on his reins, the slight widening of his eyes.
Yet his recovery came swiftly, too swiftly for comfort.
“You play a dangerous game, madam,” he said softly. “One that could have... unfortunate consequences for those you no doubt aim to protect.”
The implicit threat in his words made Charlotte’s blood run cold. Yet beneath her fear, anger began to burn - a slow, steady flame that warmed her despite the October chill. How dare he stand there, rain streaming from his hat brim, and threaten everything that she held dear?
“Consequences?” She leaned forward slightly, pitching her voice to carry clearly through the downpour. “Like the consequences that your father faced when his false dealings came to light? Is that why you left Yorkshire so precipitously fifteen years ago?”
It was a chance shot, based on fragments of gossip she’d heard in London last year, which had only come to have meaning for her now, but something in Caldwell’s expression told her it had struck to the heart of the matter.
His face worked for a moment, his composure cracking to reveal something darker beneath.
“You know nothing of my family’s affairs,” he snarled, his mount dancing beneath him as he jerked the reins. “Nothing of what was stolen from us by men like your precious Duke’s father.”
“I know more than you think.”
Charlotte’s fingers tightened on her reticule, feeling the evidence within that could destroy his schemes. Yet something in his manner gave her pause - a desperate edge that spoke of more than mere malice.
“Do you?” Caldwell’s laugh held no humour.
“Then perhaps you know how your husband truly secured his fortune? How convenient that all evidence of his father’s creative bookkeeping vanished after the old Duke’s death.
How many sets of accounts were burned, I wonder, before the new Duke of Alverton presented his miraculous recovery plan to his creditors? ”
Edmund shifted beside her, but Charlotte again laid a restraining hand on his arm. Her mind focused, picking apart Caldwell’s words. The bitterness in his tone spoke of old wounds, festering grievances that went beyond mere financial matters.
“You speak of theft,” she said carefully, “yet I wonder - who truly stole from whom? My husband was nineteen when his father died, Sir Geoffrey. Barely more than a boy, facing responsibilities that would have broken a lesser man. While you...”
“While I watched everything that my family had built crumble to dust!” His voice cracked like a whip.
“Thanks to men like the late Duke, with their false promises and their carefully concealed ledgers. Did you never wonder, Your Grace, why your noble husband insisted on such a substantial dowry? Why he chose a bride from a family known for its impeccable financial management?”
The barb struck deeper than Charlotte cared to admit.
She had wondered, in those early days of their marriage, whether William had chosen her purely for her father’s connection to London’s banking houses.
Yet she remembered his face when he’d spoken of partnerships, of trust so carefully rebuilt.
.. She could not believe him capable of the things that Sir Geoffrey accused him of.
“Your Grace.”
Edmund’s voice held quiet warning. Through the rain, she could see another rider approaching - one of Caldwell’s men, by the look of him.
They were alone on the road, far from any assistance should matters turn ugly.
Caldwell noticed the approaching rider as well.
Something in his manner shifted subtly, a new confidence entering his bearing as he guided his mount a step closer to their carriage.
“We find ourselves at something of an impasse,” he said, his voice dropping to intimate levels that somehow felt more threatening than his previous anger.
“You have certain... documents from Harrison’s office.
I have certain other documents that His Grace would prefer remained private. Perhaps we might reach an arrangement?”
Charlotte’s chest tightened at his tone, and breathing was suddenly difficult. She could feel Edmund’s tension beside her, his protective instincts warring with the social constraints that prevented him from acting against a supposed gentleman.
“What sort of arrangement did you have in mind?”
She was playing for time as her mind sorted through possibilities. The second rider drew steadily closer, and something about his purposeful approach sent chills down her spine.