Chapter 19
The next few days plunged the house into even greater disorder.
Lord Stanley’s demeanour worsened by the day. True to the Captain’s word, Charlotte could no longer deny that he was both a reckless gambler and a heavy drinker. The house party had exposed him at his worst.
To her disappointment, most of the gentlemen seemed cut from much the same cloth. Only the Captain, Mr Wilberforce, and his three friends—Lionel, Smythe, and Pearson—seemed exempt from the endless cycle of drink and gaming.
Charlotte’s opinion of Lord Stanley diminished considerably. Any lingering pity she had once felt for him was wearing dangerously thin. Whatever threats surrounded him, he was nevertheless behaving like a degenerate, and she could no longer pretend otherwise.
Holden, the butler, followed him around like a faithful shadow, always armed with a conveniently placed decanter of brandy or wine, replenishing his glass almost before it stood empty.
After a brief and largely obligatory appearance in the drawing room with the ladies, Lord Stanley, Wolverton, and the other gentlemen would retreat to the card room. Within an hour, bursts of raucous laughter and drunken uproar echoed through the corridors.
By contrast, the ladies were abandoned to entertain themselves.
The gentlemen seldom emerged before noon the following day.
Charlotte privately concluded it was the worst house party she had ever witnessed—and her mother had dragged her to a distressing number in her former life.
Poor Mrs Wilberforce blushed herself nearly into illness attempting to compensate for the impropriety. She exerted herself valiantly to entertain the ladies during the day and maintain some semblance of refinement in the evenings.
More than once, Charlotte found herself accosted in the corridors at night by some stumbling, foxed gentleman emerging from the card room. Fortunately, she was nimble enough to evade them easily and did not truly fear harm.
Her greatest frustration, in fact, lay elsewhere.
She had almost no opportunity to observe the gentlemen properly or learn more about them. They spent scarcely any time amongst the ladies, while the ladies themselves remained stubbornly aloof, limiting their interactions with Charlotte to the barest politeness.
Sarah, meanwhile, had met with no success whatsoever. Mrs Dent had assigned her to further kitchen duties, and she was still attempting to devise a way into the guest bedchambers unnoticed.
As Charlotte sat brooding in the drawing room one evening, the spinsters rallied once more in pursuit of their matchmaking ambitions and summoned the Captain to join them.
Charlotte rolled her eyes at them.
To her surprise, however, he obliged.
‘Miss Lucas,’ he said as he seated himself nearby. ‘You would make an excellent hostess.’
Charlotte twisted her face in confusion.
‘You handled that unfortunate domestic scene the other evening, admirably.’
Charlotte felt a quiet flicker of pleasure at the praise.
Naturally, the entire house party had by now learned of the argument between Lord Stanley and Mr Wilberforce.
Charlotte hesitated. Drawing-room etiquette had been drilled into her by her mother since infancy. Anne, however, had not possessed such polish.
‘Thank you,’ she said vaguely. ‘I suppose it is simply habit from governessing.’ She laughed nervously. ‘Mr Wilberforce still appears rather wounded by it all. I do hope he recovers his spirits soon.’
She looked towards Mr Wilberforce, who sat sulking at the far end of the room, refusing to join the others in the card room.
‘Oh... yes.’ The Captain’s expression sobered. ‘I suppose it is understandable. Wilberforce has devoted years to the abolition cause. He was making genuine progress too—in Parliament and in society alike. Without the funding...’ He sighed. ‘He will gradually be forgotten.’
‘It is a severe blow to lose Lord Stanley’s support,’ Charlotte replied, unable entirely to conceal her resentment.
The Captain shrugged lightly. ‘The very wealthy rarely feel obliged to justify their decisions.’
Another memory tugged insistently at Charlotte’s thoughts.
That conversation upon the terrace.
Wolverton had implied that if they killed Lord Stanley, Wilberforce would become irrelevant. But now another possibility presented itself entirely. If Lord Stanley simply withdrew his support, Wilberforce would become irrelevant anyway.
Did that mean Lord Stanley was no longer in danger?
Had he abandoned the cause because he no longer believed in it—or because he had finally realised the abolition campaign lay behind the attempts upon his life?
Charlotte could not decide.
At that moment, Miss Fraser swept across the room and claimed the Captain for a duet at the pianoforte. Charlotte thought he looked faintly reluctant to leave her side as he accompanied Miss Fraser to the instrument.
As the music filled the room, Charlotte’s thoughts wandered once more.
Despite resisting the spinsters’ endless matchmaking schemes, she could not help feeling flattered by the Captain’s attention. He possessed a steadiness and kindness of manner she found increasingly rare amongst the company.
His character, she thought, was above reproach.
A small ache settled unexpectedly in her chest.
She could not afford to indulge such notions—not under her present circumstances—though the spinsters never ceased their teasing whenever the Captain showed her the slightest preference.
In contrast, she was beginning to dislike Lord Stanley. She could forgive his dismissive manner, but the more she learned of him, the less she liked what she found.
Pushing the thought aside, she returned her focus to the matter of the Odd Fellows.
Lord Boulton had openly condemned abolition. It followed naturally that he might welcome the collapse of Mr Wilberforce’s efforts.
But was he an Odd Fellow—or merely a greedy lord?
Perhaps she should keep an eye on him.
But one thing still troubled her: if the Odd Fellows had indeed progressed from kidnapping girls to selling them into slavery, how were they accomplishing it without attracting attention?
Surely people would notice young women vanishing in alarming numbers.
How were the girls being taken without suspicion falling upon anyone?
She recalled the three missing girls from the Skye estate the previous year, and how their families had scoured the countryside. Even the authorities, for all their incompetence, had taken notice. Yet no similar disappearances had been reported here or upon the neighbouring estates.
Frustrated and no closer to answers, Charlotte left the drawing room to retire for the evening. As she turned into a more secluded stretch of the corridor, she halted abruptly.
Lord Wolverton stood directly in her path.
Only a single wall sconce illuminated the passage, its weak flame casting flickering shadows across his face. But even in the dimness she could see that, despite the quantity he drank nightly, he appeared unnervingly sober.
What made her skin prickle more, however, was the look in his eyes.
Her pulse quickened painfully as he leered at her.
‘Ah, the governess. Miss Lucas, is it?’ he murmured, his tone one of faux gentleness. ‘You vanish from a room and take all its light with you.’
She faltered at once.
How had he learnt her name? She had worked so hard to remain unnoticed.
‘My lord, I was merely returning to my room—’
‘There is no need for explanations.’ He stepped closer, blocking her path with leisurely confidence. ‘A woman of your beauty ought not hide herself away in schoolrooms and nurseries. You deserve more attention than that... from the proper sort of man.’
His fingertips brushed the ribbon at her throat.
Charlotte’s stomach twisted violently. For the first time since arriving at the estate, she felt truly afraid.
‘You are drunk, my lord,’ she said sharply, stepping back. ‘Please stand aside.’
He only smiled wider.
‘I prefer the term enchanted. You’ve been tempting me ever since I arrived.’
Blood rushed hot to her ears. She retreated another step.
He followed.
Then another voice cut cleanly through the corridor.
‘Wolverton.’
Both turned.
Lord Stanley lounged at the far end of the passage, coat unbuttoned, his posture deceptively careless.
‘You appear,’ he drawled lazily, ‘to have mistaken my governess for one of your gambling-hall amusements.’
Wolverton stiffened visibly. ‘Your governess?’
Lord Stanley sauntered forward with infuriating calm and slipped an arm around Charlotte’s waist.
She gasped outright.
The sheer audacity of it stunned her into silence.
‘Mine,’ he said smoothly. ‘And I dislike sharing.’
Charlotte could only stare at him in astonishment.
The heat of his hand burned through the fabric of her gown, and the look in his eyes was scandalously convincing.
Wolverton’s gaze moved slowly between them, measuring.
Lord Stanley drew her still closer.
Another startled breath escaped her as her side pressed fully against him, sending an unwelcome awareness skittering through every nerve in her body.
‘Ah,’ Wolverton said with an oily laugh. ‘So that is the way of it. I had no idea you were keeping such diversions hidden in the schoolroom.’
‘Then you ought to observe more carefully,’ Lord Stanley replied coolly. ‘Good night.’
Wolverton bowed, thin-lipped, before stalking off.
As soon as he left, Charlotte shoved Lord Stanley away from her.
He released her instantly.
His hand fell from her waist, and his entire demeanour changed. The mocking drawl vanished from his voice.
‘Are you hurt?’
Charlotte pressed trembling fingers against her neck. ‘No. But if you ever touch me like that again—’
Fury surged through her.
‘I am not your mistress. How dare you!’
The infuriating smile returned immediately.
‘Indeed, I do not dare,’ he interrupted quietly, lifting both hands in surrender.
‘How could you say that to such a vile creature?’
Then his expression sharpened slightly. ‘You would be wise not to wander the corridors of this house alone at night. One day you may encounter genuine danger.’
With that, he turned back towards the card room.
‘I had no idea you kept such depraved company that no lady in this house is safe!’ Charlotte called furiously after him.
But the impossible man merely continued walking without looking back.
Trembling with outrage, Charlotte stormed upstairs, muttering deeply unladylike language beneath her breath all the way to her room.
Still simmering with irritation by the time she reached her room, Charlotte dragged her comb rather carelessly through her hair when poor Sarah finally appeared, looking positively haggard after a full day confined to the kitchens.
‘Oh dear, you look dreadful,’ Charlotte said unhelpfully.
‘I feel worse,’ Sarah moaned. ‘I tried to escape the kitchen duties again today, but I think Mrs Dent has grown suspicious. She watched me like a prison guard all day, so I never had a chance.’
Charlotte’s disappointment must have shown for a fleeting moment, but she quickly softened.
‘Never mind. Try to rest.’ She crossed to the washstand and handed Sarah a small tin.
‘Mrs Wilberforce made me this balm. Apparently it works wonders on bruises and blisters. And I spoke to her about bringing you back upstairs. She said she would look into it.’
Sarah could have wept with gratitude. Throwing her arms around Charlotte, she sighed into her shoulder.
‘Thank goodness. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.’ She opened the lid, sniffed cautiously, then applied an exceedingly generous amount to her feet.
‘Ah, that feels good.’ She looked up curiously. ‘Any luck with the guests?’
‘Aside from Wolverton propositioning me in the corridor this evening.’ Her hand drifted unconsciously to her waist where Lord Stanley’s hand had rested earlier. ‘And Lord Stanley is no better. He made—I mean—he said several highly inappropriate things as well.’
‘Lord Stanley? I am astonished.’
‘Why?’ Charlotte demanded, clearly annoyed. ‘I told you already—he is every bit as degenerate as the rest of them.’
She glared vaguely at the room itself, as though the furnishings bore personal responsibility for Lord Stanley’s existence. Unfortunately, the memory of his hand at her waist returned once more, causing an entirely inconvenient flush to creep into her cheeks.
Sarah noticed immediately.
‘Well,’ she said slowly, ‘your new wardrobe certainly cannot be helping matters. And the country air appears to suit you.’
Charlotte quirked a confused brow. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Your complexion is positively glowing. I am not surprised you are turning their heads. You ought to be careful wandering about alone.’
Charlotte laughed outright. ‘You are absurd. They are merely foxed. Any unfortunate female crossing their path would do just as well.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘This lavender gown is very becoming on you. Your mother always dressed you in those dreadful pale pastels before. They washed you out completely or made you appear matronly.’ She tilted her head thoughtfully.
‘Who would have guessed that becoming a governess would improve your appearance?’
Charlotte tutted and tried to dismiss her remarks.
There were far prettier women staying in the house. Miss Fraser alone eclipsed nearly everyone present. No—it was not admiration. It was simply because she was isolated and vulnerable, and men like Wolverton recognised precisely that.
‘What will we do now?’ Sarah asked anxiously. ‘We are getting nowhere with this investigation.’
Charlotte bit her lower lip. ‘I’ll think of something. For now, get some rest.’