Chapter 23
Mrs Wilberforce complained—as did the other ladies. They felt woefully neglected by the gentlemen, particularly since Mr Wilberforce’s departure, and insisted upon greater attention in the evenings. Thus coerced, the gentlemen reluctantly agreed to participate in more civilised amusements.
Charlotte was glad of it; she may even have championed their efforts, for it allowed her to observe them more closely—and, she hoped, in a more sober state.
A twinge of guilt stirred at Lord Stanley’s warning. Still, what he did not know would not harm him, she told herself. She would be discreet.
As she entered the drawing room, she found Lady Bainbridge in unusually high spirits.
She sat surrounded by Mr Hamilton, Miss Fraser, and young Miss Payne, all bright laughter and animated conversation, whilst Mr Payne’s awkward son lingered nearby, preening in what was clearly an attempt to appear dashing before Miss Oswald.
Lord Bainbridge leaned heavily upon his cane, his decrepit legs trembling beneath him as he held court amongst several gentlemen. Charlotte’s attention sharpened at once upon the easy familiarity between him and Lord Wolverton.
Her eyes narrowed.
Surely Lord Bainbridge possessed some connection to the Odd Fellows. How could he not? His preference for younger ladies, coupled with his intimacy with Wolverton, seemed all too convenient.
Mrs Wilberforce sat nearby upon the sofa with her friends.
‘You managed to sort out the issue with Mrs Dent, I hope?’ she asked Charlotte, a line of concern marring her otherwise smooth forehead. ‘I trust you have not changed your mind about staying on with us?’
Charlotte concealed a smile and repeated, ‘Mrs Wilberforce, I assure you, I have no intention of leaving.’
But the poor woman appeared only partially reassured.
Lord Wolverton, overhearing, interjected, ‘Staff trouble, is it? Mrs Dent is the housekeeper, I believe?’
At that moment, the door opened and Lord Boulton limped into the room, his exhausted-looking wife beside him.
Charlotte stiffened, fearing he might recognise her as the maid from the other evening, but he scarcely glanced her way.
‘Good heavens, what has happened to your foot, my lord?’ Mrs Wilberforce exclaimed.
He flushed crimson. Charlotte noted it with grim satisfaction.
‘I... cannot entirely recall. I must have stumbled over something.’
Charlotte caught Lady Boulton rolling her eyes with poorly concealed irritation. The discovery that the woman possessed a degree of backbone pleased Charlotte more than it ought.
As she resumed her usual seat beside the spinsters, she found them once again deep in matrimonial strategising.
‘Mr Hamilton was briefly proposed and immediately dismissed.’
‘That cravat tells me he would be impossible to live with,’ Miss Underhill whispered. ‘The more dandified the gentleman, the more demanding.’
‘Now the Captain,’ Miss Hill said approvingly, ‘wears a very sensible knot. It suggests steadiness of character.’
‘I disagree entirely, Dotty,’ declared Miss Underhill. ‘The diamond pin on Lord Stanley’s lapel and his modest knot suggest elegance without vanity. The best of both worlds, I think.’
Charlotte gave an incredulous snort.
‘Ladies, you forget that I am merely a governess with very little to recommend me. Why, pray, should the Captain—or, more absurd still, Lord Stanley—be moved to offer for my hand when ladies like Miss Fraser, Lady Susan, and Miss Pearson are present?’
‘Perhaps,’ Miss Underhill admitted thoughtfully. ‘But Lord Wolverton certainly appears attentive to you. He watches you a great deal.’
Charlotte nearly choked.
Good Lord. The spinsters intended to match her with an evil murderer. Father is likely turning in his grave.
Determined to escape the conversation entirely, she rose to fetch herself some tea.
And promptly found herself face to face with Lord Stanley.
Their eyes met briefly. For one fleeting instant, she thought he acknowledged her presence—yet almost immediately he turned back towards Miss Pearson and resumed their conversation.
They stood directly before the tea table, apparently oblivious to the obstruction they caused, whilst Miss Pearson looked positively radiant beneath his attention. Lord Stanley, for his part, appeared to have forgotten the existence of everyone else in the room.
Charlotte scowled.
Over the past few days she had noticed the marked degree of attention he paid Miss Pearson—and how eagerly it was received. Was he not supposed to be engaged upon a dangerous mission, rather than openly flirting in the drawing room?
The Captain approached her before she could retreat.
‘Ah, Miss Lucas,’ he said warmly. ‘You are looking well this evening.’
Charlotte nearly laughed aloud. The dark blue gown she wore had already been mended twice at the hem.
‘You are very kind, Captain.’
Unfortunately, at that precise moment, she caught Lord Stanley’s eye again.
To her surprise, he wore a look of open admiration. Surely he had noticed her well-worn gown. He, of all people, possessed exacting standards.
Disconcerted, she deliberately turned back towards the Captain.
‘Are we to hear you play again this evening?’
‘If I am compelled to perform, I shall require a duet partner. Would you oblige me, Miss Lucas?’
‘I would rather spare the company unnecessary suffering, Captain.’
Lord Stanley’s mouth twitched.
She pointedly ignored him.
‘I am certain Miss Fraser or Miss Pearson would make an admirable partner.’
‘I would be delighted,’ Miss Fraser replied eagerly from the far side of the room.
‘I understand you are a great reader, Miss Lucas,’ Lord Stanley said. ‘Perhaps a reading would be well received. Something classical, perhaps? Or Evelina?’
Charlotte’s stomach dropped.
How does he know that?
Then, with sudden exasperation, she said, ‘Master Tom is your spy, I see.’
Lord Stanley smiled, bowed with infuriating satisfaction, and returned to his conversation with Miss Pearson.
Mrs Wilberforce immediately seized upon the suggestion, aided enthusiastically by the spinsters, and Charlotte soon found the matter entirely decided for her.
After dinner, the party assembled once more in the drawing room, where Charlotte, unable to refuse, selected Evelina.
To her dismay, she soon discovered she was enjoying herself thoroughly.
She gave the characters distinct voices and accents, drawing laughter from the ladies and surprising attentiveness from the gentlemen. Even the card players remained where they were.
At first Lord Stanley appeared faintly displeased—no doubt because the gentlemen were neglecting the card room entirely—yet before long even he seemed absorbed in the story.
By the time Charlotte’s voice began to fail her, the entire room protested at her stopping.
When she looked up, she found even Lord Stanley reluctant for it to end.
‘Bravo, Miss Lucas. I was quite immersed,’ the Captain said, approaching her afterwards.
‘Thank you.’ Charlotte felt unexpectedly shy beneath the warmth of his compliment and hurried to change the subject. ‘I believe they will attempt a picnic tomorrow, if the weather holds.’
‘I am sure that will be interesting—but it is the company that has proved most mesmerising.’ He leaned closer, an impish smile playing about his lips.
Charlotte drew in a breath, startled by the implication.
Could the Captain be forming a tendre for her? The thought lingered far longer than it ought. Would it truly be so terrible to marry a captain and spend one’s life travelling the world?
The image was dangerously tempting.
Resolutely, she pushed the thought aside.
Everything was far too complicated for romantic fantasies, and she inwardly scolded herself for entertaining them at all.
‘I hope you enjoy the outing, Captain. Perhaps there will even be an opportunity for shooting,’ she said, signalling the end of their conversation and attempting to walk away.
‘And will you be joining us tomorrow, Miss Lucas?’ There was a hopeful note in his voice now.
‘Oh, I fear not.’ Charlotte suppressed an entirely foolish flicker of pleasure at his attention. ‘I must attend to Tom. Besides, governesses do not generally join house-party excursions.’
‘Nonsense. I shall speak to Mrs Wilberforce myself. I am certain she may spare you for an afternoon. Tom may accompany us as well.’
Charlotte inclined her head politely.
Would it truly be so terrible to allow herself one small indulgence?
At that moment, Wolverton sauntered over and lounged against the mantelpiece. The air around them seemed to turn cold at once.
She tried to ignore him, but alas, he appeared determined to engage her.
‘Miss Lucas,’ he drawled, ‘you possess quite an extraordinary talent. Wherever did you learn to command women—and men—so completely?’
‘I am sure I do not know your meaning, sir,’ she replied, more sharply than she intended, fully aware of the lecherous implication behind his remark.
‘Oh, come now, I merely meant to compliment you.’ His smile curved unpleasantly. ‘Surely you do not take offence.’
His eyes shifted lazily towards the Captain.
‘Enjoy her company, Captain. One never knows when another gentleman may decide to claim her.’
He took out his snuff box and inhaled deeply.
Charlotte grimaced, though she was uncertain whether from his innuendo or the revolting habit itself.
‘Excuse me—disgusting vice, I know.’
Charlotte’s eyes caught upon the lid.
The same rose. And there, curling around the stem, the winding vine.
A chill crept through every inch of her skin as she was reminded of his darker deeds.
Not wishing to remain in his company a moment longer, Charlotte excused herself from the drawing room. She had nearly reached the stairs when a voice halted her.
Lord Stanley.
‘Miss Lucas, a word.’
He gestured towards the study, and after only the briefest hesitation, she followed him inside.
The door closed quietly behind them.
Ordinarily she might have protested, but the grim set of his features discouraged argument. He stood before her, every inch the austere baron once more.
‘You must take greater care not to attract so much attention. Wolverton was watching you closely this evening.’
Charlotte bit back her irritation before replying.
‘I could hardly avoid it when you were the one who proposed the reading.’
He paused, looking faintly uncertain.
‘I...’ He cleared his throat. ‘I did not realise you would prove quite so accomplished.’
‘You expected me to be dull?’
His mouth curved in spite of himself.
‘Reading aloud is not usually enough to keep that lot from their cards. I expected to reclaim them within half an hour.’
Charlotte folded her arms.
‘Well, I am sorry to disappoint you.’
A trace of amusement lingered about his mouth.
‘It would seem you attracted rather a great deal of attention this evening—from Wolverton and the good Captain alike.’
Something in his tone made her pause.
Surely it could not be jealousy.
‘Miss Pearson appears equally captivated by you, my lord,’ she returned lightly.
‘Does that trouble you, Miss Lucas?’ He scanned her face, looking for a reaction.
Charlotte scoffed.
‘Why, pray, would it bother me? You are at liberty to speak to whomever you please.’ Then she added, rather more petulantly than intended, ‘As am I.’
He cleared his throat, some of his composure slipping at last.
‘Quite.’
He looked positively annoyed.
Charlotte decided not to enjoy that quite so much as she did.
Instead, she asked, ‘Have you made any progress?’
‘I have a few theories and suspicions,’ he admitted. ‘But I am rather more interested in hearing your thoughts on how to expose them.’
His attention settled thoughtfully upon her.
To her astonishment, he actually seemed to value her opinion.
‘I suppose,’ she said slowly, ‘we might lure them out?’
‘With bait?’ he asked. ‘I tried that by offering to supply them with girls, but I do not think they were convinced.’
But Charlotte was no longer fully listening. A dangerous idea had already begun to take root. Wolverton had taken a particular interest in her—so why not encourage it?
‘You look as though you are plotting something,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Whatever it is, I forbid it.’
Charlotte arranged her expression into one of perfect innocence.
‘I do not know what you mean, my lord. Now, if that is all, I shall retire.’
He sighed, caught somewhere between exasperation and reluctant amusement.
‘I mean it, Miss Lucas.’
‘Of course,’ she replied archly.
He watched her retreat with narrowed eyes, looking entirely unconvinced.