Chapter 26 #2
Silence fell.
They were gone.
Charlotte did not move at first.
Then, trembling, she emerged slowly from the alcove. Every step sounded impossibly loud to her ears. She crept towards the fireplace and saw Wolverton sprawled across the Persian rug, blood pooling beneath him. Lord Stanley’s Ottoman dagger protruded from his back.
Charlotte fought down a surge of panic.
She had to find Lord Stanley. Now.
She locked the library door behind her and hurried down the corridor.
At the card room, she stopped a footman. ‘Fetch Lord Stanley immediately.’
Through the doorway, she saw him receive the message. He looked up—and met her ashen face.
One glance sufficed.
He rose at once and crossed swiftly towards her.
‘What is it?’ he asked sharply.
Charlotte seized his wrist and drew him after her.
‘You look as though you have seen a ghost,’ he murmured beneath his breath.
She said nothing. The sight within the library would speak for itself.
At the door, her hands shook so violently she fumbled the key. ‘Brace yourself, my lord.’
‘You know,’ he murmured dryly beside her, ‘it is quite remarkable how I always find you in the midst of something entirely bizarre. Allow me.’
He took the key gently from her and unlocked the door before closing it behind them with a decisive click.
Inside, she pointed towards the fireplace, where the body lay partly obscured behind two large armchairs.
As Lord Stanley stepped closer, the colour drained visibly from his face. ‘Good God! What happened?’ he demanded. He crouched beside the corpse, careful not to step in the blood. ‘Is that my dagger?’
Charlotte willed herself to speak. ‘Hamilton and Boulton mean to frame you. They placed your diamond pin in Wolverton’s hand.’
Lord Stanley glanced down at his lapel and saw at once that it was missing.
He rose slowly, taking in the full peril of the situation. ‘How did you come to witness all this? Are you hurt?’ He placed his large, steady hands upon her shoulders, and the contact made her suddenly aware of how terrified she truly was.
Charlotte shook her head. His eyes lingered over her as though searching for injuries she had not yet named.
‘There is no time to explain—we must move the body, my lord. They have laid a trap. Earlier I overheard several of the ladies discussing coming into the library to select books. They may arrive at any moment.’ She looked helplessly towards the corpse. ‘Good heavens—how are we to manage it?’
Lord Stanley jolted instantly into action. ‘Come—help me roll the rug over him.’
Charlotte pointed hurriedly towards her hiding place. ‘We might conceal him there.’
Lord Stanley quirked a brow. ‘Were you here the entire time, even when I was... er... speaking to Wolverton?’
She nodded.
He raked a hand through his hair, looking mildly embarrassed. ‘Of course you were,’ he muttered.
Together they dragged the heavy Persian rug over the body, rolling it with frantic determination.
‘Take the other end—can you manage?’
Charlotte huffed with exertion as she pushed, her breath coming fast and uneven. Shock, perhaps, had lent her strength she never knew she possessed.
When it was finally done, Lord Stanley shoved the bookcase and chest table back into place, concealing the alcove once more. Charlotte seized a potted plant and positioned it carefully before the gap for additional cover.
Both were breathless by the time they returned to the fireplace. A dark smear of blood remained upon the floor, with scattered traces upon the table beside it.
‘Look!’
Lord Stanley dragged a heavy armchair across the stain, hiding it from view. Charlotte, meanwhile, sacrificed her shawl, hastily wiping the remaining blood from the table before tossing the ruined fabric into the fire. It caught at once, curling black at the edges.
They had barely enough time to compose themselves when voices sounded beyond the door.
‘I cannot think what to do about my insomnia,’ came Lady Bainbridge’s voice.
‘A good novel is my remedy...’ Mrs Wilberforce replied.
Charlotte’s eyes widened in alarm.
She took in Lord Stanley’s state—his coat disordered, his breathing still uneven—and knew with sinking certainty he was doing precisely the same to her. There was no time to think.
The handle turned.
‘Forgive me,’ Lord Stanley murmured.
And in one swift movement, he drew her into a passionate embrace that stole the breath from her lungs.
His hands circled her waist; hers, entirely unbidden, clutched at his muscular arms as her knees threatened to give way beneath her. Whether from terror at what she had just witnessed or because of his touch, she could not tell.
The door opened.
‘Henry!’ Mrs Wilberforce shrieked.
Behind her stood Lady Bainbridge, Miss Fraser, and several others, peering inside with varying degrees of astonishment—save for Miss Hill, who looked entirely too pleased with herself as she grinned broadly.
Lord Stanley released Charlotte with perfect composure, as though nothing at all had occurred.
‘Minerva, Lady Bainbridge—ladies—Miss Lucas has agreed to be my wife.’