Chapter 30
She exchanged glances with Lord Stanley. Without a word, she opened the book.
Its pages were filled with unfamiliar symbols and glyphs—a cipher.
Lord Stanley moved closer, standing just behind her as he studied the pages.
‘I have a feeling,’ he said quietly, ‘this is an accounting of names... perhaps locations as well.’
Charlotte exhaled shakily. ‘Unfortunately, without the key to the cipher, it is useless.’
‘I may need to travel to London and consult someone skilled in decoding. It is worth attempting. Perhaps we can still crack it. Or, if we identify the remaining Odd Fellows, we may yet force the code from one of them.’
She shut the book with frustration and began to pace the room. ‘How? We have spent weeks beneath the same roof, and still they remain several steps ahead of us. We have scarcely escaped their schemes ourselves.’
‘Yes—but until now, we have been acting alone.’ He folded his arms. ‘If we work together, we may achieve considerably more. We have until the close of the house party and the ball. Until then, we maintain the pretence of our engagement and continue our inquiries carefully. Someone may yet betray more than they intended.’
‘But they will be on high alert.’
‘Precisely. And that knowledge may unsettle them. Men grow careless under pressure. We already know Hamilton and Boulton are involved. What we require now is the identity of this Falcon. From the sound of it, he is no mere member, but their leader.’
Charlotte tapped her chin as a troubling thought occurred to her.
‘The secret passageway is in your own mansion, my lord,’ she said hesitantly. ‘And these annual house parties involve the same guests year after year. Then we found the key to the passage hidden inside a hollow book here. It clearly connects to the Odd Fellows. What if...’
She faltered before finishing quietly,
‘What if the late baron—your father—was involved with them as well?’
Lord Stanley’s expression darkened.
‘I have considered the possibility.’ His voice lowered.
‘Until now, I assumed Matthew was solely responsible for the corruption surrounding this estate. But if these passageways existed during my father’s lifetime.
..’ He exhaled slowly. ‘I dislike the conclusion. Nevertheless, I shall search through what remains of his papers.’
She nodded and sank onto a nearby sofa. ‘So how do we expose them?’
‘You must turn your attention to the ladies. Women hear and notice far more than men suppose. Speak with them. Draw them out if you can. No more following dangerous men around.’ He gave her a pointed look.
Charlotte bristled immediately. ‘I have managed perfectly well thus far—’
One raised brow from him, clearly recalling the catastrophe in Lord Boulton’s bedchamber, caused her to amend with reluctant dignity, ‘—though perhaps not flawlessly.’
A glimmer of amusement flickered in his eyes.
‘I shall speak with the ladies,’ she conceded. ‘In fact, I already know precisely where to begin.’
‘Of course you do,’ he murmured dryly. ‘There truly is no stopping you, is there?’
‘Not the slightest chance.’ She replied primly.
Yet another difficulty occurred to her, and her confidence dimmed. ‘It may prove harder than you think. Governesses are generally invisible to society. Most ladies scarcely acknowledge our existence.’
At that, Lord Stanley gave one of those rare smiles that transformed his entire countenance.
‘You are forgetting one rather important detail.’
Charlotte eyed him warily. ‘And what is that?’
‘You are no longer merely the governess.’ He stepped nearer as he spoke. ‘You are my fiancée. Whether they like it or not, that grants you influence.’
Charlotte instinctively retreated a step. ‘I hope you remember that this engagement is entirely fictitious, my lord.’
He gave a low chuckle. ‘But I confess—I find myself rather enjoying the charade.’
‘You, sir, are laying it on rather thick with this besotted-fiancé act. If you continue overacting in such a manner, people will grow suspicious,’ she finished waspishly, planting her hands upon her hips.
Then, with the faintest trace of mischief, he added, ‘My dear Miss Lucas, if you persist in appearing so lovely’—his gaze flickered briefly towards her gown—‘I shall soon forget our engagement is fictitious myself.’
Charlotte stared at him in disbelief.
He had made his position abundantly clear. A match founded upon deception was abhorrent to him, and matrimony to a governess doubly so. Surely he was teasing her?
No matter how convincing his besotted-fiancé act became, she would not permit it to turn her head. She refused to behave like one of the simpering ladies already imagining themselves in love after a few flattering looks and well-timed compliments.
‘You informed Tom that I was to become his aunt. The poor child will be heartbroken when he discovers the truth.’
He looked faintly abashed.
‘Minerva was present,’ he said after a moment. ‘I was obliged to make the performance convincing. I shall speak to him once this is all over. He will recover well enough, I assure you.’
She sighed in relief, softened somewhat by his obvious affection for his nephew.
‘Come. I shall escort you to your bedchambers.’
As they walked side by side through the dark, silent corridors, Charlotte realised something in him had changed. Or perhaps it had always been there, merely hidden beneath the surface.
His usual cool reserve had softened. In its place there was warmth—genuine warmth. He smiled more readily now. There was something more open in him, more attentive and caring, that pleased her despite herself.
Was this his true self—or merely another performance?
No... she had a growing suspicion this was the real Henry Stanley. The part of himself he kept carefully hidden from the world.
Charlotte found herself reconsidering everything she thought she knew about him.
Disowned by his father. Shunned by society. Betrayed by his cousin and friend. Even in seeking a wife, he had nearly been deceived by false affection and superficial charm.
No wonder he was wary of those around him. No wonder he trusted no one. His reserve was not arrogance at all, but armour.
Then she recalled the rumours whispered throughout the ton—the coldness, the cruelty, the inhumanity—and how readily she had allowed them, along with Mrs Dent’s remarks, to poison her opinion of him before she had truly come to know him.
She thought back over their acquaintance. It was true her first impression of him had been far from favourable. But if she were honest, she was beginning to understand why he behaved as he did.
Yet since coming to Alderley Park, she could not honestly fault him. Yes, he could be abrupt. Distant, perhaps. And certainly exasperating.
He teased her mercilessly—but then, she had to admit, he did possess an uncanny talent for finding her in the most mortifying situations imaginable.
And since the house party began, he had done little except try to keep her out of harm’s way.
At last, Charlotte understood something about him.
And with that understanding, her resentment quietly dissolved.
In its place, she found herself aching for him.
Wishing there was someone in the world upon whom he could truly rely.
Charlotte wanted to be that for him, perhaps as a friend.
The next morning, the house party resolved upon a ride through the countryside.
Charlotte wore a borrowed riding habit, a fetching navy blue which, though a little tight around the bodice, it suited her exceedingly well. As she descended the front steps, she reminded herself firmly that Lord Stanley’s absurdly attentive behaviour was nothing more than performance.
And yet, as she descended the final steps and found him waiting below, the sight of him very nearly undid her.
He was looking at her directly—not through her, nor past her, as gentlemen so often had before—but at her. Entirely attentive. Entirely intent.
A flutter of exhilaration stirred in her stomach.
Good heavens.
He was remarkably good at this covert business. Her head might very well have been turned, were it not for the inconvenient fact that it was all an illusion—a fact she found herself having to remember with increasing frequency.
He offered his arm, and she placed her hand lightly upon it.
As they crossed towards the stables, Charlotte considered her own plans for the morning. If anyone knew more of Wolverton’s recent behaviour, it would surely be Lady Susan. The two had spent an inordinate amount of time together before his disappearance.
They entered the stables, his hand brushing lightly against the small of her back—barely a touch, yet she felt it to her bones. That quiet support steadied her. She was not alone—and somehow, that knowledge emboldened her.
Her gaze swept the stable yard until she found Lady Susan seated upon a chestnut bay, wearing a contemplative expression.
‘Would you mind if I joined you, my lady?’ Charlotte asked as she mounted a mild-mannered sleek black mare beside her, not waiting for permission. She doubted the lady would be so rude as to refuse outright.
Lady Susan raised an elegant brow but said nothing.
‘I find house parties rather exhausting affairs,’ Charlotte continued lightly as they set off after the others. ‘There are so many people to entertain and attend to.’
‘I suppose it must be daunting for someone unaccustomed to society,’ Lady Susan replied coolly. Her tone made it abundantly clear she wished Charlotte were elsewhere.
‘It must be a comfort to you, at least, knowing everyone so well,’ Charlotte pressed.
‘Or a burden,’ Lady Susan said, twisting the reins in her gloved hands. ‘Some acquaintances are hardly worth the trouble.’
They trotted out onto the country lane after the gentlemen riding ahead.
Charlotte glanced sideways at her.
‘Surely not all,’ she said delicately after a pause. ‘Lord Wolverton, for instance. He seemed rather taken with you.’
At once, something sharp flickered across Lady Susan’s face.