Chapter Six
This was completely unacceptable.
Benjamin had spent the past few evenings visiting the gentleman’s clubs and gaming hells of the London elite and was now sitting in his own office in Elysium, reading through the establishment’s ledgers.
Until this week, the young Earl of Elford had been just another irresponsible fop wasting away his new inheritance. Such specimens were the bread and butter of gaming establishments such as his own, and Benjamin had never had cause to begrudge them their fun. They had made him a rich man.
Frederick Aston, however, was beyond the pale. In the last few years, he had racked up considerable debts at almost every fashionable establishment in London—and many of the unfashionable ones as well.
As far as Benjamin could tell, the Elford estate was completely bankrupt. He could not fathom how the Aston family maintained their current residence and kept the two youngest Astons enrolled at Eton.
What was more concerning to Benjamin was that, as far as his investigation could tell, the man who held the vast majority of the young earl’s debts was Baron Ruben Deering.
Cold cobblestones. The sharp tang of the docks. Hot blood seeping through his collar.
Deering was a grasping and vindictive man who resented his status and seemed set on making it everyone else’s problem.
He owned a mildly successful shipping company, but he made most of his wealth in the contraband goods he sold and other underhanded dealings he conducted with the more dubious businessmen of London.
Deering was detestable for a number of reasons, but Benjamin’s hatred of him was far more personal. Ruben Deering had killed his sister.
∞∞∞
It had been three days since Charlotte had seen Scarsdale. He had not returned to his room since she awoke the next morning, and instead, a young, sweet-faced maid sat in the corner.
“You have to help me return to my home, Lizzy. This arrangement is wholly inappropriate.” Charlotte had sat in the hip bath as the young woman gently patted a damp cloth over the tender, puckered skin of her shoulder.
“Yep, don’t I know it? You are as fine a lady as I have ever seen, and you should not be having dealings with such a man.
” Content that her wound was well cleaned, Lizzy moved on to scrubbing the dried mud and filth from Charlotte’s arms. “But honest as I can be, my lady, there is nothing you should be doing to turn down such help.” She eyed the wound again, giving Charlotte a pointed look.
“From what I can figure, which ain’t much since it is none of my business, you have found yourself in a spot of trouble.
And miraculously, that man has seen fit to see you out of it. In luxury.”
The maid waved a hand around the well-appointed chamber, which Charlotte had begun to consider her prison.
“Of course, I would never refuse to help you leave if you truly wish it. But I would sure as be sacking myself. And I need this job, my lady. My brother is in the workhouse. With this job, I can get him out.”
Charlotte rested her head on her bent knees, still soapy in the lather that she staunchly refused to recognise as the same scent that had so pleasantly clung to Benjamin Scarsdale’s neck. She did not want to be the cause of Lizzy’s unemployment.
“Honestly, I am still pinching myself that I got this job. I have never been a lady’s maid before. Never even known one.”
Charlotte snapped her head up at that, jolting her shoulder and pulling a groan from between her clenched teeth. “You have not had this job long?” She had assumed Lizzy was just one of the household staff.
“No, m’lady. Just got hired yesterday. My cousin is the cookmaid. She came and found me at work and dragged me straight here to interview. And just like that, I was hired.” The woman shrugged her thin shoulders. Her frame was not one that was made to be thin.
Charlotte blinked. How strange. Had Scarsdale really not had a single maid in residence that could have managed the duties of a lady’s maid, even a temporary one? Had he set out specifically to find someone to look after her in her convalescence? And after she had thrown a pitcher at him, no less?
“Where did you work before this, Lizzy?”
“Lifetime of jobs, m’lady. But most recently, I worked as a seamstress.”
Charlotte nodded, watching the girl’s nimble but scared hands wring out the cloth and lather the soap once more. “Wasn’t such a bad place as all that. Better pay than usual. But nothing like this. I can have James out in two weeks at this rate.”
She set to scrubbing soap into Charlotte’s hair with none of the finesse of a practised lady’s maid. Charlotte did not mind.
“I will not leave, Lizzy,” Charlotte spoke to the ceiling as Lizzy poured warm water over her hair.
There was a beat of silence, and Lizzy’s freckled face appeared above her. “You mean that?”
The hope in the woman’s eyes angered Charlotte. How dare Scarsdale play them both like this? Charlotte would have to leave. She had her own family to protect. But she could not condemn Lizzy to the same fate. She would not do that to Lizzy or her brother.
“You have my word. I will not leave unless I have to. And if I do, I will ensure that you are not dismissed on my account.” It was a bold promise to make.
Bolder still, since she had no idea of the character of the man she was dealing with.
But she had fought her way forward time and again.
She was sure she would manage something.
Over the last few days, Charlotte and Lizzy had spent most of Charlotte’s short, weary days in each other’s company.
Somewhat to Charlotte’s surprise, healing from a bullet wound was deeply exhausting work.
Her torso had bruised considerably, and an unflagging ache settled in the joints around the wound, even though Lizzy kept it scrupulously clean, and the doctor, on his brief daily visits, proclaimed it to have not yet festered.
It had been over a year since she had the luxury of a lady’s maid, and while Lizzy’s gentle care was lovely and appreciated, her companionship was the real boon.
The two ate together and read together—Charlotte read out loud to Lizzy, who said she preferred to listen—and they quickly grew comfortable in each other’s presence.
Finding companionship with the staff was nothing new for Charlotte. Her childhood had been lonely after her mother died of cholera when she was young. Her father was affectionate but distant, unsure of what to do with an inquisitive young girl.
Then he remarried. His new wife, Veronica, was young and well-bred and, necessarily, wholly unfamiliar with small children.
When first Freddie, then later on, the twins came, Charlotte was acutely aware of her alien status in the home.
It had felt as if her father finally had a family again, and she was a tolerated relation.
As much as she loved her darling little brothers, she had never felt fully part of them.
She had found some solace in the companionship of the staff.
While she did not fit into their world either, they had been kind and patient, allowing the young lady to ease her loneliness by passing the time with them, despite the breach in propriety.
Charlotte knew not all servants would have been so tolerant of her, and she appreciated Lizzy’s openness all the more for it.
Over the days they spent together, Charlotte slowly pried information from the woman.
Apparently, she had only been hired the day of the incident.
In fact, the butler had sought her out through her cousin, the cookmaid, and she had not yet met Mr. Scarsdale.
There had apparently not even been an opportunity for such an introduction since, according to Lizzy, Mr. Scarsdale had not so much as set foot in the townhouse since she had been hired.
Charlotte felt embarrassed by the relief she felt at the declaration.
The idea of the sweet, pretty young Lizzy living and working in the same house as the dangerous…
handsome man had sparked unwanted jealousy in her, and a contrary surge of protectiveness for her new friend.
Not that she truly suspected Scarsdale to be the type of man to take liberties with his staff.
He was arrogant, but in her limited estimation of him, she did not feel he was entitled.
Despite Lizzy’s welcome company, by the end of the third day, Charlotte was so pent up and anxious that she could hardly sit still. She had taken to pacing the room with her arm in a sling.
This unexpected reprieve from her usual toil was quickly growing into a serious concern, and her mind was conjuring up countless avenues of ruination for her and her family.
First and foremost, had it become common knowledge that she was staying in Scarsdale’s home? That alone would spell the end of the Aston family—or at least her involvement in it.
Second, did Freddie know what had happened?
Had news of the duel leaked into the circulation of ton gossip?
If it had, and anyone knew that Freddie had not made it to the duelling pitch, his bet would be forfeit, and Charlotte could not imagine where she might find the resources to recover from such a blow.
This led to her greatest concern: the bullet had lodged in her right shoulder.
She could not write. How would she be able to pay for even the bare necessities?
What if she lost her position because of her missing submissions?
She had precious little stored away to protect them from immediate starvation in a worst-case scenario, but it would not last them long enough for her to get a new job.
She certainly could not keep the enrolment office at Eton happy when they were already breathing down her neck for the twins’ latest tuition payment.