Chapter Nine
Wolcott House
Hanover Square
It had been a couple of days since that lovely afternoon where the earl had completely upended her world with his carnal play.
Since then, life had fallen into a routine wherein she spent the first half of the day with her mother and sometimes a sister if one came to call.
While her father attended his duties in the Lords—Wolcott only popped into parliament when he wanted to, for he despised the debates—she had fittings with a modiste the earl had recommended.
When her mother scoffed at the expense, Charlotte had said her fiancé hadn’t put restrictions upon her, and neither did he pinch pennies.
“As if we, your own parents, haven’t clothed you with consideration to your rank in society,” her mother had said in high dudgeon, as if engaging a higher quality modiste was some sort of derogatory commentary on their lifestyle. “Now that you will be a countess, you’re putting on airs.”
Charlotte had gritted her teeth and gave a false smile even though she wanted to respond with the same attitude her mother had affected.
“On the contrary, Madame Purcell knows what types and styles of gowns flatter my body shape, and she is not afraid to use color or rich fabrics.” She’d shrugged.
“The modiste you employ is dull in comparison. No wonder I wasn’t noticed before the earl came along.
” That wasn’t quite the truth, but the barb had found its mark.
Her mother had left her alone for the remainder of the day.
“Besides, you can’t call scandal since I’m engaged to him. ”
Which was fine, since Charlotte spent the afternoons in Wolcott’s library.
There was much work to do regarding the organization and categorizing of the books, but she didn’t mind.
Books were so fascinating, and she’d fallen into the habit of leafing through each volume before adding it to various piles or groupings.
In essence, that room was a bit of a mess just now, but it would be tidied soon enough.
When William came into the library, she glanced up from the scandalous book she’d been reading and gave him a smile as their gazes connected. “I didn’t think you were in residence.” His citrus and cedarwood scent wafted to her nose, and it made her heartbeat accelerate.
“I wasn’t, for I had a meeting with one of my investors, but now I’m at your service.
” He tugged at the bottom of his ivory and light green striped cotton waistcoat.
With the buff-colored breeches and the brown jacket, he was every inch the gentleman about Town. “How have you been keeping yourself?”
She pointed to a couple of low piles of books. “Going through books to get a feeling of their subject matter. You have a few lovely collections of series with leather covers that are still in decent shape. Those I think I’ll group together; they’ll look lovely on the shelves.”
“You have a knack for this.” With a nod, he wandered over to the low sofa where she had perched then sat on a leather winged-back chair nearby.
“I told you I adore books of all sorts.” With the brush of her fingertips over the open pages of the book on her lap, she blew out a soft breath. “Also, I’ve been reading more through your mistress’ tell-all.”
“Oh?” A guarded expression came over his face.
She nodded. “I haven’t read through the section about you properly yet; merely skimmed, but one of the mistress’ former paramours was interesting. He had some weird fetishes in the bedroom, if the author is to be believed.”
“Who was it?”
“The Duke of Courtland. I think. She wrote it as the D of C, but his fetishes I’ve heard about in gossip.” Watching him, she pushed her spectacles back onto the bridge of her nose. “Did you know that he died of poisoning?”
“I knew he’d died a few years back, but the cause wasn’t definitive.” William scratched his fingers through his close-cropped beard. “I believe Courtland’s doctor said he had stomach issues. That could be how he perished.”
“True,” she said with a slow nod, “but there is a passage in the book that is quite chilling. Shall I read it to you?”
He grimaced. “If you must.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not about you.” With a smile, she flipped the pages until she found the section she wanted, then she drew a forefinger down.
At the correct passage, she tapped the book.
“‘…it is interesting that many things in one’s kitchen can prove poisonous and deadly to one’s health, and if one knows what one is doing, they can employ that knowledge to the best results… ’”
“That means nothing. It is merely her thoughts.”
“Perhaps, but what about this?” Charlotte turned the page.
“ ‘…I asked Cook to put a special addition into the creamed chicken tonight. Nutmeg, which made it mysterious. C didn’t care for it. He began to cough midway through the meal. Then he couldn’t catch his breath.
He was feeling so poorly, he didn’t finish the meal.
Instead, he went home. Unfortunately, the dear man perished the next day.
Perhaps nutmeg didn’t agree with him…’” When she met the earl’s gaze, his eyes widened.
“I think your ex-mistress knew of his sensitivity.”
“How, though?”
“She could have talked to the servants at his home? Talked to her own? Someone always knows something.” Letting the book close, she blew out a breath. “Or he could have mentioned it to her in passing without realizing it was a clue she would tuck away for later.”
For long moments, William remained silent. “What did she gain with the duke dead?”
“Who can say? Where did she procure her townhouse? Did he give it to her?”
He waved a hand. “She said one of her former lovers bought it. I don’t know for certain if it was him…”
Charlotte knew she was correct, or at least on the trail of something large and quite newsworthy.
“Perhaps he left her a portion in his will, jewels, unentailed property, horses. That is how women like Mrs. Sherrington climb socially and gain power. They want all of that, but not the man so much.” With a shrug, she frowned at the page.
“Of course, many men are quite horrid to women, so it might have been warranted. Regardless, women like her gain high status in society. She might even go on to run gangs or illicit groups, perhaps fund them once she has a large enough fortune.”
“What?” Shock reflected on his face. “However, it probably isn’t far from the truth.” The corners of his mouth turned downward with a frown. “That is what I ultimately felt from her—craving power and a desperation to not rely on men.”
“Well, she wasn’t wrong there.” Charlotte didn’t wish to rely on one, but she didn’t have a choice at present. “Many of you are black guards.”
“I’ll give you that.” He nodded. “She made it seem as if she were going through the motions with me sexually, while her mind was woolgathering, all the while wanting rewards…” A huff escaped him. “Damn, I should have cut her loose earlier.”
“I’m sorry.” That must have been difficult for him. “You didn’t deserve that. If anything, you should feel love from a woman for the man you are.” Was she that woman? It was far too early in the conversation for that thought.
“I don’t know about that.” Sadness shadowed his eyes. When she thought he would have extended the subject, he didn’t. Instead, he asked, “Who is the third man she speaks of in the book?”
“Oh, let me check.” Once more, Charlotte opened the volume and flipped through the pages until she came to that section. “She doesn’t outright say his name, only lists him as the M of V.”
“What?” His back went ramrod straight as his eyes rounded. “The Marquess of Vorheis. My God.” A gasp left his throat. “I believe he died six months before I took Mrs. Sherrington on as mistress.”
Dear heavens. Chill bumps raced along her skin. “What did he die from?”
His shrug only lifted one shoulder. “I think it was a complication from an infection of some sort. He suffered a deep cut on one of his palms. No explanation was offered for how he received that.”
“Oh.” Their gazes met and for the space of several heartbeats, they stared at each other. Eventually, Charlotte cleared her throat. “Was Mrs. Sherrington ever investigated or suspected in either death?”
He snorted. “I rather doubt it. She carries some weight within the ton despite being a mistress. Her father was a powerful earl, and even though she was born on the wrong side of the blanket, his status still carries weight despite her losing respect because of it.”
It didn’t matter where a person came from. “Murder is wrong. Two deaths, even more perhaps. Do you think she would have eventually killed you?” The implications sent ice into her veins.
“I…” His voice drifted off as confusion gave way to horror in his expression.
Knots of worry pulled in her belly. “Do you understand that you were trysting with a woman who wielded a poisoned pen in the literal sense? The fact she wrote this book shows she is thumbing her nose at everyone, even the authorities. She knows she’s guilty and she doesn’t care.
” Sour bile hit the back of her throat. Something went through her, a wave of protectiveness, a feeling she couldn’t understand, for the earl. “Was she irate when you let her go?”
“Not any more than I thought appropriate.” Another frown took possession of his mouth. “However, she did throw a vase at me when I had her maid pack her belongings.”
A modicum of relief sailed down her spine. “You were fortunate, then.”
William shook his head. “How is that possible? I am not a lucky person.”
“Perhaps that is changing.”
*