Chapter 19 #3
The butler, his cheeks flushed with outrage, spun on his heel and hurried away down the corridor. Luca barely noticed since his mind was fixed on what lay ahead. He could not stop picturing Charlotte trapped behind those asylum walls—alone, frightened, and at the mercy of monsters.
Moments later, Lord Matthew appeared from the corridor, his blue eyes flashing with irritation. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” he demanded, his tone thick with condescension. “You barge into my home and demand an audience? Have you no decency?”
Luca stepped forward, his temper barely contained. “We need access to The Chelmsford Asylum,” he began, “and you are going to take us.”
Lord Matthew froze mid-step, a flicker of surprise passing across his face. “Pardon?”
“We know your wife is being kept there,” Luca replied. “And we need you to take us to visit her.”
“I… don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lord Matthew stammered, retreating a step.
Alcott’s voice was sharp. “You do, and we have no time for your lies.”
Matthew blinked rapidly, struggling to recover his poise. “My wife is upstairs,” he tried weakly. “With our daughter.”
Rupert laughed, cold and humorless. “That’s interesting. Because I have it on good authority that she’s in The Chelmsford Asylum.” He reached into his coat and drew a pistol, resting it casually against his side. “You should know that I do not take kindly to deceit.”
Lord Matthew’s face drained of color. “Are you threatening me?”
Rupert’s gaze hardened. “I must have been unclear. I am most definitely threatening you. Refuse to help us, and I’ll see you transported.”
Matthew puffed out his chest, indignation returning in the face of fear. “I am a lord. No judge would transport me.”
Rupert’s voice dropped to a growl. “I wouldn’t ask a judge for permission.”
The silence that followed was palpable. At last, Lord Matthew swallowed hard. “We can go after breakfast.”
“No,” Rupert said, gesturing towards the door with the pistol. “We go now. After you.”
Knowing he was beaten, Lord Matthew gathered his coat and stepped outside. Luca followed close behind, the icy wind biting his cheeks as they climbed back into the coach.
The moment the door shut, Luca turned on him. “Why did you have your wife committed?”
“She is mad,” Lord Matthew said simply, his voice calm, as though he were discussing the weather.
“Is she?” Luca demanded. “Or was she merely an inconvenience you wished to discard?”
Matthew’s eyes hardened. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“No,” Luca said, leaning forward until their gazes locked, “but you’ll have to explain yourself to the ton. I intend to publish an article about your wife’s imprisonment.”
Matthew’s nostrils flared. “It is within my rights to have her committed. I did nothing wrong.”
Rupert, seated across from him, let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Then you shouldn’t mind explaining to the queen where Lady Matthew is.”
Matthew’s head snapped up. “Why would I need to do that?”
Rupert’s lips twitched. “Because I may have already sent word to Her Majesty about Lady Matthew’s current… predicament. She was quite distressed to learn that a member of her court was rotting away in The Chelmsford Asylum.”
The color drained entirely from Lord Matthew’s face, and for the first time since they’d entered his townhouse, the mask of arrogance cracked. “Why do you need to see my wife?” he asked.
Luca held his gaze, refusing to look away. “We don’t,” he replied. “We have other business to attend to.”
Matthew’s mouth tightened into a hard line. “You can’t just barge into The Chelmsford Asylum,” he said, trying for indignation, though it came out sounding more like fear.
“Precisely why you are here,” Rupert cut in. “You will take us inside. And if you had any shred of decency left, you would take your wife home where she belongs.”
Matthew’s composure wavered further. “But she is mad…” he murmured, as if clinging to the excuse might absolve him. “I must think of our daughter.”
Rupert leaned forward. “You think only of yourself,” he said. “But I can promise you this—whatever happens to your wife will happen to you.”
The words landed like a blow. The silence that followed was thick and stifling, broken only by the steady rumble of the wheels on the road.
Matthew’s eyes darted between the three of them, his breath shallow.
For a moment, Luca thought he might try to argue again.
But the defiance never came. Instead, his shoulders slumped, and he nodded once, defeated.
“I will bring her home, then,” Matthew said, his voice faint.
“Good answer,” Rupert replied, settling back in his seat, though his expression remained hard.
Luca turned his face towards the window, his jaw tight. The landscape blurred past—a dreary mix of gray sky and rolling fields—but he scarcely saw it. His thoughts were with Charlotte. He could picture her, frightened but unbroken, her chin lifted in that familiar show of quiet defiance.
“Stay strong, Charlotte,” he murmured inwardly, his hand curling into a fist on his knee. Hold on. I’m coming for you.