* * * *
Charlotte tried to sleep, but could not. She was distracted by the soft sounds of her parents’ arguments seeping through the floorboards, the closed door of her chamber. Finally, she heard footsteps in the corridor as Lord and Lady Epping retired, their conversation apparently not concluded in the least.
“He is a common criminal,” Lady Epping said, passing as a fleeting shadow against the glow of soft light beneath Charlotte’s door.
“And the girl is in love with him,” Lord Epping replied, sounding weary and aggravated. “She has set her mind to it and she is certainly old enough to be left to her own choices…”
There was more, but they walked past her room, and it was lost to her. Charlotte waited a long moment, until silence descended upon the house, and she sat up. She lit her bedside lamp and pushed her covers aside, swinging her legs around to the floor. She squinted against the glare of the lamp toward her mantel; the clock read nine-thirty.
Since Caroline had left, Charlotte’s mind had been turning over and over toward the idea of convincing her mother that James would never make a proper husband for her, with or without the complication of her ruse engagement to Kenley. She had also been fretting about this; with no occasion to draw Kenley alone and speak with him in the confused aftermath that had followed his bold announcement, she still had no idea why he had done as he had. She was tremendously grateful to him, whatever his reasons, but in her heart, she knew she could not see even that marriage through. No matter what they had offered in pretense, Kenley did not know her. He had obviously acted out of some sense of courtesy in rescuing her from James, but to hold him to this hasty declaration—one that she felt certain he was likely pounding his head against the wall regretting—would be no less cruel than her mother’s expectations that Charlotte marry James.
“There must be some way out of this,” Charlotte whispered. If she did what she knew in her heart was right—releasing Kenley from his offer—then she would be left to a forced marriage to James. If she married Kenley, however, it would still be something forced. True, she was drawn deeply toward him; charmed, captivated, and infatuated by him, but could one base a marriage on such curious fascination?
“Of course not,” she told herself, shaking her head. “Do not be stupid. There is only one way out of this.”
She had to prove James unfit in Lady Epping’s regard.
Charlotte went to her writing table, where she had set Edmond Cheadle’s knapsack. She opened the bag and pulled out his copy of Improvement of the Mind.
Cheadle was decidedly creepy, and based upon the newspaper clipping she had found, with the ambiguous note—Suitable for our needs?—Charlotte had decided that the thief-taker was in Epping parish with far more in mind than finding reputable employment as a coachman.
She flipped through the book and found the second note: Oct 26, 11 oc, W. Arms, Epp. Prop. Both Cheadle and James had been at Rycroft House that morning; they had not picked up any wedding guests from London in Epping. Therefore, she surmised the note meant eleven o’clock at night.
Charlotte frowned thoughtfully. Coaches might come from London at such a late hour. She did not know. Surely, no aristocrat in their right mind travels so deep in the night into an area so reputed for highwaymen, she thought. Especially now, with the Black Trio preying at will.
“Who could they be meeting?” she mused softly.
Even as the words were out of her mouth, realization occurred to her, and her eyes flew wide. A woman, she thought. Who else would a nobleman meet at such an hour and location? James would no more meet even a fond acquaintance for pints at a pub than he would sprout wings and fly. The only reason he might consent to meet at the Wake Arms in the middle of the night was to meet someone in relative secret.
“A lover,” she whispered, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smile. She nearly laughed aloud. I will be damned, she thought. James Houghton has taken a lover for himself!
She could not have fallen onto her knees and begged God for better circumstances. If a lover did not convince Lady Epping of James’s poor character, nothing would. It would be so simple to discover him at it. All Charlotte had to do was ride to Epping, slip into the Wake Arms and come upon him in the act.
She darted for her wardrobe. She drew on an old pair of Reilly’s breeches that she kept tucked away for horseback riding occasions. She shoved on a weathered pair of boots and shrugged her way into a blouse. She grabbed a greatcoat from her wardrobe, the one the highwayman had left with her, and drew it over her shoulders. She fished around in a traveling bag until she found her pocket pistol and loaded it quickly, tucking the handgun into the deep hip pocket of her coat. Finally, she found the tricorne that matched her riding habit in the back of her wardrobe. She plopped the hat on her head and made for the door.
Just as she reached for the handle, she heard soft footsteps in the corridor and froze, her eyes wide, her breath stilled. She heard a quiet rapping sound as someone knocked on Reilly’s door down the hall, and Meghan said softly, “Your tea, sir.”
Charlotte opened the door a scant margin and peeped out. She watched Reilly’s door open, and she shied back reflexively. Reilly knew she was lying about having met Kenley in London; he knew her far too well. She could offer him no excuses he would believe if he caught her slipping out of the house.
“Thank you, Meghan,” she heard him say. His voice sounded hoarse and weary. She risked another peek and watched Meghan step beyond the doorway and into his room. Reilly closed the door behind the maid, and Charlotte lingered, poised at her threshold, waiting for Meghan to leave.
One moment stretched out toward seeming, agonizing oblivion. What are they doing in there? Charlotte thought. How long can it bloody take to deposit a tea service, drop a curtsy, and leave?
Finally, she could bear it no longer. She eased her door open wide enough to slip into the hall, and closed it soundlessly behind her. Keeping a wary eye on Reilly’s door, she turned and scampered for the stairwell. She scurried down the stairs to the foyer, and darted for the kitchen. She used the back entrance of the house to leave, and crossed the yard, heading for the stables.
The coachman, grooms, and stable hands all lived in quarters in the stable loft. As she crept into the barn, Charlotte could see the dim glow of lanterns filtering through the slim spaces between floorboards above her, dappling against the straw-strewn ground. She could hear the men laughing together, playing cards and sharing quiet conversations.
She paused long enough to collect a bridle from a wall peg and tiptoed toward one of the stalls. A roan nag poked its head over the gate at Charlotte’s quiet approach, its ears perked curiously. It knew her well enough to be unalarmed by her presence, and Charlotte reached for the gate latch to open the stall.
“What are you doing?”
Charlotte whirled, wide-eyed with fright, the tackle dropping from her hand. She spied a small, silhouetted figure standing behind her, just beyond the threshold of the barn, and she sighed, the tension draining from her shoulders. “Una, you gave me a fright,” she whispered.
“Do you not think you have found enough trouble for yourself today without adding more to it?” Una asked, walking toward her. Una’s hair was unbundled for bed, hanging to her waist in a thick plait. Charlotte could see the hem of her nightgown poking out in stark contrast to the edge of her dark, oversized coat. Una wore boots too big for her feet, and plodded clumsily across the floor.
“Where on earth did you get that coat and boots?” Charlotte asked.
“They are Mr. Pickernell’s,” Una replied primly, referring to Lord Epping’s butler. “Where are you going?”
“Epping proper,” Charlotte said, turning to the stall. She unlatched the gate and stepped inside, clucking her tongue to soothe the horse as she slipped the bit between its teeth and drew the bridle into place. She took the reins in hand and led the roan from the stall to saddle it.
Una folded her arms across her bosom. “May I ask why?
”
“No, you may not,” Charlotte said, looping the end of the reins loosely about a vertical beam so that the horse would not stray as she fetched a saddle. She lifted one in her arms, grunting at the weight, and lugged it toward the nag.
“Then humor me, lamb, and tell me anyway,” Una said, unamused.
Charlotte glanced at her as she plopped the saddle against the roan’s back. “I found a note in that bag of Mr. Cheadle’s,” she said. “A peculiar note. Something about eleven o’clock tonight at the Wake Arms in Epping. I think James is meeting someone there, and I want to know who.”
“I should think who James does or does not meet is no longer of any interest or consequence to you,” Una said. “As you are betrothed to another.”
Charlotte snorted as she tugged against the saddle straps, wrestling them into place. “If only it was that easy when it comes to my mother,” she said. “She will never give up on the idea of me marrying James or trying to see it come to fruition, no matter to whom I am betrothed.
Unless, of course, it was bloody George the Second; and she would consider him of higher rank and a far better suitor. Since His Majesty and I shall likely never meet, much less marry, I figure I am on my own to discredit James and see Kenley freed from this pretense of marrying me.”
“Oh, so it is pretense, then?” Una asked, arching her brow. “And here, it was my understanding that the two of you were dearly in love, what, having been courting properly in London these past sixth months.”
Charlotte paused in her work, ashamed at Una’s admonishing tone. She glanced sheepishly at Una. “I am sorry,” she whispered.
“As well you should be,” Una said. “I had to stand before your mother as if I knew every last detail of this arrangement. I had to tell her that Lord Theydon was right and proper in his courtship, as I accompanied you in chaperone every time you met with him.”
Charlotte blinked at her, surprised.
“It is damn near likely the only lie I have ever offered your mother and I have known her for twenty years,” Una said. “You might at least offer me the courtesy of forewarning before putting me in such circumstances again.”
“I am sorry, Una,” Charlotte said, touched that Una would have defended her. “You told Mother that? Thank you. I will make it up to you. Let me ride to Epping. I think James is meeting a woman there, a lover, and if I can catch him at it, if I can prove it, then I can fix everything. I know I can.” She led the saddled horse toward the stable doorway.
“And suppose you discover Lord Roding and his lover,” Una said. “How will you prove it to your mother? Your word alone to the witness? You are not precisely high on her esteemed list at the moment, Charlotte.”
“I have never lied to her,” Charlotte said. She hooked her foot against the stirrup and swung herself astride the saddle. “She will believe me.”
“This entire day has been built around a lie,” Una said, looking up at her sternly. “And Lady Epping is no fool. She has lost her wits to rage for the moment, but when she reclaims them, lamb, you had best believe she will figure you out. Anything you then offer as testimony against Lord Roding will be worthless.”
Charlotte blinked down at her.
“I will go with you,” Una said. “She will believe me. With my help, we can make sure she never learns the truth about you and Lord Theydon.”
“Do not be ridiculous, Una,” Charlotte said, frowning. “You are not going with me.”
Una arched her brow. “And how precisely would you discover Lord Roding with a lover, otherwise?
Would you simply march into the tavern, seek him out, and spy on him? He knows your face quite well, and fondly besides, or have you forgotten?”
This had not occurred to Charlotte, and she blinked again, caught off guard.
“He only knows me in passing, and if you loan me your hat for disguise, he will not know me at all,” Una said.
She was right, and Charlotte knew it. She frowned at Una. “Damn it,” she muttered.
“Watch your mouth,” Una told her. “And give me a hand. I will ride behind you.”