Confidant? Nothing ever seems very confidential between them.
As they left, there came the faint sound of Rufus and Shelby erupting into frenzied barking, chasing Monty in particular through the corridors and across the drive, where Seth watched them from the window of his study rather humorously.
He just had to hope that he was right about the informant willing to talk as a former member of the Bloomsbury Club. With any fortune, by this time tomorrow, he would possess the evidence needed to implicate Lord Holmwood in starting the great fire of Aldenbury.
And we may finally be able to put this behind all of us.
“What is your opinion?” Charity asked as she stroked Shelby and Rufus before her. With deft fingers, she was attaching tinsel to their collars, and they were being very obedient, sitting there patiently and panting softly, letting their mistress fuss over them.
“I am not so sure,” Isobel’s voice sounded from nearby. “But you possess a far deeper understanding of His Grace’s preferences than I, my Lady. If you believe he will take kindly to theChristmas gift, then I will be more than happy to make the arrangements.”
“Thank you. That is kind.” Charity released the hounds and felt Shelby attempt to curl up in her lap, though he was rather big for the task. She and Isobel giggled at his antics.
They had been engrossed in arrangements for the forthcoming Yuletide, which now loomed just a fortnight away. They were discussing plans for a grand Christmas feast, when it dawned on Charity how Isobel treated her quite like the mistress of the manor now, seeking her guidance on dinners and all matters of household affairs.
They had also been deliberating over Christmas tokens, and Charity was keen to select a gift for Seth. She’d heard him complain a few days before that all his notebooks in the house were full, soaked, or tearing into tatters. Inspired by this, she was thinking of buying him a leather-bound tome engraved with his name. She remembered seeing such books once, years ago when she was a child, and still had the gift of sight. Her mother had promised to purchase her one someday when her penmanship improved, though that felt like a distant dream now.
The books were beautifully made, and she had a feeling Seth would appreciate such a gift.
“What is that?” Charity asked, tilting her head curiously as the sound of crunching gravel reached her ears.
Isobel must have hurried to the window of the drawing room if the sounds of her retreating footsteps gave any inclination.
“It is a carriage, my Lady,” Isobel called back. “I do not recognize it. I wonder who it could be?”
Charity stood, upsetting Shelby who whimpered at the loss of touch. Shelby and Rufus followed behind her as she made her way toward the window, reaching out to touch the glass and rest her fingers upon it. Lifting the window, she opened it wide and pressed her head out.
The winter air was cold and bitter tonight, buffeting her skin. She strained to listen as the carriage door was flung open so loudly, it ricocheted off the wall of the coach.
“Here? She can’t be here. Here! Of all places!”
That voice…
“Oh no,” Charity whispered.
“What is it, my Lady?” Isobel asked, a panic-stricken tone rising. “Do you know who it is?”
“That is my father’s voice.”
CHAPTER 19
“Charity!” The voice erupted through the manor.
Charity reacted as if on instinct. She hurried from the drawing room toward the corridor, with not only Rufus and Shelby following her, but Isobel too.
“My Lady? Is this wise? The master isn’t home, neither is Marcus. I can help you hide if you wish.”
Charity smiled back at her maid, appreciating the kindness.
“Thank you, Bella. But I think I shall stand up to my father. It is high time I stopped hiding and he learned to respect my wishes.” With newfound determination, she proceeded down the corridor, laying a hand on Rufus’ head to help guide her toward the entrance hall. “Besides, I have my protectors with me,” she added with a small smile.
She heard a commotion that hinted at Bates’ valiant efforts to impede her father’s entry into the manor, though evidently, his attempts were proving futile.
“I am the Earl of Holmwood, and if my daughter is within these walls, I shall see her. Now unhand me, you pathetic little man, lest you wish to see your neck on the chopping block!” her father boomed, his heavy footsteps carrying across the marble floor. It sounded as if he had successfully breached the threshold of the manor.
“Leave Mr. Bates out of this, please, Papa. He is a good man and only acting on his master’s interests,” Charity cut across him.
Duncan Harris must have stumbled in surprise, for his footsteps fumbled on the floor. She stood in the entrance to a corridor, her head turned in the direction of the sounds.
