“That might fadge,” agreed Charlotte.
“When we enter, I’ll order you to stand by the door and listen. It won’t seem amiss if an urchin isn’t invited to join the inner circle.”
She nodded. “That should suffice.”
“Then let’s go.” He turned without waiting for a reply.
Charlotte followed along behind him, the hurried thumping of their boots the only sounds passing between them.
Wrexford entered the study several strides ahead of her. “Guard the door, Phoenix, and make sure we’re not disturbed,” he barked as she reached the threshold. “And keep your ears cocked as to what goes on in here. If you’ve any ideas on who the villains might be and where they’ve gone to ground I’ll want to hear them.”
Charlotte slid into a niche by the bookcase, some distance away from the others. Sheffield, she noted, had settled the women on the sofa near the hearth, and had taken a seat in one of the facing armchairs. A lamp was lit on the side table, another on the large pearwood desk. Her own spot was untouched by the soft circles of light.
Wasting no time, the earl immediately confronted the widow. “Is there a reason we’re waiting for the papers, madam?”
Isobel appeared unintimidated by his scowl. “I assumed youwould wish to watch me fetch them, in order to assure yourself that I performed no witchcraft or sleight of hand.”
He gave an impatient wave. “There’s been enough drama as it is, Mrs. Ashton. We need not play any scenes from Shakespeare. Get your proof.”
Charlotte was well placed to see everyone’s face. Repressing a quirk of amusement, the widow rose and went to her desk. Reaching inside her nightrail, she found the gold chain looped around her neck and unclasped it. A key hung from its links, and with a quick twist she unlocked one of the drawers.
Octavia bit her lip as Isobel lifted a slender Moroccan leather portfolio from beneath several ledgers and carried it back to the sofa.
She took several folded sheets of stationery from atop the pile and offered them to Wrexford. “I assume you are familiar with Kirkland’s handwriting.”
The earl wordlessly handed them to Sheffield, who after looking them over carefully, nodded in confirmation. “They look genuine.”
“Might I have the courtesy of knowing who sits on my jury?” asked Isobel.
A fair request, thought Charlotte. She was growing surer and surer that the widow was telling the truth.
“The Honorable Christopher Sheffield,” said Wrexford curtly. He took the notes back from his friend and began reading them.
Isobel settled back against the pillows, but Charlotte saw the tension in her body. She was not quite as cool as she wished to appear. Next to her, Octavia couldn’t sit still, her fingers plucking and pulling at the folds of her wrapper.
“Hmm.” Paper crackled as the earl reread the notes a second time. The seconds seemed to stretch out to eternity. He finally looked up, his gaze spearing straight to Isobel.
“I suppose this seems clear enough.” Without further ado, hebegan to read aloud,“. . . It seems a small pittance to pay for my silence, dear Isobel. After all, you have a great deal of money because of my discretion to this point, and I do not, as my Father has tightened the purse strings. Share your favors—I recall how very good you are at doing so—and there will be no scandal. We’ll all get what we want.”
Isobel’s expression remained stoic.
“The others have similar threats and wheedling,” said Wrexford.
“You’re sure they aren’t forgeries?” asked Octavia in a small voice.
It was Sheffield who answered. “Yes. There’s a faint but distinctive watermark in the paper—a small pitchfork—which is made specially for a gambling club called Lucifer’s Lair. I doubt any woman would have access to blank sheets.”
“Perhaps if I give a few more details of my sordid past, it will help further allay suspicions,” offered Isobel. “My father was a prosperous merchant in Newmarket, but when a friend of his convinced him to invest his savings in a stock offering, he ended up losing everything.”
She paused to draw a tight breath. “Everything. Including his life. He couldn’t bear the shame and shot himself one night. I was eighteen and destitute. My only relative, my father’s cousin, wouldn’t hear of taking in a disgraced family member. So I had to find a way to survive.”
Octavia’s face pinched.
“I’m not proud of it, but when Lord Kirkland, who had been sniffing around my skirts while in town for the racing season, offered to set me up as his mistress, I made the decision to accept.” Isobel kept her voice devoid of emotion. “Until I could figure out another, more acceptable, way to support myself. Thankfully that came maybe six months later when a fortuitous meeting with an elderly acquaintance of my father led to me being offered the position of a lady’s companion.”
Charlotte saw a look of affection flicker over Isobel’s features.
“The dowager Baroness Weston was considered an eccentric bluestocking for her intellectual interests, but that suited me quite well. I’ve always been keen on learning. It was at her weekly evening gathering for like-minded men and women that I met Elihu.”
