Isobel paused, and to his eyes her expression seemed to harden.
“Given how closely they worked with him on his experiments,” she said carefully, “they will know the most about any secret animosities.”
CHAPTER 3
Charlotte picked up the woven straw hat and carefully shook the dust from its floppy brim. The motes floated through the still air, sparkling like bits of gold in the sunlight slanting through the narrow window. It was, she told herself, only a figment of her maudlin memories that the musty back room suddenly seemed redolent with the summer-warm fragrance of cypress and thyme.
Italy had been a time of simple pleasures—ethereal light, glorious art, breathtakingly beautiful landscapes, cheap wine. She and her late husband had been poor as church mice. And yet they had been happy there.
With a pinch of her fingers, she fixed a crick in the paint-stained crown, and then set it atop a neatly folded pile of Anthony’s clothing. The hat had been a great favorite of his—he’d worn it every day while painting outdoors amid the classical ruins of Rome. They had both loved the sense of old and new that one saw in every vista of the city. It made life seem eternal.
But it was now time to truly put the past behind her. Anthony’s death had been . ..
Avenged?Charlotte hesitated, running her hand over the soft folds of a linen shirt. No, that wasn’t the right word. Perhaps the emotion defied definition. Knowing the truth had at least allowed her to make peace with her demons—and his.
It had been a senseless death. But life was capricious. All the more reason to look to the future.
Charlotte quickly finished sorting through the box of Anthony’s clothing and returned to the main room.
“Raven,” she said, after scribbling a short missive and folding the paper. “Would you and Hawk kindly take a note to Mr. Henning?” The surgeon ran a clinic for wounded war veterans. She was sure that a donation of clothing would be most welcome.
The boys looked up from their schoolbooks—too quickly, she thought with an inward sigh. With all the distractions of readying for the move, they had been neglecting their studies.
“Aye, of course, m’lady!” said Raven, shooting up from his stool.
“And we’d be happy te run any other errand for you,” added Hawk hopefully.
“Thank you, but the note may wait untilafteryou have finished the chapter on the Glorious Revolution.”
“History’s boring,” grumbled Raven, reluctantly sitting down.
“Actually it’s not,” she countered. “It’s all about the fascinating people—the politicians, the philosophers, the artists, the soldiers, the musicians—who shape the world.”
Hawk looked thoughtful. “William of Orange does seem a like wery interesting fellow.”
“William—now there’s a good, strong name.” Charlotte seized the opportunity to change the subject. It was a sore point between them, but much as she disliked pressing the boys, it couldn’t be put off much longer. A decision had to be made.
Raven muttered a word she pretended not to hear. “I don’t want a new name.” His chin took on a pugnacious tilt. “Wot’s wrong with the one I have?”
They had been over that question countless times during the past week. The new neighborhood was only a scant half mile away. But it was a different world from the stews of St. Giles. To fit in, the boys needed real names.
“Think of it this way,” she reasoned. “Life is all about change—a caterpillar turns into a colorful butterfly. You are simply shedding your old skin and taking on a new one. It will be . . .”
A loud knock on the front door saved her from having to utter yet another platitude.
“That must be the carter.” Charlotte hurried through the entryway and threw back the bolt.
“You’re late,” she chided as the portal swung open.
“Am I?”
The Earl of Wrexford was wearing a superbly tailored coat, a rakish low-crown beaver hat—and his usual sardonic smile, noted Charlotte.
“That should be of no surprise,” he went on, stepping past her without waiting for an invitation to enter. “You know conventional manners bore me to perdition.”
“Indeed I do. So I take it this isn’t a social call?” she replied with a harried sigh. It had been a fortnight since his last visit, and the unexpected appearance caused a tiny hitch in her heartbeat—though she was too preoccupied to think about why.
Ignoring her question, Wrexford took off his hat and ran a hand through his wind-ruffled dark hair. It looked like it hadn’t been trimmed in weeks.
