Damnation—I never weep.
“I know how you feel about charity, Charley. Your fierce sense of independence is one of the things I’ve always admired about you,” he continued softly. “But pride can be taken to a fault.”
Her insides gave a lurch, his words more painful to hear for how sharply they echoed the earl’s sentiments.
“Everything here is from the attics of the late baron’s country manor,” continued Jeremy. “Rather than let it sit moldering in the shadows, please allow me to share my unearned largess with you. Fate takes strange twists. Why should I deserve a title and a fortune more than the next fellow?”
He lifted his shoulders in a wry shrug. “But there is it, so why spit in Fortune’s face? I say we should enjoy it.”
All her arguments seemed to dissolve in the space of a heartbeat. He was right—life’s vagaries were absurdly unfair. All the more reason for friendship to triumph over pride.
Friendship.
“Thank you,” she said simply, knowing the true depth of her emotions was beyond words.
Sunlight gilded Jeremy’s smile. “You’re welcome.”
It was only then that she realized she was still gripping the satchel containing her brushes and watercolor pigments. To break the emotional tension, she set it down on her new desk and began to unpack the supplies.
“This will be a very pleasant place in which to work,” she said. “A good thing, as I am in danger of missing the deadline for my next drawing.”
Following her lead, Jeremy turned the talk away from personal feelings. “Speaking of drawings, have you learned anything more about Mr. Ashton’s death?” Her recent print had garnered a great deal of attention.
“The authorities still seem convinced it was a random robbery,” replied Charlotte carefully. The evidence suggesting otherwise was not her secret to share.
“What a senseless tragedy.” He shook his head and let out a mournful sigh. “I shall miss him greatly.”
The box of pigments slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor.
“Y-YouknewElihu Ashton?”
“Why, yes, we were good friends.” Leaning down, Jeremy picked up the paints and set them on the desk. “In fact, I’m one of the investors in his project for a new, highly advanced mill.”
Charlotte stared at him in mute shock.
“Apparently, he was working on an innovation,” added her friend. “One that he believed would leave current technology in the dust.”
CHAPTER 10
Setting aside the morning newspaper, Wrexford took a quick gulp of his still-steaming coffee and let the brew burn a trail of fire down his throat. Would that it could scald away the coppery taste lingering in his throat. Death had a sweet-sour stickiness that clung to live flesh like a limpet. Something about blood spilled in violence refused to be washed away.
War ought to have inured him to it. But the Ashton affair had stirred feelings he thought had been long ago buried in the past.
Or were they vulnerabilities?
Swallowing the unsettling thought along with another mouthful of coffee, Wrexford turned his attention to last night’s murder. There was, of course, no account of it in the newsprint. Death was an all too common occurrence in the teeming stews of the city. Only the well-born or well-heeled merited a mention.
However, he had sent word to Griffin about Hollis’s demise, along with a warning about the presence of a radical group in London. Given how fearful the government was about workerunrest, surely Bow Street would have to devote more scrutiny to the puzzle of Ashton’s grisly death.
As for Charlotte, he owed her a report on what had happened.Quid pro quo. He couldn’t very well expect her to be forthcoming with information if he didn’t reciprocate.
“Nothing,” announced Tyler loudly as he entered the breakfast room. “You may rest easy on that account, milord. Fores’s printshop has nothing new from A. J. Quill.”
The news wasn’t surprising. Charlotte had strict scruples about keeping her word. However, it did no harm to check, in case she had learned of Hollis’s demise from her own sources. At times, her awareness of every shadowy secret in London seemed to surpass that of Lucifer.
“Mrs. Sloane has been preoccupied,” answered Wrexford. “She’s moving to her new residence today.”
“Ah.” His valet, who was aware of Charlotte’s secret identity, gave a knowing nod. “It’s not easy to uproot from one place to another, even when one has decided the auld sod has become barren ground.”
