After settling herself in a swoosh of skirts, she dared to look up at the facing seat.
“His Lordship sends his regards, Mrs. Sloane, and trusts that my company will prove satisfactory.”
The throaty voice, edged with a sharp Scottish burr, took her by surprise. She had expected a young tweenie and kitchen maid, not . . .
“I’ve been told you prefer plain speaking,” said the woman who sat facing her. “So allow me to assure you that I’m not easily rattled, nor do I have a tongue that’s prone to wagging.” A pause. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”
“Plain speaking, indeed,” murmured Charlotte. She took a moment to assess her companion. A thin, angular face, beaky nose, and bony body—the woman, well past the first bloom of youth, would never be called a beauty, but the glint of lively intelligence in her eyes cut through the gloom.
The tightness in Charlotte’s chest slowly released in a silent exhale.
A faint smile played on the other woman’s lips. “Aye, I ain’t much to look at, but His Lordship says you need someonetrustworthy, and he knows I can be counted on to keep my mummer shut.”
“I’m rather afraid to ask what he’s told you about me,” replied Charlotte dryly. “I’m not intending to commit murder or steal the Duchess of Devonshire’s jewels.”
The smile stretched a little wider. “What a pity. Life has been a little flat lately. An adventure would be welcome.” The woman shifted against the squabs. “I’m McClellan.”
Charlotte reminded herself that a lady’s maid was always called by her last name. “I’m grateful for your assistance, McClellan.” On impulse, she held out her hand. “I’ll try not to cause you too much trouble.”
McClellan responded with a firm shake. “A wee bit of trouble keeps life interesting, Mrs. Sloane.”
They rode on for a few minutes in silence as Charlotte sought to sort out her thoughts. Wrexford had a knack of keeping her off-balance . . .
The why of which was a conundrum in and of itself.
A frown pinched her brow. It was maddening to have to keep swallowing her pride. But honesty compelled her to admit that in this case, his unpredictability was most welcome.
McClellan, noted Charlotte, seemed unperturbed by the silence. Another mark in the woman’s favor. A chattering fibber-widget would have driven her to distraction.
Her reflections were cut short as the carriage turned down Piccadilly Street. The driver drew to a halt at the entrance to Green Park, and Charlotte soon found herself strolling along the graveled walkway, the very picture of a prim and proper lady, with her maid trailing behind at a discreet distance.
Oh, how looks can be deceiving.
The irony was rather amusing. It was, after all, at the heart of how she made her living.
“Mrs. Sloane.” Jeremy was waiting at the appointed spot. “You are looking quite lovely,” he said gallantly.
“Save your Spanish coin, Jem. Its glitter doesn’t fool me,” she murmured.
He chuckled. “You wound me to suggest my compliments are false gold.”
“You’ll survive.”
Seeing his quizzical glance at McClellan, who was standing at the requisite distance required of a servant, Charlotte explained, “Idoknow the rules of Polite Society. However idiotic they are, I must comply if I wish to mingle with the beau monde. McClellan has agreed to play the role of lady’s maid for the afternoon.”
“How—” began Jeremy.
“I asked a favor,” she answered curtly.
He looked about to press the point, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he merely tipped his hat politely at McClellan before offering Charlotte his arm. “Come, let us observe the maids milking the cows.” The park was well-known for the rustic sight of dairy cattle grazing on the lawns. “Miss Merton and Mr. Hillhouse will meet us there by the serving shed.”
Charlotte was curious to meet the pair. She wondered whether Wrexford’s interview with Ashton’s assistant had fared any better than the one with his secretary. Given her own experience with his interrogation techniques, she rather doubted it.
“You say you’ve known Mr. Hillhouse for some time?” she asked, turning her attention to Jeremy.
“Yes. We were both scholarship students at Oxford. It was a bond of sorts—unlike the fancy swells, we had little blunt for carousing,” he answered. “But it turned out we both enjoyed each other’s company.” A wry grimace tugged at his lips. “His interest in mathematics and science was beyond me, however we shared similar tastes in reading, and spent many an hour discussing art and philosophy.”
Radical philosophy?wondered Charlotte. It wouldn’t besurprising, given they were intelligent young men without a groat in their pockets. She left the question unsaid. She knew the depths of Jeremy’s loyalty. He would curl up tight as a wary hedgehog if he thought she was digging for dirt on his friend.
