“Do come in,” said Isobel. “And please light the other lamps for our guests.”
“I think it might be better if we put off tea to another time,” suggested Jeremy. “I sense we’ve come at an inconvenient time.”
“No,” exclaimed Octavia. Her chin rose in challenge. “That is, there’s no need for you to go. If Mrs. Ashton has something she wishes to discuss with me, I’m perfectly happy to do so now.”
Isobel coolly ignored the protest. “Thank you, Lord Sterling. I appreciate your understanding. Another time would be best.” To Octavia, she said, “I wish to speak with you aboutMr. Hillhouse and his whereabouts. I was obliged for the second time to inform Lord Wrexford that he was not here.”
“There’s no need for you to see us out,” murmured Jeremy. “The maid will do so.”
Charlotte shifted her gift and accepted his arm. As they turned to go, she couldn’t help but notice that Octavia had slumped back against the bookshelves. Although her hands were fisted in her skirts, they seemed to be shaking. And her face looked like death warmed over.
CHAPTER 15
As soon as they reached the street, McClellan trailing behind them with the majolica rooster cradled in her arms, Charlotte tightened her grip on Jeremy’s arm and turned away from the waiting carriage. “Let us take a walk around the square before the driver takes me home.”
He looked unhappy about the request, but surrendered with a sigh.
“I’ve really nothing more to report from my private time with Miss Merton,” he murmured, once they had crossed to the central garden and passed through the wrought iron gates. “Benedict didn’t return home last night, and aside from expressing anxiety, she had no specific reason as to why.”
“But it does seem ominous, doesn’t it?” pressed Charlotte.
Jeremy lifted his shoulders in sudden exasperation. “The devil take it, Charley—I don’t know! Grief grabs people in different ways. Perhaps he’s drunk himself into a blind stupor, or perhaps he’s sought solace in the bed of some willing wench.”
He quickened his pace, sending a spray of pebbles skittering into the grass. “I’m not sure there’s any need to panic.”
“But Miss Merton seems awfully alarmed,” pressed Charlotte. “And she knows him very well.”
“Not,” replied Jeremy through clenched teeth, “as well as I do.”
Charlotte stole a sidelong glance at his profile and felt a frisson of alarm. After darting an involuntary look behind her, she demanded, “What is it you’re not telling me?”
“Bloody hell—don’t badger me!”
She stumbled and nearly lost her footing. Never in all their years of friendship had Jeremy sworn at her.
He caught her arm and steadied her steps. “Dear God, forgive me.” Remorse tightened his voice to a hoarse whisper. “It’s just that some secrets should stay hidden.”
Dread clenched in her belly, turning her insides to ice.
Sensing her reaction, he blew out a harried breath. “It’s nothing to do with me, or my sordid secret, if that is what’s worrying you.”
How can I not be worried—nay, how can I not be terrified?
They walked on in uneasy silence. She dared not press him. Their friendship—now hanging by a fragile thread, she feared—was worth more than the information.
Let Wrexford wield the spade if he wished to dig for the truth.
“I’m not angry with you,” Jeremy finally murmured, forcing a ghost of a smile. “I’m angry at the twist of Fate that will unfairly resurrect the past and perhaps send Benedict to the gallows.”
Charlotte kept her gaze locked straight ahead. It was up to him to decide how much to confide.
“I know as well as you do that long-buried secrets have a way of coming back to life,” he explained. “Given the publicity around Ashton’s death, it’s inevitable that someone will speak up.” He swallowed hard. “Benedict made a terrible mistake in his youth . . .”
Crunch, crunch.The sound of their steps on the gravel seemed to echo the ragged thumping of her heart.
“Like me, he hadn’t a feather to fly with at university. It’s difficult to be poor, scrabbling for the bare necessities while your peers have bagfuls of blunt for the pursuit of idle pleasures.”
Still she remained silent.
