“I will not remain in the background of my own story,” she added, softer but firmer still.
Clara’s expression shifted—admiration mingling with worry.
“Be careful,” she whispered.
Charlotte’s gaze drifted once more toward the study door.
Outside the windows, the afternoon light had begun to fade.
And for the first time since William had reappeared, Charlotte did not feel only fear.
She felt resolve.
Chapter 26
The study table was no longer orderly. Letters lay open across its surface, ledgers half-unfurled, notes scrawled in Christopher’s blunt hand. The fire had burned low without either of them noticing. Edward stood at the head of the desk with one palm braced against the wood as Christopher finished speaking.
“I spoke with two men from the village near Hawthorne Hollow,” Christopher said quietly. “They remembered Armitage being there the week of the crash. Drinking. Asking questions. Flashing coin.”
Edward’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained even. “That proves nothing.”
“No,” Christopher agreed. “But this might.”
He slid a folded sheet across the desk. Edward unfolded it slowly.
It was a copied ledger entry—a payment made under a pseudonym Christopher had already confirmed William used when gambling outside London. The sum was substantial. Unreasonably so. And dated three days after the Westbrook carriage overturned.
“Local men?” Edward asked.
Christopher nodded grimly. “Men with reputations for settling matters quietly.”
The room seemed to constrict around them.
“And Thomas?” Edward asked flatly.
Christopher hesitated just long enough to answer the question without speaking. “There are rumors,” he said suggestively, “that your brother extended William credit in the past. Small sums at first. Later, larger ones. Nothing proven. But enough to suggest familiarity.”
Edward straightened slowly, every muscle locking into place. “My brother was not a criminal.”
“I did not say he was.”
“Then do not imply it.”
Christopher held his gaze steadily. “I imply only that William attaches himself to weakness.”
Silence settled heavily between them. Edward looked down at the ledger again, the date burning into his vision.
Three days after the crash.
“If this is true …” Christopher began.
Edward cut him off. “If this is true, then William paid someone immediately after the Westbrooks died.”
The implication settled like ash.
The door opened without warning. Both men turned sharply.
Charlotte stood in the threshold, pale but composed, her eyes moving between them. She had heard enough to understand the tone, if not the entirety.
