Instead, he had forced Edward’s hand in the only direction that had ever truly mattered.
Forward.
Chapter 31
The village inn smelled of damp timber, smoke, and stale ale. Conversations dipped the moment Charlotte entered, then resumed in cautious murmurs.
Edward’s presence commanded attention without effort; even dressed plainly, even without announcing himself, he altered the air in a room simply by occupying it. Beatrice stayed close to Charlotte’s side, her husband just behind them, steady and alert.
They had begun asking quiet questions about the man who had vanished after William failed to pay his debts.
Edward kept his tone measured, careful not to speak William’s name too loudly. Charlotte answered when addressed, her voice steady despite the tension coiling beneath her ribs.
A man near the hearth rose slowly from his chair.
He was broad-shouldered and weathered, his hands rough with labor. His gaze fixed on Charlotte with an intensity that made the room feel suddenly smaller.
“I was told you were asking after the crash,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Charlotte’s heart stuttered. “You knew my father?”
“Aye. George Westbrook was a decent man. Paid fair. Didn’t deserve what he got.”
Her throat tightened. “You were there?”
“Morning after,” the man replied. “Snow coming down. We helped clear the road, gathered what we could from the wreckage.”
He paused, and his eyes shifted—not to her this time, but to Edward.
More specifically, to the chain at Edward’s collar.
The medallion.
The man’s expression altered. He stepped closer and pointed.
“That.”
Edward went rigid.
“That’s the mark,” the villager said. “Same one I found near the carriage.”
Charlotte felt the blood drain from her face. “What mark?”
“A silver medallion. Crest cut clean into it. I remember thinking it didn’t belong to your father. Too fine. Too noble.”
The room seemed to tilt on its axis.
Edward did not move. He did not speak.
“I didn’t report it,” the man continued, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “Should have, maybe. But your father had been meeting the wrong sort for months. Men with coin and tempers. I figured it was tied up in that.”
Charlotte forced the question through a tightening throat. “Whose crest?”
The man’s gaze returned to Edward’s chest.
“That one.”
A hush fell over the inn.
