The realization struck with sickening force. Charlotte felt the ground shift beneath her feet, dread settling deep and cold in her chest.
William inclined his head toward her, the gesture polite, almost deferential, as though greeting a familiar acquaintance rather than a woman he had once abandoned.
“May I have a word?” he asked mildly.
Her throat closed.
Edward moved at once—not abruptly, but decisively—stepping closer until his presence hovered at her shoulder.
“You may speak here,” he said coolly.
William’s mouth curved in faint amusement. “Of course. Nothing improper.” He shifted just enough to draw Charlotte a step aside—still well within view of the Penningtons, still surrounded by open air and polite society—but close enough that his voice dropped, intimate by design.
“I owe you an apology,” he said.
Charlotte did not respond. She could feel Edward behind her now, solid and watchful, his quiet tension like a drawn blade.
“I did mean to write,” William continued smoothly. “Truly. But matters became … complicated. Ventures failed. Circumstances shifted.” He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “You understand how these things go.”
She did understand. Far too well.
“I have been investigating,” he went on softly. “Your parents’ accident.”
Her pulse roared in her ears.
“It was not an accident,” William said, his tone calm, assured. “I am certain of it.”
The garden seemed to tilt, the neatly trimmed hedges blurring at the edges of her vision.
“There are inconsistencies,” he continued, leaning closer than propriety allowed—close enough that she could smell the faint trace of brandy beneath his civility. “Evidence buried. A medallion recovered.” His eyes sharpened. “Someone betrayed them, Charlotte. Someone close.”
Edward stepped fully between them.
The movement was swift, unmistakable.
“That will be enough,” he said, each word clipped, controlled, and final.
William straightened at once, hands lifting in mock surrender. “Of course. Forgive me. I forget myself.”
His smile returned—thin, knowing. A man satisfied with the damage he had done.
“We shall speak again,” he said lightly.
He turned then, bowing to the Penningtons with impeccable courtesy, murmuring his farewells as though nothing untoward had passed. Moments later, he was gone, departing as easily as he had arrived, leaving unease in his wake like a stain no amount of civility could scrub away.
The return journey passed in silence.
Julian slept against Charlotte’s shoulder, warm and trusting, his small weight an anchor she clung to desperately. Edward satopposite, gaze fixed on the carriage window, jaw set in a way that allowed no intrusion.
Charlotte stared out at the passing hedgerows, William’s words echoing again and again.
Not an accident.
Betrayal.
She pressed a hand over her mouth, dread pooling low in her chest.
Who would wish her parents harm?
