The King’s Prize.
Roland’s depleted estate.
His deceptions—not just to her but to many other people.
It was all too much, and yet none of it was a surprise.
And now there were two more men watching over Henry and her, which should make her feel secure. An undercurrent of doubt robbed her of that feeling however, and she now knew why.
The emeralds that she and Sutcliffe had hidden beneath her floorboards.
Perhaps she should have told Mr.Walstead about them when the opportunity presented itself, but the sensation that something was amiss had reared its head. Since Roland’s death she’d been learning to trust her instincts. She was learning to stand up for herself and her son, making difficult decisions and enduring adversity—traits she thought she’d lost when she married Roland Prior.
Eager for a rest and for quiet to contemplate all that had occurred that day, she retrieved Henry from the kitchen, where he’d been in Rebecca’s care, and carried him up to her bedchamber. But once she was in her room, she paused.
She glanced around her, from the floor to the bed to the desk.
The rug covering the rough wooden floor was rumpled. Henry’s rattle was on the desk, not on the small table next to his cradle. The trunk at the foot of her bed was ajar. She had not written a letter, and yet the quill was atop her desk instead of in the drawer.
The sickening suspicion of being watched settled over her like a cloak—as if someone could see her every move.
Footsteps pattered outside the door, and Charlotte stepped to the corridor to find Rebecca on her way to the nursery. Charlottekept her voice low. “Were you and Henry in this chamber all day when Mr. Walstead was here?”
Rebecca’s light brown eyes were wide. “For a bit, but I fed ’im in t’ kitchen with Mrs. ’argrave, and then I ’elped ’er prepare the meal for t’ watchmen.”
“And Henry was with you?”
“I ne’er let ’im out of me sight.”
Charlotte nodded both to keep her nerves steady and to comprehend what she was hearing. “And Sutcliffe? Do you know where she is?”
“The last I saw ’er she was ’elping t’ prepare one of the extra bedchambers so t’ new watchmen would ’ave somewhere t’ sleep.”
“I see,” Charlotte said, forcing a smile. The last thing she wanted to do was alarm the girl, who might say something to the other servants and start their tongues wagging. “Do you know whether anyone else has come in my chamber? Anyone at all?”
“No, ma’am. No one that I’ve seen.”
“That will be all. Thank you.”
Rebecca bobbed a curtsey and continued back to the nursery, and Charlotte returned to the solitude of her chamber and closed the door.
The new watchmen had been in her house when she was speaking with Mr.Walstead. Surely the strangers would not go through her things.
Would they?
The thought burned hot, as if touching a poker left in the fire. She placed Henry in his cradle and hurried to the corner where sheknew the emeralds to be. She pushed the table away and pulled out the long box she’d hidden there. Everything was still there—even the emeralds.
Only now they had a name: the King’s Prize.
She returned the table to its original position to hide the odd floorboard.
Determined to find Sutcliffe, Charlotte picked up Henry once more, left him with Rebecca in the nursery, and made her way through the gallery in the direction of the main staircase, but the sight that met her in the small study was the very one she had feared. Locked in a passionate embrace, Sutcliffe’s slender form was pulled tight against Mr.Timmons.
This had gone too far—she had to put a stop to it.
Too many other people were in the house—too many observing eyes. If she saw them, who else would as well? Charlotte had to protect Sutcliffe’s reputation. After all, what else did a young woman truly possess?
Charlotte’s kid boots fell more heavily than normal against the uneven planked floor as she announced her presence, and that, accompanied with an intentional clearing of her throat, caused the couple to step away from each other.
