He continued on. He’d not spend energy concerning himself with a random stranger. He would do as he always did—put the events behind him and focus on the next chase.
Chapter3
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut and drew several deep breaths. Her chest tightened and her head throbbed with each intake of the morning’s stifling air.
Three hours.
Three hours since she had discovered Roland’s body.
In that time, her entire life had shifted, a tremulous pivot that still seemed impossible.
She opened her eyes slowly, taking a fresh account of the men gathered in the study to assess the infamous Roland Prior’s body. Men from every discipline had converged on the morbid event—magistrates, physicians, the coroner, the vicar, Roland’s private secretary. Every single one of these people had something to gain by assisting in the investigation into his death. Roland’s influence and power, which at one time had impressed her, seemed to continue even posthumously.
She should not be here, in this chamber. She was a woman and, as such, she was supposed to be too weak-minded and delicate for such talk. She should retire to her private quarters and leave the men to deal with the gruesome details of death.
Yet she did not move.
Their deep, low voices rolled on in a continuous, monotonous hum, adding to her general sense of numbness. She was neither hot nor cold. Neither tired nor alert. Even her movements, her voice, was like that from a sluggish dream, when everything was slightly off-balance and peculiar.
Another man entered the study, drawing her attention from her detached reverie. If it had been anyone else, she probably would not have noticed.
But she noticed Silas Prior.
Everyone did.
Silas was Roland’s older brother, and he was the only person in Leeds who was more influential than her husband.
Immediately Silas’s austere gaze latched onto her.
Silas was ten years Roland’s senior and taller by almost a head, and yet their likeness was uncanny. Same icy, pale blue eyes and oddly pale lashes. Same broad forehead, fair complexion, and white-blond hair. She stiffened as he approached. He gripped her elbow and angled her away from the men. “You should not be here.”
Defiance already mounting, she readied herself. Every conversation with this man swelled with potential conflict. Roland’s death would not change that. In fact, it might make it worse. “This is my home, Silas. Where else should I be?”
“Thiswasyour home,” he snipped. “Everything will be different now that Roland is dead.”
A shiver traversed her, snapping her from her contemplations, like a freezing gust of wind chilling damp skin. She pressed herlips shut as the statement’s significance dripped over her. Yes, shedidknow that. Roland had been transparent about his will. She’d be left with very little—certainly nothing to which she’d become accustomed. The fact had been hurled at her as a threat often, as if to make her grateful for the life she led.
“Where’s Henry?” he demanded suddenly.
Charlotte hesitated.
Silas had a vested interest in Henry—one that went deeper than the expected relationship between uncle and nephew. The Prior brothers had no other relatives, and Silas never had any children of his own. As a result, Henry was heir to it all—not only Roland’s fortune, properties, and businesses but Silas’s as well.
She needed to be cautious. “He’s with his nurse.”
“Pack his things. He will come and stay at Gatham House until this is sorted.”
Fire lit beneath her at Silas’s finite tone, especially as the news of Roland’s intention to send Henry to live with Silas reverberated so fresh in her mind. She’d not allow it. Not under any circumstance. “That’s not necessary. He’ll remain with me.”
Silas scoffed, haughty and cold. “This house will be no place for a child in the coming days. There will be an investigation.”
“An investigation?” Alarm pricked. “I thought the coroner said he believed it to be apoplexy.”
“Of course, it appears to be, but we all know Roland had enemies, and there’s no shortage of poisons whose effects appear to be natural. None of us should rest easily until we have more details of exactly what has transpired.”
The thought of such activity sickened her. No, this would beno place for Henry in the coming days. But neither was Gatham House.
She glanced around at the men, perceiving anew the importance of measuring her reactions and behavior with the utmost discernment. Even her facial expressions would be scrutinized by those searching for signs of weakness. The very last thing she needed was a roomful of influential men thinking her hysterical.
