“These are even more exquisite up close,” Fiona breathed.
“During the interview with Bernadette, all Fi could focus on were the chairs.” Livy’s grin was teasing. “I doubt she heard a single thing that was said.”
“I was paying attention,” Fi protested. “We closed the case. What more is there to do, other than toast ourselves with champagne?”
“Count me out.” Pippa plopped into one of the seats. “One sip of champagne and I shall be snoring in this excessively comfortable chair.”
“Rough night with Gavina, dear?” As Livy was the mama of a toddler, her voice was filled with empathy. “Hadleigh and I didn’t sleep for the first month after Esme was born. But don’t worry, it gets better.”
Glory’s russet-brown ringlets swayed as she canted her head. “Can’t the mudlarks help look after Gavina?”
Pippa’s husband, Timothy Cullen, was a mythical figure in the London underworld. Known as the Prince of Larks, he was the leader of the mudlarks, urchins who’d once made their living scavenging the banks of the Thames. Thanks to his and Pippa’s efforts, the mudlarks’ compound was now a school that trained the children in various trades. Charlie couldn’t imagine a better partner for him than sweet Pippa, who adored the larks and was adored in return.
“They can, and that is the problem.” Pippa stifled a yawn. “The larks want to play with herall the time. Between them and my papa, who is the dotingest grandpapa who ever lived, Gavina doesn’t have a chance to sleep.”
Livy furrowed her brow. “I don’t thinkdotingestis a word.”
An expert in words and anagrams, Livy would know.
“Well,nurseis.” Fi patted her midsection. “And you, my dearest daughter, are going to be looked after by an army of them.”
“How do you know you’re going to have a girl?” Glory asked.
“I want my child to be bosom friends with Livy and Pippa’s girls,” Fi said complacently. “Therefore, I’ve added the wish for a daughter to my nightly prayers.”
Although Charlie didn’t think it worked that way, she didn’t want to burst Fi’s bubble. Watching the young women banter, she felt maternal pride mingled with burgeoning awareness. She had trained the Angels well, building on their natural intelligence, loyalty, and adventurousness. She’d honed their investigative skills and supported them to become the powerful women that they now were.
At the same time, they were...outgrowing her.
During their cases, the Angels had all found love. Initially, Charlie had feared that a husband would interfere with the ladies’ ability to carry out investigations. Yet the Angels had wisely chosen mates who not only accepted but cherished them for their independent ways. The husbands knew about and supported their wives’ work. When a male presence helped a mission, it wasn’t unusual for the men to offer assistance.
Charlie’s goal had always been to empower her charges to be the best versions of themselves. To find the kind of happiness that came with choosing one’s own destiny.
And my dear Angels have succeeded.Far better than I have.The recognition was bittersweet.For as content as I am to be my own mistress, am I truly happy?
“Well, Charlie? What do you think of our plan for the Snelling case?”
She reached for her tea, washing down the unpleasant taste of self-pity. She’d only listened with half an ear as the Angels had strategized their next case, which involved discovering who was behind the supposed haunting of Mrs. Harriett Snelling. She trusted them—knew that her Angels had their wings and could soar without her.
“Follow your instincts,” she said. “I trust your judgement.”
The Angels beamed at her.
A knock sounded, and Devlin sauntered in as if he owned the place. Despite the fact that he couldn’t have gotten much sleep, he looked as fresh as a daisy…the benefit of being a rake accustomed to late nights and debauchery, no doubt. His copper hair gleamed in debonair waves, and the slight hollows under his eyes heightened the vivid sapphire of his irises. The crisp knot of his cravat complemented his blue frock coat and charcoal trousers.
Devlin made a leg. “I hope I am not interrupting anything of import, ladies.”
“As our society deals exclusively with vital matters,” Charlie said tartly, “I would say that you are.”
Devlin’s mouth twitched. Undeterred, he strolled to the hearth near Charlie’s desk, draping an arm over the mantel. “Any recent developments I should be aware of?”
“We were discussing our newest client,” Livy told him. “A widow who believes she is being haunted by a ghost.”
“Is she wealthy? If so, my money is on the ‘ghost’ being a greedy relation.”
“There is a nephew,” Glory said. “But there are other suspects as well.”
“Let me know if I can be of assistance,” Devlin replied.
