“Did I just see you taking an interest in your sartorial splendor?” Tyler came into the earl’s dressing room with a pair of freshly pressed shirts in his arms. “I think I may swoon from shock.”
“Feel free to do so,” he retorted. “Then you may pick yourself—and your sarcastic tongue—off the floor and seek another position.”
“Ha,” sniffed the valet. “You wouldn’t dare—for I’d take my secret recipe for boot polish with me.”
“You’re lucky I’m very fond of my Hessians.”
Tyler eyed the earl’s tasseled boots with a critical squint. “Do try not to muck them up. The shine is perfect.”
Wrexford made a rude sound and went back to adjusting his cuff.
“Are you going somewhere special?”
“Nicholas Locke was released from Newgate last night. Lady Peake is having a small celebration at her town house.”
“There is,” murmured Tyler, “much to celebrate.”
“Indeed, there is.” Wrexford picked up his hat. After allowing a small smile, he descended the stairs and made the short walk from Berkeley Square to the dowager’s residence.
Sheffield was already there, along with Lady Cordelia—who had a deck of cards fanned out on the tea table and was in the middle of explaining a rather advanced concept of mathematical probability.
His friend looked up. “We’ll join you in a moment,” he mumbled, before returning his attention to the cards. “I just need to grasp this one last point . . .”
Even more amusing was the sight of the Weasels standing beside the dowager. With their pristine clothing, carefully combed hair, and scrubbed faces, the earl barely recognized them.
“Ye gods—the little beasts look almost human,” he observed.
“Yes, I know,” said Charlotte as she broke away from her cousin to come greet him. “It’s a miracle that I got them here without some noxious substance sticking to various parts of their anatomy.”
“Miracles do happen,” he quipped. Henning was also standing by the dowager; and for once, he didn’t look as though he had just been dragged through a thicket of gorse.
Lady Peake laughed at something the boys said and offered them more sweets.
“I feel that I’ve been blessed with more than my share of miracles,” replied Charlotte, flashing a happy look at Locke.
Her smile nearly took his breath away. Given the recent ordeal, her resilience was remarkable. But then, Charlotte drew her strength from principle and passion, not hubris and greed.
Wrexford tried to read in her eyes what she was thinking. But the quicksilver ripples were impossible to fathom.
She watched Locke respond to a summons from the dowager to come join her circle before abruptly changing the subject. “I haven’t had the chance to properly thank you foreverything, Wrexford.” They hadn’t seen each other since the awful events of two nights ago. “My wits were rather fuzzed on the ride home from DeVere’s villa. I . . . I fear I was rambling and not making any sense.”
Is she regretting the mention of love?
“Understandably so.” Keeping his tone light, he offered her his arm. “Shall we fetch some champagne? A toast to the triumph of Good over Evil seems in order before we move on to more murky subjects.”
* * *
Shadows tangled with contradictions—was that how he saw their relationship? They had gone to stand in a quiet spot by the mullioned windows, and though a gold-tinged glow illuminated its every chiseled plane and hollow, his face remained a cipher.
“To Light winning out over Darkness,” said the earl, lifting his glass in salute.
Repressing a sigh, Charlotte took a sip, making herself savor the sweet effervescence of the wine and the sparkle of sunlight winking off the cut-crystal goblet. “Only because of you and your logic.”
“No, only because of you and your determination to hope against hope.” A flicker seemed to stir beneath his dark lashes. “You wouldn’t give up.”
Charlotte made a wry face. “Yes, well, you know how stubborn I am.”
“And courageous and compassionate,” he said softly.
