“Aren’t you going to open it?”
Charlotte looked up to find Raven eyeing her intently. But before she could answer, Hawk burst in from the garden, a large glass jar covered with a scrap of gauze clutched in his grimy hands.
“Look, look, I captured a monarch butterfly!” His face—what little could be seen of it through the crust of mud—beamed in pride as he held up his prize.
“A very handsome specimen,” admired Charlotte.
“I’m going to draw it,” announced Hawk proudly. “And then let it go.”
She made a mental note to pay a visit to Hatchard’s bookstore and purchase more illustrated volumes on flora and fauna. “An excellent plan. But I suggest you rinse your hands before picking up your sketchbook and pencils—you wouldn’t want an errant speck of dirt to alter the accuracy of your art.”
“Insects and slugs are disgusting,” muttered Raven with a mock shudder as his brother pelted off for the stairs.
“We all have our passions,” she murmured. “Be gentle in your teasing. He values your good opinion, and it’s important to be supportive of what sparks his imagination.”
Raven’s grimace softened to a ghost of a grin. “He’s very good at drawing, isn’t he?”
“Yes, extremely good. More than that, he’s very observant and possesses an excellent eye for detail.”
Alas, so did Raven, for the boy’s gaze immediately went back to the letter in her hand.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” he repeated. “It looks like it’s from your great-aunt.”
Charlotte reluctantly cracked the seal and unfolded the paper.
“Well?”
She knew Raven was heading to his weekly mathematics session with Wrexford’s valet. “When you arrive at His Lordship’s town house, kindly ask him if I might have use of his unmarked carriage later today.” A second glance at the dowager’s distinctive script. “I need it to call here at a quarter hour past two.”
Concern clouded his eyes. “Are you afraid?”
“I’m terrified.” Charlotte forced a smile. “But battles are rarely won without facing one’s fears.”
“What will you do if The Dragon refuses to help?”
Her heart gave a clench at the note of uncertainty in his voice. The weight of their worries shouldn’t be falling on his bony shoulders. “I shall simply find another way to help my cousin.” Charlotte ruffled his hair. “Now run along. You mustn’t be late for Mr. Tyler.”
Raven scuffed his boots, and then suddenly put his arms around her waist and pulled her into a fierce hug.
Before she could react, he was out the door, leaving naught but the whisper of rippling air in his wake.
“Men.”Though Charlotte conceded she was hardly one to judge. It wasn’t as if she wore her own emotions stitched like gaudy-colored ribbons to the cleavage of her bodice for all to see.
After putting away her purchases in the kitchen pantry, she headed up to her bedchamber. The sound of her steps on the landing drew McClellan from sweeping the floor of Charlotte’s workroom. “Did Lady Peake agree to a meeting?”
“Yes.” Charlotte closed her eyes for an instant. “And soon, so I must be quick about changing into yet another disguise,” she added with an edge of sarcasm. “That of an oh-so proper lady.”
McClellan followed Charlotte into her bedchamber. “Sit,” she ordered as she moved to the armoire. “Which gown would you like?”
The options were extremely limited. Yet another part of her life that would have to change. Participating in the beau monde’s frivolous social swirl required an obscene amount of frills and furbelows.
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied a little testily. “I leave it for you to choose.”
McClellan didn’t hesitate. “The slate blue. It’s reserved, yet elegant, and it accentuates the color of your eyes.”
“Accentuating the color of my eyes is theleastof my concerns,” muttered Charlotte as she stripped off her work gown.
“It shouldn’t be,” counseled McClellan, handing over a more elaborate corset. “Since you’re intent on stepping onto a new battlefield, you must learn to wield a new set of weapons.”
