Alison fixed her with a searching stare, but didn’t press the question. Instead, she said, “I’m often accused of possessing a devious mind, so I can’t help but wonder if this has anything to do with Cedric’s murder and Nicholas’s imprisonment for the crime. I know you were close to them.”
Charlotte sensed that all hope for her plan hinged on how she answered. “Your mind,” she said carefully, “has always been a source of inspiration to me. It’s from you that I learned to ask difficult questions, to challenge myself to look beyond the comfortable confines of my world.”
Amusement quivered at the corners of the dowager’s mouth. “That wasn’t an answer to my question.”
Charlotte smiled. “No, it wasn’t. And I daresay I’m not going to give you the one you want.” Shifting position on the slatted seat, she reached out and uncurled the dowager’s fingers from the cane. The fragile warmth of them tingled against her palm. “You’re right—I’m hopelessly independent and I doubt I shall ever change. In addition, I have secrets that I’m not yet ready to share. Life has taught me to err on caution.”
The dowager’s expression tightened, but the cane remained untouched in her lap. Which Charlotte decided to take as a good sign.
“And so, although I have no right to ask it, I’m hoping you’ll agree to help me without demanding to know all the reasons why. At least for now.”
“Hmmph.” This time the dowager did reach for her cane. “Come, let us walk again. My old bones become stiff if I sit for too long.”
Charlotte helped her to rise. She saw movement in the shade of the nearby trees as McClellan and the dowager’s maid made ready to follow.
“It’s a cursed nuisance to grow old and feeble,” grumbled Alison. “But I suppose I’m fortunate my wits haven’t ossified along with my knees.”
She said nothing, deciding to place her faith in the fact that the dowager had always preferred plain speaking to platitudes.
Progress was slow at first. Alison was a trifle unsteady on the loose stones, and Charlotte steadied several stumbles.
On reaching the crest of the gentle hill, where the path turned level, the dowager regained her stride. “Have you any other acquaintances within the beau monde?” she asked abruptly. “I seem to recall you were close with that young jackanapes who became Lord Sterling.”
“Jeremy,” answered Charlotte. “Yes, he and I are friends, and we see each other occasionally.”
“Anyone else?”
“Lord Wrexford,” she answered. “He and I are also . . . friendly.”
“Wrexford?”The dowager’s brows shot up. “How did you come to meet the earl?”
“Through my late husband,” she replied. “I’m also acquainted with his friend Mr. Sheffield.”
Alison seemed satisfied with the explanation. “AboutAnthony Sloane.” The dowager thought for a moment. “You say his relatives were gentry?”
“Yes, but Anthony was of modest birth—”
“Pfft! It’s been a decade since your elopement—and even back then, your parents hushed up the details. No one will have the slightest idea as to his background.”
“But—”
“There is an art to storytelling, my dear child. The key is to embellish certain details to make them compelling,” said Alison as she paused and gave a flourish of her cane to emphasize the point. Turning, she fixed Charlotte with an owlish squint. “But I daresay you know that.”
Charlotte maintained a solemn face. “Imagination is important in any creative endeavor.”
That drew a bark of laughter. “Life has been sadly flat without you, Charley.” A sigh. “Thetonis filled with pompous prigs and feather-headed widgeons. I swear, I’m sliding into senility from sheer boredom.” Taking hold of Charlotte’s arm, she turned toward Piccadilly Street, where her carriage was waiting. “A little intrigue and excitement is what keeps the blood pulsing through one’s veins. So whatever it is you are up to, I shall be happy to help.”
Charlotte covered the dowager’s hand with hers and gave a heartfelt squeeze. “Words feel inadequate to express my gratitude to you—for everything. So I shall simply say thank you, Aunt Alison.”
“Nonsense,” sniffed the dowager, though her cheeks had turned pink. “It isIwho should be thankingyou.”
They walked on for several strides. “Come around to my town house tomorrow at half past eleven,” added Alison, “and we’ll begin to plan a strategy for introducing you to Society.” Her eyes took on a speculative gleam. “Perhaps if we ruffle enough feathers, we’ll merit one of A. J. Quill’s drawings.”
“Let us try not to have it come to that,” she murmured.
The dowager looked a little disappointed; however, her expression quickly brightened as the footpath took them up through the center of the park’s meadow. “Yes, but you said you’re on friendly terms with the Earl of Wrexford. And you can’t deny that whereverhegoes, trouble seems to follow.”
CHAPTER 16
