Charlotte looked at the worktable, where several tins were already filled with sweet and savory delicacies. “There will be just six of us at the picnic tomorrow, not a regiment of the King’s Hussars.”
“The boys eat more than a troop of cavalry officersandtheir horses,” quipped the maid. “And besides, good food makes for good cheer.”
She caught a glimpse of the large herb-dusted chicken McClellan was about to put into the oven and smiled. “Then we shall all be happy as kittens who’ve knocked over a creampot.”
“Cream,” muttered McClellan. “Where’s the cream for the custard and apple tart?”
As the maid went to search the larder, Charlotte made tea and set out two cups and saucers. As the fragrant steam filled her lungs, she tried to make herself relax. The meeting with her brother had been more heartening than she had dared imagine. And yet, she hadn’t been able to shake a niggling worry regarding his botanical interests.
“Why the long face?” McClellan settled onto one of the stools. “I thought you said the reconciliation with Lord Wolcott couldn’t have gone any better.”
McClellan and the boys had, of course, demanded a full recounting of the evening over breakfast, and the announcement that they would all soon be meeting her brother was met with great enthusiasm.
“Is there, perchance, something you haven’t yet mentioned?”
Charlotte sighed. There was no sense in prevaricating with McClellan. She had a sixth sense for Trouble.
“There is.” A pause. “Though I’m not certain it’s any cause for concern.” She quickly explained about Wolcott’s interest in botany, and his connection to Becton through Professor Murray of St. Andrews.
“Another Scottish connection,” mused the maid, a pensive grimace deepening the lines at the corners of her mouth. “Hmmph. One can’t help but wonder . . .”
“It’s not as unsettling as you might think,” she pointed out. “The Scottish universities are among the best in the world for the study of medicine, and they created the concept of botanical gardens for healing purposes. Men come from near and far to study in St. Andrews or Edinburgh. And the professors who teach there correspond with scholars in all corners of the globe.”
So, why don’t such rational words put my own fears to rest?
“A fair point,” murmured McClellan. “What does Wrexford think?”
The earl hadn’t appeared to find the coincidence as disturbing as she had. During the carriage ride home, he had seemed far more concerned about the information she had passed on from Cordelia concerning Captain Daggett.
“My sense is, he’s more worried about the American naval captain than my brother.”
“But you don’t agree.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“I’m not quite sure what to think,” replied Charlotte. “However, my intuition tells me there’s one thing for certain—when we finally identify the snakes slithering through the leaves, Justinian DeVere will be one of them.”
CHAPTER 14
Hawk darted away from the parlor window. “They’re here, they’re here!” he called, skidding into the corridor, where Raven was helping McClellan with the hampers of food.
Charlotte gathered her shawl, and eyed both boys, checking that no noxious substances had managed to rub off on their best clothing in the short time since dressing.
“Straighten your collar, Raven,” she murmured after fishing out a small satchel from behind the boot box. “And, Hawk, don’t forget your sketchbook and pencils.”
Hawk rushed over to take the bag.
“Just a moment.” Smiling, Charlotte wet her finger and rubbed away a small smudge from his cheek. How dirt managed to adhere to the boys within moments of their being scrubbed was a sorcery no rational law of science could explain.
A knock rapped on the door. One of the dowager’s footmen had accompanied the coachman in order to assist with the picnic things. As McClellan began barking orders to bustle everything out to the boot of the barouche, Hawk hesitated, fixing Charlotte with a look of uncertainty.
Crouching down, she asked, “What’s wrong, sweeting?”
“W-What if your bruvver doesn’t like us?” he asked in a small voice.
Her heart gave a little lurch. Hawk only mangled his speech when he was very, very nervous. Drawing him into a hug, she held him tightly, achingly aware of all the bony juts and angles of his body.
“My bruvver,” she whispered, “will adore you. He’s very happy that our family has reunited.”
Hawk didn’t appear entirely sure. “B-But when he finds out that we’re really just guttersnipes—”
