Charlotte found herself glancing yet again at the entrance to the drawing room, and wondering why Lord Bethany had sought out Wrexford’s assistance.
The reason couldn’t be a pleasant one. Bethany looked as if he had just seen a ghost.
“. . . And what is your opinion of the artist’s latest exhibit, Lady Charlotte?” asked one of the scholars’ wives.
Drawn back to the moment, Charlotte quickly improvised a reply—never mind that she hadn’t a clue as to which artist was being discussed. Certain platitudes were never questioned. “Quite interesting,” she murmured. “His technique shows some new developments, but I’m not quite sure I like his use of color.”
The others all nodded sagely.
Alison, who had brought Sir Robert over to join the circle, gave her a quizzical look and waggled her brow in warning to pay attention. After all, the whole point of the evening was to begin playing the role of a countess, one that required poise and politeness, no matter how excruciatingly superficial the situation. . .
The thought made her innards clench.
“It seems we are all being asked to move on to the dining salon.” Sir Robert offered his arm to the dowager.
“I’ll follow along shortly,” said Charlotte, making an abrupt decision. She touched a gloved finger to her topknot and made an apologetic grimace. “I fear I have a hairpin coming loose, and wish to visit the ladies’ retiring room to have it fixed.”
Polite murmurs sounded from her companions as she turned in a rustle of silk and exited into the center corridor. But rather than turn right and head to the rooms housing the amenities for the guests, Charlotte hurried in the opposite direction. She was familiar with Kew Palace and the grounds of the Royal Botanic Gardens from several earlier visits. Just ahead, a side portico led out a walkway that wound down to the west side of the conservatory.
Ignoring a startled footman, she let herself out into the night. The air was chilly, but it was the sense of foreboding that raised a pebbling of gooseflesh on her bare arms.
Has Hawk somehow strayed into trouble?
Raven’s younger brother had become fascinated by the natural world.Rocks, plants, insects . . .An involuntary smile touched her lips. Mice and snakes were also part of the little menagerie he had created in their back garden, much to the disgust of his sibling. Wrexford had encouraged the boy’s scientific interest. As had the earl’s valet.
Indeed, it had been Tyler’s idea to invite Hawk to accompany him here to the gardens earlier in the day. The valet had offered to help the symposium committee arrange some of the special exhibits within one of the smaller buildings surrounding the main conservatory, and had suggested that Hawk, a budding botanical artist, might enjoy the opportunity to sketch some of the specimen plantings in the outer hothouses.
Given the importance of the event, she had expressed reservations about the idea. But Tyler had convinced her that Hawk’s presence would create no controversy.
But boys being boys . . .
Quickening her steps, Charlotte took a shortcut across the grass, ignoring the damage the moisture and mud were doing to her elegant shoes and gown.Silks and satins be damned.In truth, she was far more at home in the breeches and boots of a street urchin, prowling the city for the hidden secrets that helped her expose the wrongdoings of the rich and powerful.
A wolf in sheep’s clothing,she thought.A soon-to-be very wealthy faux sheep.
The west door of the conservatory was unlocked, allowing entrance into the section housing conifer specimens from the northeastern states of America. The pleasant fragrances of pine and balsam, however, did little to settle her unease. Spotting a trail of lantern lights through the needled branches, she hurried down the path to her right.
After passing through several deserted galleries, she heard voices from up ahead.
Wrexford’s was one of them.
Charlotte hesitated for a moment, then decided to plunge on. She might as well kill two birds with one stone and learn what bumblebroth was now bubbling around her eccentric family.
Wrexford looked around at the feathery sound of her slippers moving over the dark stone. She didn’t recognize his companion.
“Has Hawk gotten into some mischief—” she began, only to stop short on spotting the corpse sprawled on the tiles.
Her throat tightened. “Dear God.” She was no stranger to dead bodies. There was no need to inquire whether the poor fellow was still alive. “What happened?”
“We are still debating the exact cause of death, my dear,” replied Wrexford. “One of Dr. Hosack’s American colleagues was discovered a short while ago as you see him. Hosack is convinced it’s murder. I’m less certain, so we’ve just agreed that Henning should have a look at the deceased and see if he can give us a definitive answer.”
Turning back to the doctor, he added, “Allow me to present my fiancée, Lady Charlotte Sloane.”
“My deepest apologies, milady. I’m so sorry that you had to experience such a ghastly sight.” Hosack flushed, looking terribly uncomfortable. “Along with the horrifying mention of murder.”
Charlotte calmly met his gaze. “No apologies are necessary, sir. My sensibilities are not easily shocked.” A pause. “Wrexford will assure you of that.”
She surveyed the surrounding area, noting there was no sign of a struggle. Nor was there any obvious sign of injury. But much as she wished to get a closer look at the body, Hosack was a total stranger . . . and she was here tonight as a prim and proper soon-to-be countess. The poor man would likely swoon if she got down on her hands and knees in all her finery.
