“Your father is far more progressive in his thinking than you led me to believe,” she replied.
“He’s more open-minded with you than he is with me. Perhaps that’s because you’re smarter than I am.”
Cordelia’s lips twitched in amusement before giving way to a more serious expression. “Kit, as usual, is being too modest. The main reason we are meeting with his father is to discuss the possibility of Kit standing for election to Parliament.”
“Like many members of the landed aristocracy, my father controls a pocket borough,” explained Sheffield.
There were a number of election districts in the country with a small number of voters whose livelihood depended on the local lord of the manor, and thus were deemed to be “in his pocket” and willing to vote for whichever candidate the local lord chose.
“So it occurred to me that rather than simply complain about antiquated rules and regulations that stifle progress, I should try to put myself in a position to actually do something about them.”
“Bravo,” responded Wrexford. “You’ll bring a breath of fresh air to the stuffy confines of the House of Commons.”
Sheffield made a face. “I’ll likely just be whistling—or spitting—into the prevailing wind. But I might as well try to make some good trouble to atone for my past mindless revelries.”
“Winds shift direction,” said the earl.
Cordelia regarded her new husband, admiration glimmering in her gaze. “Change starts with tiny steps, and then can gain momentum.”
“Solving a puzzling murder . . . embarking on married life . . . adjusting to new family dynamics . . . seeking political power to make the country a better place . . .” Charlotte cleared her throat with a wry cough. “It sounds like we all have our work cut out for us.”
“There is one other thing to mention.” Cordelia smoothed open another sheet of paper. “As you and I expressed interest in the upcoming conference at the Royal Institution, Kendall Garfield, one of the members of the Revolutions-Per-Minute Society we met with in Cambridge, sent me a list of the delegations invited to attend.”
Her fingers tightened on the document. “As we know, France is participating. In addition, Metternich is sending representatives from Austria, as are a number of the smaller German principalities.” A hesitation. “And the Kingdom of Württemberg is also sending a delegation.” She looked up. “You don’t think . . .”
Charlotte felt a chill tease at the nape of her neck. During their most recent investigation, they had joined forces with the king of Württemberg’s personal librarian to unmask a group of cunning villains who had committed treason, murder, and financial fraud over a period of years.
Or so they had thought.It turned out that man who called himself Herr von Münch wasnotthe king’s librarian. As to his real identity . . .
“Do I think he might be in the hunt for your cousin’s papers?” she replied. “Perhaps. But I can’t see him as a ruthless killer. While we don’t know his true motives, he was never our enemy. He helped rather than harmed us, so I hold no grudge.”
“And yet he lied to us.” Cordelia made a face. “Surely you would never again trust someone who lied to you.”
Charlotte pondered the question. “I’m not sure that’s true.”
Cordelia looked surprised.
“It’s not black and white,” she mused.
Wrexford, she noted, was regarding her with an inscrutable look.
“What I mean is, look at me—I lived a lie for years.” A pause. “In a way I still am. A. J. Quill is an integral part of who I am, and yet I hide it beneath a froth of expensive silk and satins.”
“And what about you and Kit?” Her gaze lingered on Cordelia for another moment and then moved to Sheffield. “You feel compelled by the rules of Society to keep your business activities a secret.”
“That’s . . . different,” responded Cordelia, though her voice lacked any real conviction.
“Again, I suggest we don’t tie ourselves in knots speculating on hypothetical moral questions,” said Wrexford. “We have no reason to think that the man we knew as von Münch is involved in the current conundrums. What we do know is that a murderer is on the loose. And we’ve taken on the task of catching him before he strikes again.”
CHAPTER 9
Pausing by the closed door of the schoolroom, Charlotte listened to Mr. Lynsley question the boys on their assigned history lesson. The young man, who had been tutoring Raven and Hawk since shortly after she and Wrexford met, had cheerfully agreed to add a third pupil to his duties, and by the sound of the questions and answers, all was going well.
The boys, she reflected, were serious about their studies. They were eager to learn, and their tutor was an excellent teacher, so the arrangement seemed a perfect match.
Thank heaven.
Charlotte tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear, tiptoed back to the main stairs, and made her way to her workroom.
