“How terrible,” replied her friend. “The city seems to be growing more perilous.”
“I didn’t mean to alarm you. The crime took place far from Mayfair, and the dockyards are known for being dangerous places.”
The bag of books Cordelia was carrying slipped from her grasp and fell to the carpet with a thud. “How clumsy of me,” she muttered, stooping to pick it up. “The crime occurred in the dockyards?”
“On Queen’s Landing,” explained Charlotte.
“Ah.” Her friend tightened her hold on the books. “As you say, a world away.”
“Indeed, a world away.” Charlotte quickly cleared a jumble of skittles off the sofa table to make room for the sheets of equations and textbooks. “I’ll ask McClellan to bring some tea and biscuits,” she murmured after plucking the skull of a mouse from among the pillows and stuffing it into her pocket. “Sorry. Hawk was in here earlier, sketching from his collection of nature objects. But have no fear, there’s nothing alive back there.”
She checked a few more nooks, just to be sure. “At least I don’t think so.”
Cordelia gave a small smile, as she took a seat on the sofa. “As you know, I’m quite at home among eccentricities.”
“No need for a summons.” McClellan appeared with refreshments. “I took it upon myself to fix some hearty refreshments.” She set down a tray loaded with savory tarts, fresh-baked bread, and a selection of cheeses. “You two were dancing until dawn, and that requires more than mere crumbs.”
“Bless you,” murmured Charlotte, surprised to find she was ravenous.
Cordelia, however, took only a tiny morsel of cheddar—and left it unnibbled on her plate.
In response to the maid’s curiosity about the previous evening, the talk turned to the opulent decorations, the sumptuous refreshments, and the other guests.
“Though he claims otherwise, Mr. Sheffield dances quite well,” observed Charlotte, having noticed that Cordelia had twice been his partner. In fact, she hadn’t seen her on the dance floor with anyone else.
“Mr. Sheffield is more adept than he thinks at a great many things,” replied her friend. “Perhaps it’s the same with gentlemen as it is with ladies—if you possess beauty, it’s presumed you don’t possess a brain.” Her brows rose in a sardonic arch. “Of course, I’m not speaking from personal experience.”
Charlotte surreptitiously studied Cordelia with an artist’s eye. It was true—her friend didn’t fit the pattern card for feminine allure. There was nothing sweet or delicate about her looks.Strong nose, wide mouth, angled cheekbones, eyes that blazed with a lively intelligence—no doubt the aura of strength and vitality overpowered most people.
However, Charlotte found her face striking. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” she murmured. “The beau monde may currently favor delicate, doll-like features, devoid of any personality. But those who find pasteboard perfection boring prefer real individuality.” She dusted the crumbs from her fingers. “I would love to draw you sometime, if you would be willing to sit for a portrait.”
“I . . .” Cordelia appeared a little flustered. “I can’t imagine that my face could be of any interest to you.”
“Lady Charlotte sees nuances that most of us miss,” said McClellan.
Despite the flush that had risen to her cheeks, Cordelia appeared to turn pale.
We all have our own vulnerabilities and fears, mused Charlotte.No matter how silly they may seem to others.“Ah, here is Raven,” she announced, spotting the boy and looking to put an end to her friend’s embarrassment.
“Did you work your way through all the assigned problems?” asked Cordelia.
“Yes,” answered Raven. “Save for the last one, where I had a question about inverse functions.”
“Well, come have a seat,” she said, indicating a spot on the sofa next to her, “and let us see if we can figure out the answer together.”
As McClellan cleared the refreshments, Charlotte took a few moments to gather up a few stray items lying around the parlor before heading up to her workroom. Cordelia was an excellent teacher, she noted, striking just the right note of encouragement and challenge. Raven, who tended to keep his feelings closely guarded, appeared to be flourishing under her tutelage.
The enthusiasm in his voice made Charlotte smile. To her, numbers were merely numbers, but to him, they were like her lines and colors—they could be formed into endlessly unique patterns that expressed something meaningful.
But enough philosophizing. She had a drawing to finish.
CHAPTER 4
Charlotte added the last splash of color and leaned back, satisfied with the results. The humor was sharp but without a razored edge. Yes, the Duchess of York was eccentric.
But so am I.
The drawing was kind enough that people would laugh. But not in a vicious sort of way. Perhaps the talk of murder had softened her touch . . . though in truth, she liked to believe she was never deliberately cruel.
