“Thank you, yes.” Charlotte tucked an errant curl behind her ear, a part of her wishing she could avoid the meeting. The changes in her life were already dizzying. To think of adding yet another spin was daunting.
Especially this one.
“What if . . . ,” she whispered to the now-empty room.
A gust of air grazed against the windowpanes, the muted rattle mocking her fears.Whatifwhatifwhatif.
“Even if I’m knocked on my arse, I shall simply pick myself up.” After all, she had long ago learned the art of survival.
* * *
The wheels clattered over the cobblestones, but the dowager’s well-sprung carriage softened all the little bumps of Charlotte’s return ride home. She leaned back against the soft leather squabs, still of two minds about Alison’s unexpected proposal.
Yes or no?
The dowager had made it clear the decision was hers alone to make. Was she dithering out of pride? Or was it out of cowardice?
Uncertain of the true answer, Charlotte turned her gaze to the window and watched the fast-fading afternoon glow give way to twilight. Nothing ever stood still—or so the earl would tell her.
The thought brought a reluctant smile to her lips. Wrexford wouldn’t allow her to turn in endless mental circles. He would force her to confront the conundrum with logic and come to a rational decision rather than cowering behind her conflicted emotions.
“Logic,” she murmured as the dowager’s coachman pulled the team to a halt in front of her residence. She suddenly found herself in need of the earl’s counsel—and yes, his cajoling.
After hurrying up the entrance steps and through the front door, Charlotte quickly removed her bonnet and cloak, only to pause on seeing that the parlor was dark and deserted.
Puzzled, she headed for the kitchen, where a glimmer of light flickered beneath the closed door.
“McClellan?” she said on entering the warm, spice-scented room. The boys, she noted, were sitting at the worktable in the center of the space, quietly—too quietly—eating a stew of beef and potatoes. It took her a moment to spot the maid in the far corner by the stove, sliding a baking pan into the oven.
“Is something amiss?”
Raven answered before McClellan could respond. “Lady Cordelia never showed up for our lesson,” he said.
“She was feeling poorly when she left here the other day, so whatever illness she has must be keeping her abed,” reasoned Charlotte. Though it was odd that one of Woodbridge’s servants had not brought word of it. “I do hope it’s nothing—”
“She’s not ill,” interrupted Raven. He put his spoon down. “She’s gone.”
“Gone?” Charlotte shot a look at McClellan, who responded with a grim shrug.
“Aye,” answered Raven. “When she didn’t come, I went to Lord Woodbridge’s townhouse to ask about her. The house was locked up, and no lights were showing in any of the windows.”
Recalling the recent scene between brother and sister, Charlotte felt a frisson of alarm but was careful to mask it. “I imagine Lord Woodbridge was called away to his country manor and Lady Cordelia went with him. There are any number of things on an estate that can require immediate attention from the owner.”
The boy shook his head. “The knocker was still up.”
Not a good sign, she conceded. When a family left Town, it was customary to take down the brass knocker from the front door as a signal to all that the family wasn’t in residence.
A glance showed McClellan’s expression mirrored her concern.
Yet another reason to send word for the earl.
“When you’re finished with supper, why don’t you boys run around to Lord Wrexford’s residence and ask if he might pay us a visit?”
Raven and Hawk slid down from their stools and were off in a flash.
McClellan set a fist on her hip as the front door banged shut. “Can you think of any reason for Lady Cordelia’s absence, m’lady?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Charlotte repressed a sigh. “But I’m not at liberty to explain the details. I happened to witness a private scene between her and her brother. Suffice it to say, the family is wrestling with some demons.”
