Alison sat pale and still as a statue carved from marble.
“It’s true we’re not bound by blood, but wearea family, one with bonds far more meaningful than a dribble of scarlet liquid.” Charlotte crooked a smile. “As you know, I’ve always been a fool when it comes to love, whether it be my passions for art and ideas or for the people I wished to hold close to my heart.”
Still no reaction from the dowager.
She closed her eyes for an instant. “There’s more you need to know, assuming you’re willing to hear it. But the boys need not stay.”
Raven and Hawk quietly slid down from their seats and put their plates of untouched sweets on the table.
The mutedchinkseemed to unlock Alison’s tongue. “Do you mean to say . . .” Light winked off the glass lens as she fixed her much-magnified eye on Raven. “You watched over your brother and fought to keep him safe?”
“Oiy.” Raven lifted his bony shoulders in a shrug. “We’re family. Ye take care of yer own,” he added, letting his speech slur into the patter of the stews.
“Well, I think . . .” The dowager’s voice stuck for an instant in her throat. “I think that’s quite the bravest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Catching the glint of a tear pearled on Alison’s lashes, Charlotte dared to think the meeting might not end in utter disaster.
“Lord Wrexford says the mark of a true gentleman is that he protects the people he loves,” murmured Hawk.
“Hmmph.” Alison made a small sniff. “It seems His Lordship is not only a very handsome devil but also a very wise one.”
Charlotte gave a small nod to Raven and Hawk. “You have your lessons to do, so off you go, while I finish my explanations. . .”
“Wait!” exclaimed the dowager as the boys turned for the doorway, punctuating the command with a thump of her cane. “How dare my little Weasels run off without giving their aunt a hug!”
An uncertain smile blossomed on Hawk’s face as he took a tentative step toward the sofa. “But you’re not really our aunt.”
“The devil I’m not!” Alison seized him in a fierce embrace. “However, perhaps you’ve decided you don’t want an old dragon as a relative.”
“Of course we do,” replied Raven, allowing a very un-Raven-like grin. “Who else would ply us with ice cream and sweets at Gunter’s?”
“That’s very practical and pragmatic,” said Alison with an approving nod. She released Hawk with a last fond ruffling of his unruly curls. “Now come take your leave of me properly, you young jackanapes. That is, unless you consider yourself too big for hugs.”
Charlotte held her breath. Raven wasn’t easy to reach.
The boy hesitated and then shuffled over and allowed the dowager to plant a peck on his cheek. He pulled away quickly, but not before Charlotte saw another grin tug at his lips.
“Weasels, the Dragon, and me—a strange bird Wrexford calls Phoenix,” said Charlotte as they scampered off. “Lud, what an eccentric menagerie we make.”
“Hmmph.” Whether the sound was a snort or a laugh was impossible to discern.
“Thank you, Aunt Alison,” she added. “For not falling into a swoon at the truth.”
“Merciful heavens, did you think I believed for a moment your farididdle about the boys being orphaned relatives of your husband’s family?” Alison reached for a ginger biscuit and took a bite before continuing. “They’re far too clever and interesting to have been brought up in a respectable but boring gentry family.”
“I’m very grateful that you’re not easily shocked.” Charlotte blew out her breath. “For I’m not yet done with the revelations.”
The dowager finished her biscuit. After dusting the crumbs from her fingers, she once again lifted her quizzing glass. A Cyclops-like eye, widened in an unblinking stare, was admittedly a little unnerving, but Charlotte held herself steady.
“Well, do go on, gel,” drawled Alison. “My delicate nerves can’t stand the suspense.”
* * *
Feeling unaccountably chilled, Wrexford placed several chunks of coal in the hearth of his workroom and slowly coaxed a flame to life.
Light and shadow.He watched the two intertwine, recalling his words to Charlotte. It was true. The more they learned, the darker things looked for their friends. He now understood her wrenchingly visceral reaction to seeing her cousin charged with murder. He had sympathized, of course, but it had been an intellectual reaction, not this knife-sharp blade of fear jabbing at his gut.
If it turned out the clerk’s murder was connected to Cordelia and her brother, that could mean Sheffield was entangled in something very dangerous. His worries would, of course, prove unfounded if it turned out Peabody’s murder was a matter of personal passions gone awry. But somehow, he couldn’t quite make himself believe that a love triangle lay at the heart of the conundrum. Woodbridge, Mather, Peabody . . . the connections seemed too much of a coincidence.
