“An excellent plan,” said Alison. “The tabbies of the ton won’t dare to gossip if I’m part of the party.” She paused. “Though come to think of it, there has been some talk about Wrexford, and how attentive he’s been to you.” A cough. “Er, is he . . . that is, are you . . .”
Charlotte drew in a shaky breath. “We are . . .”
Friends?She couldn’t bring herself to reduce their relationship to such a lame platitude. It was far more nuanced, with richly textured layers, shaded with subtle colors—and here and there a hint of shadow.
“We are special to each other, in ways that defy any words I can muster,” she said softly. “For now, I’m afraid that’s the best answer I can give you.”
The dowager nodded sagely, but a hint of a smile curled at the corners of her lips. “Like the Weasels, the heart doesn’t always choose to speak the King’s English.”
They sat for a long moment, holding hands in companionable silence. The universe, mused Charlotte, worked in mysterious ways. It was because of her cousin’s shocking murder that she had been reunited with the dowager. Life was capricious. It was, she supposed, a stark reminder that things could change in the blink of an eye.
Carpe diem. Seize the day.
Perhaps she and Wrexford needed to—
An urgent knock on the parlor door chased the thought from her head. “Forgive me for interrupting,” said McClellan. “But Lord Wrexford is here, and he says it’s urgent.”
The earl’s dark silhouette was already looming behind the maid. “Well, don’t just stand there, milord. Do come in,” said Alison. “What dark mischief is afoot?”
Wrexford hesitated and darted a questioning look at Charlotte.
“There’s no need for prevarication,” she murmured. “Alison is now part of our inner circle. She knows all my secrets.” A pause. “All of them.”
“I see.” His face was shrouded in shadows, making his expression impossible to read.
“And I can be trusted to keep them.” The dowager fixed him with a challenging stare. “If you wish, I can write out a pledge in blood.”
“I’ll accept your word. Especially as the alternative would involve crossing canes with you.” His mouth twitched. “I don’t fancy having my shins bruised.”
“Please, let’s not waste time in sparring,” interjected Charlotte, noting the tension beneath the earl’s show of humor. “What’s wrong, sir?”
Wrexford stepped into the room, and McClellan closed the parlor door behind him. Her steps echoed in the corridor as she discreetly withdrew.
“I’ve just come from White’s,” he answered, “where I had a discussion with one of the directors of the East India Company about the clerk’s murder.” Without further preamble, the earl recounted his meeting with the admiral and Copley and then went on to explain about his valet’s discovery. “Peabody worked under Copley, and the baron had nothing but praise for his character and competence. He confided that Bow Street thinks the murder was a personal matter involving rivalry over a woman—”
“Annie Wright?” interjected Charlotte. “I can’t believe that, given what she told me about her relationship with Peabody.” She made herself think back over the encounter. “My sense is, she wasn’t lying.”
“I, too, feel this is about far more than jealousy,” he replied. “After further thought, Tyler and I are of the opinion that blackmail might have been the motive.”
Wrexford shifted closer to the sofa. “The connection between Woodbridge, Mather, and Peabody seems too strong to ignore. Our guess is, Peabody might have learned some unsavory secret about Woodbridge’s finances from his cousin and decided to try to profit from it. I’ve asked Tyler to see if Griffin will allow us to have Henning look at the knife, to see whether he thinks it’s the actual murder weapon.”
“Mather,” mused Charlotte. “His connection to Woodbridge is the bank, so perhaps the blackmail was his idea. He struck me as a fellow who yearns for more money than he has.” She pondered the possibilities. “From what we’ve heard, Peabody was an honorable man. But I can understand how the temptation might have been too great. And it would explain Annie Wright’s reluctance to talk. She may feel it’s better for her friend’s sins to remain buried with him.”
“Forgive me for interrupting . . .” Alison cleared her throat. “But I find it hard to imagine Woodbridge being capable of killing another man.”
“Fear and panic can push even the mildest of men to murder,” replied Charlotte. “Self-preservation is a very primal emotion.”
“Yes, I’m old enough to have witnessed the vagaries of human nature,” replied the dowager. “Granted, he may not be as clever as his sister, but he’s known as a very sober, solid fellow. If anything, his reputation is for being good hearted to a fault. There’s no skeleton of scandal in his closet.” She regripped her cane. “Trust me, even the slightest rattle of bones, and I would know about it.”
A glint of amusement flashed in the earl’s eyes. “It appears you’ve acquired yet another pair of very useful eyes and ears, Lady Charlotte,” he said. “Speaking of bones locked away in closets, Lady Peake, what do you know about the Honorable David Mather?”
“Only that he holds a position at Hoare’s Bank and is considered a modest catch on the marriage mart on account of being the second son of a baron,” shot back the dowager. “However, I’m well acquainted with his grandmother. I can pay a morning call on her tomorrow, if that would help.”
“Any information concerning Mather’s personal life would be useful,” he replied.
Charlotte nodded. “As for Annie Wright, perhaps I had better pay another visit to her tonight—”
“Alone?” exclaimed Alison. “And in such a dangerous, disreputable part of Town?”
