Victor had heard enough. If Melcombe were lucky, he would die immediately.
“This feels so wonderful.”
“Exactly what feels so wonderful?” Victor questioned coldly as he opened the door. He halted in his tracks at the sight before him. Melcombe negligently leaned against the back wall, next to the window Victor had just vacated. Charlotte was standing on the opposite side of the desk, rubbing a swatch of material against her cheek.
“This,” she answered brightly as she held out a piece of wool. It was a lovely shade of blue, or perhaps lavender. Victor had never seen such a color.
“It is from lamb’s wool and so much softer than any other wool we…I mean Turner Textiles has produced yet.”
Victor took the offered material and slid it between his fingers while he studied the two. “Yes. Nice,” he agreed, not really feeling the material, and handed it back to her. “Exactly what is your purpose for being here?” he finally asked.
Charlotte quickly glanced to Melcombe before answering. She was definitely guilty of something. Exactly what he was no longer certain.
“Melcombe has asked my opinion on various dyes and patterns.”
“You are being too modest, Charlotte.” Melcombe pushed away from the wall. “Your wife is single handedly responsible for the quality of our production. Without her artistic talents, Turner Textiles would not be half as successful as we are.”
“You are exaggerating,” Charlotte warned tightly.
“Nonsense,” Melcombe dismissed. “Your husband has a right to know the truth.”
Charlotte looked as if she were going to be ill. Is that all she did for Melcombe?
There was a short knock at the door before an older woman stepped through. “We have finished the portion of the pattern you designed, Lady Blackmar,” the woman began. “The weavers would like your approval before they go further.”
Another stepped in the room. “The bolt of that new color,” she gestured toward the piece of material in Charlotte’s hand, “is finished if you would like to inspect it.”
Charlotte sighed. “If you will excuse me,” she addressed Victor. “I will only be a moment.”
Victor watched her limp from the room, down the steps and into the mill before turning to confront Melcombe, who was grinning at him.
“Exactly how long has my wife been helping you?”
“Since it became my responsibility, instead of my brother’s. A year and a half ago. I share ownership with Winters.”
Victor stared at him, not sure what question to ask first.
“Charlotte always insisted that you never know the truth. I thought that once you were here, she would tell you.”
“What should I not know?”
Melcombe sighed and sank into a chair. “Without Charlotte this company would no longer exist.” Melcombe picked up the piece of material Charlotte had been holding when he came in the room. “She has been working on this for over a month. It is her favorite color.”
Even if they weren’t lovers, Melcombe still knew more about Charlotte than Victor and it didn’t sit well. He glanced down at the material. What husband does not know his wife’s favorite color?
“She claims it is going to be the loveliest and softest wool yet and I believe her. I have never seen her work so hard for one color.”
The swatch was soft. He hadn’t noticed before, too confused by walking in on them expecting to find one thing but actually seeing another.
“That is why you own twenty-five percent.”
“What are you talking about?” Victor thrust his fingers through his hair.
“She invested her own funds, which is why you never noticed the difference in the household accounts, but it is in your name.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?” Would he ever understand his wife?
“Charlotte will need to be the one to explain her reasons.”
