Mr. Stewart exchanged a look with Matthew. Again. Wordless conversation appeared to pass between the men. Neither betrayed a single emotion.
“That is the printshop,” Mr. Stewart said both casually and resolutely.
“Oh, I would love to see inside! I have recently purchased a book from your press. Dr. Talbot’s illustrations make it an absolutely gorgeous volume.” Charlotte punctuated her only partially feigned excitement with a bounce. Banshee scolded her, but Mr. Stewart’s face remained placid.
“I am afraid it will not be possible,” Mr. Stewart replied evenly. “We are in the midst of a very complex print that I have promised to a client who demands punctuality.”
“Mr. Stewart never allows visitors to view the presses,” Alexander joined the conversation, his voice theatrically wistful. “Goodness knows, I’ve tried. It would be grand hearing the machines thump and the metal type clang together—a bit like the sounds of a good horse race, don’t you think?”
Matthew ignored Alexander’s comment and instead leaned inCharlotte’s direction, his gray eyes searching hers. “Which volume did you buy?”
“The Curious Animalia and Flora of the New World.” It had been an expensive purchase that had taken several months’ pin money, but Charlotte had thought it worth the price. She’d tried telling herself that she’d acquired the book to better understand Matthew for purposes of her inquiries into Hawley. But after readingFerus Cattus of Caledonia, she’d picked up another work by Matthew because of his stunning drawings and descriptions. He had a way of sketching an animal that infused the ink strokes with life, and the creature seemed to peer out of the pages and stare down the reader.
“I am, quite simply, enthralled by your illustrations,” Charlotte added.
As a soft smile stretched across Matthew’s face, an echoing emotion swelled in Charlotte’s bosom. But before it could wash over her, Mr. Stewart’s brogue yanked her attention back to where it should be: the Scotsman’s and Matthew’s secrets.
“You will meet several of the animals that he drew today,” Mr. Stewart said. “I have arranged for the coachman to bring us directly to the enclosures.”
Sure enough, the carriage rumbled past Ravenshall. They headed up the manicured lawn toward an impressive fountain with sculptures of nymphs frolicking with fantastical sea creatures. The fine gravel of the path crunched under the heavy wheels of the conveyance as they traversed through the expanse of neatly trimmed grass peppered with perfectly positioned ornamental trees. Mr. Stewart clearly had funds… and plenty of them. His wealth must rival that of Charlotte’s family or perhaps even exceed it.
Yet Charlotte’s eyes remained mostly trained on the collection of mismatched edifices still visible behind the main mansion. It was clear Mr. Stewart wanted her nowhere near them. But why? Between the sprawling manor and the oaks, she could see little ofthe grounds near the structures. Here and there, though, she could spy the hustle and bustle of people. Although an estate like this employed an army of servants, there appeared to be more individuals milling about than one would expect at a country property, even one so near London.
All too soon, the carriage turned sharply, and a well-pruned hedge blocked Charlotte’s view. Suppressing a sigh, she turned to look out Alexander’s window but saw nothing other than flashes of the Thames River. Mr. Stewart was certainly situated on choice land. He was within easy access of the capital either by land or by water. Even the long driveway to his estate was directly off the main thoroughfare to the city, which would make Ravenshall a good place for illicit activity.
A glimpse of a well-established quay caught Charlotte’s attention. She pressed against her brother to peer at it. The broad flagstone strip not only boasted a winch but even a treadwheel meant to lift goods from barges. There were also a few buildings built near the platform, presumably for storage. This was no mere landing for a pleasure yacht.
Alexander swung his head in the same direction. “It is impressive, isn’t it? A little bit of the London dockyards so far inland.”
“I prefer to build working monuments to trade, rather than follies romanticizing the distant past,” Mr. Stewart stated. Charlotte noticed with interest that the self-made man once again appeared to give an answer without really doing so. He made prevarication an art form, but Charlotte had spent her womanhood with her mother and the ladies of the salon. She too knew how to weaponize the most prosaic of discourse.
“I must admit to naivete when it comes to machines. I would not have thought such massive hoists were necessary for a publishing house,” she said, injecting the perfect amount of polite interest into her voice.
“It is not just books that we are shipping out, but the presses and other supplies arriving.” Mr. Stewart answered smoothly.
“The wheel has come in handy when I have rescued larger animals from peers who could no longer keep them,” Matthew added.
“Is that how you acquired the lion?” Alexander asked.
“There is a lion on this property?” Charlotte stared at Matthew. She really should not allow anything to distract her from discovering what Mr. Stewart and Matthew were hiding, but really, the king of the jungle?
Matthew’s mouth twisted downward, his voice scathing. “Nemea’s previous owner had purchased him at a market in Spain during the toff’s Grand Tour. Nemea was only a cub, and the fop thought he would make a jolly pet. Of course, he put the poor cat in a cage smaller than even those at the Tower. Nemea became temperamental, and no one would go near him, even to feed him. His ribs were sticking out of his mange-ridden fur by the time I heard about his predicament through the Amica Fauna Society.”
Charlotte’s heart squeezed—both from the description of the unfortunate lion and Matthew’s compassion. “How is Nemea now?”
“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Mr. Stewart asked as he opened the door to the carriage.
Charlotte realized that she’d been so engrossed by Matthew’s tale that she hadn’t noticed that they’d stopped moving. She gave an enthusiastic nod, and Matthew immediately scrambled to the gravel path. He turned and held out his gloved palm. Scooching Banshee to her shoulder, Charlotte prepared to exit the vehicle.
As soon as Charlotte’s fingers touched Matthew’s, warmth crept through her despite the kid leather separating their flesh. The heat flowed up her arm with surprising force and settled in her chest.
After Matthew handed her down, their hands remained clasped a moment too long. Mr. Stewart paused in the open coach door. An actual sentiment flitted across his face, and that bemused half smileslipped for a fraction of an instant. The true emotion disappeared before Charlotte could categorize it.
“Dr. Talbot, why don’t you show Lady Charlotte the menagerie yourself? That way she can ask all the questions she desires without Lord Heathford and me interrupting. Lord Heathford and I can take a different route around the grounds. He and I can release Cyrene into her new home, while you and Lady Charlotte conduct Banshee to hers.”
It was a rather poor excuse to split them into pairs, especially since propriety dictated that Charlotte stay with her brother. Clearly, Mr. Stewart wished to separate from her, but was he escaping her prying questions or playing matchmaker?
Alexander’s head appeared behind Mr. Stewart’s bent shoulder. He raised one quizzical eyebrow. “Is that acceptable, Lottie?”
