He couldn’t let this—whatever it was—continue. They would never suit, despite how the warmth in his gut said otherwise. Allowing her any closer than she’d already finagled was going to hurt them both in the end when he left for America, or when she realized how incompatible they were and she left him for a proper lord.
That would break him in a way he’d steadfastly avoided since childhood.
***
John was still twenty yards from Wildeforde House when he saw Charlotte on the corner of the street waving down a hack. The furtiveness of her expression, her unusually plain attire, and the way she tipped her head away from people, letting her bonnet shield her face, set alarm bells ringing within him.
The hack had barely stopped moving before she had the door open and she disappeared inside. With a soft thwack of the reins, the horse took off, giving John a split-second decision: respect Charlotte’s clear desire to be alone or follow, because she was not as good at scheming as she thought and she was clearly up to something nefarious.
“Blast.” Charlotte was a highly intelligent woman who thought she could handle any situation. She had no maid with her and had dressed too plainly to be visiting a friend. He could think of a hundred different places she might go where she really shouldn’t.
John waved down a passing cab. “Follow them.”
***
The two cabs drove for almost an hour. The farther they traveled from Mayfair, the larger the pit that formed in his stomach. By the time they pulled to a stop in a rundown street, the road pitted with holes and the buildings one on top of the other with barely any light squeezing between them and no greenery to be seen, his dread had coalesced into anger. She was putting herself in danger traveling alone to such a place.
Ahead of him, Charlotte exited the cab and was immediately swamped by children, all with their hands outstretched. Charlotte dug into her reticule. When John reached her, she was pressing wrapped peppermints into their hands. She was so absorbed in her cheerful teasing she didn’t notice him approach.
“Do you always carry a sweet stall in your pelisse?”
Charlotte gasped, her hand flying to her chest. The children scattered. “John. What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same. Without your brother or a footman or even a maid, Charlotte.”
“It’s really none of your business.”
He snorted. That was laughable. “Given how doggedly you involve yourself in my business, that’s not an argument I’ll accept. What are you doing here?”
She pressed her lips together and picked up the large basket that sat at her feet.
“Charlotte…”
She shook her head, steadfastly refusing to talk. That must be killing her. The Charlotte he knewneverrefused to talk. What the devil was going on, then? If she was here for a legitimate reason, she would say so.
He snatched off the cloth that covered the basket, not sure what he expected to see but certainly not expecting a posy of dried herbs. “Sage?”
“You burn it and it clears all the negativity from your surroundings,” she snapped.
“I—” She had never struck him as the superstitious type. He picked up the next item. “And the fern?”
“Lady Hastings was reading the most interesting book. There’s a Chinese practice called feng shui. It can create positive energies.”
He sighed. He knew what feng shui was—a pleasant concept with no grounding in science at all. “And this?” He held up a candle.
A muscle ticked along Charlotte’s jaw. “I spoke with an apothecary yesterday, who swore that burning fir tree oil would lift the spirits.”
John restrained an eye roll. This was the hocus pocus he expected from the ignorant, not an educated woman like Charlotte. “What is all of this supposed to achieve?” Perhaps it was a misguided effort to improve the welfare of an orphanage or such.
Charlotte flicked her gaze over her shoulder to a building across the road. As she did, the skin around her eyes tightened. When she looked back at John, her eyes were full of tears.
He reached for her free hand, entwining their fingers. “Charlotte, what is it?”
She swallowed, her throat bobbing. “Will has returned.”
Her brother? “Isn’t he fighting in Burma? Does Edward know?”
“No,” she said loudly, and her fingers tightened on his. “And he cannot know. You must not tell him. Not yet, anyhow. Not until I can find a way to…”She closed her eyes and shook her head, and the way her usually straight shoulders slumped made her look decades older than she was.
