The grins that spread over their faces were borderline terrifying.
“It was amazing,” Josie said.
“It was spectacular.”
“I have never quite seen anything like it in my life.”
Charlotte was about to lose her dratted mind. “What happened to Lord Harrow last night?”
“Luella.” It was one word said in unison that dropped like a heavy tome.
“I know we hate her,” Hen said. “I know she really is the most awful person, but the way she eviscerated Lord Harrow so ferociously was beautiful to watch. He can never show his face in society again. Did you know that he was in so much debt?”
A laugh escaped Charlotte. Her hand went to her stomach. Luella had done it.
Charlotte had told Luella of Walter’s deception for no other reason than her grudging respect for her nemesis and her unwillingness to see any woman married to such a man.
That Luella had taken that information and wreaked revenge for both girls was an unexpected boon. Charlotte allowed herself a small smile. “I had no idea.”
“No one did,” Hen said. “He owed money to everyone, even the king.”
“But that’s not the worst of it,” said Josie. “Apparently, he faked his own death to avoid having to repay it and he waited until Lord John Harrow, or whatever we’re calling him, had settled all his debts before returning to England.”
It sounded absolutely mad. If she hadn’t lived through it, she would have been highly skeptical.
“But Luella had no proof of it,” she murmured, more to herself than to her friends. After all, Charlotte hadn’t given Luella proof.
Josie snorted. “It seems that while Lord Walter Harrow can lie to all of society without pause, he’s unable to lie convincingly to the king. He—” Josie put a hand to her lips to repress the fit of giggles that had overcome her.
Henrietta picked up where her friend left off. “He wet his pants and when he tried to deny that he’d concocted such an elaborate falsehood, he spoke so fast his words barely made sense. Then the king asked him what officers of the crown would find if they were asked to investigate.” She dropped her shaking head into her hand.
Josie, finally recovered, continued. “It was at that point Lord Harrow started crying.”
Charlotte wished she’d seen it. She’d never enjoyed the suffering of others, but, for Walter, she would make an exception. He’d hurt John, and his actions had almost separated them. Almost. Now he’d gotten what he deserved.
“You’re right,” she said. “He’ll never be able to show his face in society again. He’ll be forced to retire to the country.”Good riddance.
Josie shook her head. “He may not be able to. It’s said that the king demanded the prime minister be roused from his bed and that palace guards attend him at once. He was furious.”
Charlotte wouldn’t swap places with Walter for anything. She had a good relationship with her royal cousin—as close as one could have with a man so much older than she was—but she’d learned early on not to cross him. “What did John think of this?” He wouldn’t be sad that Walter had received his comeuppance, but neither would he be pleased. He’d be wondering what Walter would do in response, what impact it would have on the estates.
Both of her friends shrugged. “John may not even know about it,” Josie said. “He’d left to chase after you before Luella began her attack, and unless you were there, the first you’d hear about it would be during morning calls today.”
So John might have gotten on the ship with no knowledge of the trouble his brother was in with the crown and thinking that Charlotte had chosen not to be with him.
Or, news might have spread faster than Josie expected. He might have heard of his brother’s predicament and he might have heard that Charlotte was looking for him. But if that was the case, why hadn’t he called on her? It was almost eleven.
“Where the devil is John?”
Chapter 33
John was sitting in a small, richly appointed chamber in the palace. Every now and then, his head would loll to the side as he succumbed to sleep, only for him to spring back awake as the smell of the docks, which had infused his clothing hit his nose.
He’d spent the night sitting on the pier out the front of theLutetiana, his back against a tall wooden post crusted by salt and grime, waiting for Charlotte.
If she had truly gone to find him, that was where she would go. But she had never arrived.
By dawn, the smell of the Thames had seeped into the clothes he wore. The ship’s captain had been impatient. He’d refused to delay their departure without recompense, even by five minutes. So all of John’s clothing and possessions, except for what he currently wore, were on the ship heading to Boston.
