Charlotte relaxed a fraction.
‘I see.’ She offered an apologetic smile. ‘Forgive my endless curiosity. If I am truly to become mistress here next year, I feel I ought to know something of the guests Lord Stanley regularly entertains.’
The remark earned her a warm, sympathetic smile and another light pat upon the arm.
‘Quite right, my dear. And ask whatever you please—I do not mind in the slightest.’
Seizing the opportunity, Charlotte asked carefully, ‘And Mr Fraser?’
Lady Boulton appeared thoughtful.
‘I know very little about him. He has attended these gatherings only for the last year or two. I believe he purchased the neighbouring estate rather recently. I hear he came into quite a considerable fortune recently.’
‘Then perhaps he came into an inheritance?’
Lady Boulton shook her head. ‘No, I think not. From what I overheard, his fortune stems from investments he made with Hamilton last year. Some sort of shipping venture between them.’
‘So Mr Hamilton has interests in shipping?’
‘Mr Hamilton was in partnership with his cousin—Frederick.’
‘They owned ships?’
‘Several,’ Lady Boulton replied. ‘They boasted about them constantly during these house parties. I cannot say how matters were settled after his death. Perhaps Frederick bequeathed them to Hamilton.’
Charlotte considered this carefully.
‘I see,’ she murmured.
The two ladies continued their slow progress through the gardens, lapsing into companionable silence.
But Charlotte’s thoughts were anything but calm.
The connections were beginning to form a pattern too distinct to ignore.
A cold chill slid down Charlotte’s spine.
If their fortunes truly stemmed from business dealings with one another... could all four men also be part of the Odd Fellows?
Chapter 31
Later that night, Charlotte paced her new bedchambers, waiting for the footman to arrive so she might be escorted to the study. She was impatient to tell Lord Stanley all she had learned from Lady Boulton.
As the hour grew late, Sarah abandoned her for her bed, though Charlotte stubbornly remained awake. Her eyes had just begun to grow heavy when a soft knock sounded at the door.
She turned the handle at once. ‘At last—’
But the words died on her lips.
Instead of the footman, the tall figure of Lord Stanley stood in the doorway in decidedly less than formal attire. His dinner jacket was absent and his cravat loosened, revealing only his shirtsleeves and waistcoat.
She firmly willed herself to keep her attention upon his face rather than the alarming breadth of his shoulders. Deciding even that was dangerous territory, she instead busied herself adjusting the folds of her shawl.
He raised a brow at her reaction. ‘May I come in?’ he asked in a lowered voice. The corner of his mouth shifted slightly, as though he recognised precisely why she would not meet his eyes.When she hesitated, he added, ‘The gentlemen are still revelling downstairs. It seemed... safer to talk here.’
Her heart gave a traitorous flutter at the thought of Lord Stanley entering her bed chamber, though she stepped aside all the same, carefully avoiding his gaze as she gestured towards the armchairs near the fireplace.
‘Are you comfortable here?’ he asked, glancing around the room.
