He stepped forward, unmasking as he spoke. In the golden light, his features were even more striking—the chiselled jaw, a straight aristocratic nose, and the glint of authority in his icy blue eyes beneath menacing, low brows.
Stunning,Charlotte thought helplessly, and utterly terrifying.
She tried to steady her breathing.
Don’t move. Don’t draw attention.
She bumped into another lady and muttered an apology, earning a forgiving pat on the arm.
When the stable boy was led in, gangly and pale, Charlotte pressed herself flatter against the wall, holding herself in the smallest place she could manage—between a large matron and a pillar.
For one dreadful moment, she was certain Lord Stanley’s gaze found her—a flicker of recognition, a spark of memory—and then it was gone.
The boy’s eyes roved the line of women, lingering on those in yellow or cream. Charlotte held her breath so long she saw stars. All he had to do was look down at her slippers and she would be found out.
At last, he shook his head. ‘I am not sure, sir. It was dark.’
Relief hit her, turning her knees into water. She clung to the pillar for support.
Lady Bamber began ushering guests towards the foyer, but Lord Stanley raised a gloved hand. ‘Just a moment, Lady Bamber. I shall need a list of all guests and servants inattendance tonight. I will be conducting interviews,’ he said, his voice cutting through the hush like steel.
Lady Bamber blanched. ‘You cannot mean to start right now, my lord. It is very late.’
‘A list will suffice for now.’ Then, raising his voice, he addressed the rest. ‘I shall interview everyone, so no one is to leave London until I say so.’
A murmur of discontent rippled through the hall.
Ignoring this, he addressed the guests once more, his voice echoing through the ballroom. ‘Earlier this evening, a young lady in a yellow gown tripped and fell on top of me in the card room. I would like her to come forward. I wish to speak with her.’
The ballroom fell deathly silent.
Charlotte’s stomach dropped straight to her wet slippers
.
Chapter 5
Charlotte had no wish to subject herself to Lord Stanley’s questioning. Instead, she concealed herself behind a cluster of matrons, and, thankfully, when he surveyed the crowd, he failed to spot her. She was further relieved that, as she passed him at the threshold of the Bamber residence upon their departure, he did not recognise her then either, allowing her to escape with the other guests.
At last, somewhat more relaxed, she settled into the carriage as it rattled and jolted along the cobbled London streets.
Charlotte sat pressed against the door, staring out at the passing gaslights, while her family filled the confined space with restless chatter. Within, the air was thick with theorising.
‘I cannot believe Matthew Stanley was murdered tonight,’ Camelia said with the kind of delight usually reserved for new gowns. Her tone carried theatrical horror, but the grin tugging at her painted lips betrayed her. ‘At a masquerade, no less! How very gothic!’
She perched on the edge of the seat, her peacock feathers bobbing dramatically as the carriage lurched. A sharp jolt sent her sliding, forcing her to grab the strap and compose herselfwith a dainty flourish. ‘Oh! My stars, the streets in this dreadful city—one would think the roads were made of potholes.’
Charlotte rolled her eyes skyward. ‘I do not think it appropriate to be so gleeful over a man’s death,’ she said quietly, her voice nearly lost beneath the rattle of the wheels.
Three pairs of heads swivelled towards her in perfect synchrony, like a panel of judges.
Camelia’s tone was sweetened venom. ‘And why are you so concerned about him, may I ask?’
‘Yes, Char,’ added Clara, echoing her older sister, ‘why must you always contradict everyone? It’s the greatest scandal of the Season! Even Mama says so.’
Charlotte murmured, ‘I did not realise decency was considered a contradiction.’
‘Girls, girls, please,’ Mrs Walker snapped, fanning herself briskly. ‘Charlotte, keep your opinions to yourself. I am quite displeased with your behaviour tonight. Your sisters are perfectly within their rights to express themselves.’
