‘Quite satisfactorily. And how were matters here? I hope there was no trouble.’ As he spoke, he drifted towards the terrace doors, clasping his hands behind his back.
‘Oh no, everything was perfectly calm. Though I do have some unfortunate news, I fear.’
She arranged her features into an expression of suitable regret.
Charlotte thought her an excellent actress.
‘Pray tell me what has so disturbed you, dear sister,’ Lord Stanley replied dryly.
‘Ah... well... I am sorry to say I warned you against the match, did I not? But you were quite determined. After all, she is a governess. Fickle creatures, if you ask me.’
‘Minerva,’ he interrupted sharply, ‘do get on with it.’
Slightly startled by his abruptness, Mrs Wilberforce hesitated before continuing.
‘Miss Lucas has eloped with the Captain. She said she could not bear telling you in person, but she felt compelled to follow her heart. She did leave a letter, however. It is upon my writing desk.’
How convincing, Charlotte thought grimly.
‘Oh, I see,’ was his only reply.
He walked slowly to the desk and unfolded the letter. He scanned it in silence.
‘I am sorry, brother,’ Mrs Wilberforce continued smoothly, oblivious to the anger tightening his features. ‘But you must not let this deter you from marriage altogether. You would do better to try again next Season.’
‘I confess I find this somewhat difficult to believe...’
His voice carried a dangerous edge now.
‘Would you care for tea?’ she asked sweetly. ‘I always find tea soothing in moments of heartbreak.’
Oh, she is good, Charlotte marvelled.
‘Thank you,’ he replied evenly.
Mrs Wilberforce busied herself pouring tea with exaggerated delicacy.
‘Sugar?’
Charlotte saw her slip something from a small vial into the cup. From Lord Stanley’s angle, it was hidden from view—or so Mrs Wilberforce believed.
‘One spoon, please,’ he said calmly, continuing to read the forged letter and giving her every opportunity to complete her task.
‘There you are, dear brother.’
Lord Stanley took the seat beside her and accepted the cup. Then, precisely as Charlotte expected, he lifted it to his lips and merely pretended to drink.
Mrs Wilberforce smiled saccharinely.
‘It is unfortunate. I never liked her. She is not worth your sorrow. Forget her.’
‘I believe you may be right. She deceived me,’ he replied smoothly, playing his part to perfection.
Then he rose again and wandered towards the window, carefully emptying the tea into a nearby flowerpot whilst concealed from her view.
When he returned the empty cup to the table, Mrs Wilberforce’s smile widened faintly.
Now the true performance begins.
