‘I have not passed a motion for days,’ Charlotte grumbled. ‘I am that bloated. And look—I have lost so much weight my gown is falling off me!’
Anne gasped—then smiled shyly. ‘Well, your figure has never looked better. Stunning, really.’
Charlotte harrumphed, but could not help sneaking a glance at her reflection in the mirror.
A trim waist. A definite improvement.
‘Splendid. My misery comes with a corseted silver lining, I suppose,’ she muttered. Then she shook her head. ‘It is not funny, Anne. What should I do?’
‘We’ll think of something,’ Anne said, tapping her chin. ‘What would Grace have done?’
‘Probably dressed up as a man and taken a position as a footman until she could access her dowry,’ Charlotte chuckled.
Anne, however, replied as though it were a serious suggestion. ‘Not a bad idea for Grace. But your chest is a dead giveaway.’
Charlotte blushed fiercely. ‘I was joking, Anne.’
Sarah spoke up then. ‘Whatever you decide, now would be a good time to do it. Your mother and sisters are preoccupied with Lord Stanley’s imminent arrival at the moment. They will not notice until he leaves. They say he is searching for the young woman suspected of murder at Lord Bamber’s masquerade ball.’
Charlotte’s stomach dropped as though shehadjumped from the window. Anne’s eyes widened in horror.
‘What’s wrong?’ Sarah asked them.
Charlotte and Anne exchanged looks.
‘I think you need to tell her,’ Anne sighed.
Charlotte nodded, her voice grave, as she turned to her maid. ‘Sarah... I fear I may be the woman he is searching for.’
And so she launched into the story—the laced lemonade, the overheard conversation, the card room, the stable, the letter she sent. She left nothing out.
Sarah gasped. ‘Oh! That was the letter you asked me to deliver. Now it makes sense. And here I was thinking you were starting a romantic liaison with him.’
Charlotte glared at her impertinent maid. Clearing her throat, she scoffed, ‘Clearly you have not heard of his reputation as the great icy one. He is impervious to women’s charms, I am certain,’ she replied, recalling her very public humiliation at his hands.
Anne, however, grew quiet, her face paling. ‘Charlotte, this is more serious than I feared. You are suspected of murder. It seems your letter has done nothing—and instead of seeking Lord W, Lord Stanley is still searching for you. He has intensified his efforts.’
Charlotte’s mouth went dry at Anne’s words, and all they implied.
Sarah replied, ‘I heard he is bringing a maid with him to all these interviews of the guests. I daresay it is the same one that helped you dress up as a horse.’
‘Zebra,’ Charlotte corrected automatically. ‘I was a zebra.’ The ridiculousness nearly made her laugh—but the terror in her chest kept it trapped there.
‘No... he knows I am not the murderer. I wrote the letter explaining everything.’
Her voice faltered.
Anne shook her head. ‘Perhaps he did not believe you? He does not know you. You kept your identity anonymous, remember? You could be the killer, trying to deflect suspicion. If that maid kept the dress... you mentioned it was covered in blood!’
A heavy dread settled in Charlotte’s stomach. ‘It was not covered in it, just a few spots...’ as though that made it better. But she knew it was not going to help her.
‘With Papa passing, and my confinement to this room, I have not kept pace with the ton’s gossip. You cannot mean they still suspect me? Perhaps he is merely coming to speak to Mama and my sisters,’ she added with a fragile note of hope, clinging to the absurd notion that she might simply be forgotten.
Anne nodded grimly. ‘I think he will want to see you too, if he is bringing the maid.’
Charlotte dropped heavily into her chair, gripping the armrests. Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed hard.
‘When... he sees me. He will know.’
