Mrs Dent, now inspecting the wardrobe, appeared not to notice her rumination.
‘He has since involved himself in Mr Wilberforce’s abolition campaign and is even building schools for the tenants’ children. And now everyone flocks to him.’
‘Schools?’ Charlotte asked, puzzled. This did not accord with Lord Stanley’s indifferent manner.
‘To win favour, I expect,’ Mrs Dent said with a sigh. ‘This crepe gown is the only tolerable one you possess—it will have to suffice for this evening. I shall send the seamstress to you later—for the new gowns.’
And with that, she marched out, leaving Charlotte to dress.
That evening, the family assembled in the drawing room after dinner. Far grander than the dowager house, the chamber boasted glittering chandeliers, dark oak panelling, and richly upholstered furnishings.
Polite conversation soon followed, and Charlotte’s valiant attempt to remain unnoticed failed once the family insisted upon including her.
‘How are you, my dear? Very quiet today,’ Mr Wilberforce enquired.
Charlotte’s smile was tight. ‘I fear I have nothing interesting to say, sir.’
Before she could edge away, a voice cut through the air—low, amused, unmistakable.
‘I am sure that is not true, Miss Lucas.’
She stiffened. Turning slowly, she found Lord Stanley behind her, the faintest glint of mockery in his eyes.
‘My lord,’ she murmured, curtseying.
‘How are the lessons going with Tom? Does he still give you trouble?’ Mr Wilberforce continued.
She might have answered truthfully, were it not for fear of dismissal. Instead, she replied sweetly, ‘Not at all, sir. He is a delight.’
Lord Stanley’s gaze met hers, that infernal glint deepening.
‘Is that so? I was under the impression he had you quite at his mercy.’
‘Do not frighten off my governess, Henry—we wish her to stay!’ called Mrs Wilberforce, smiling fondly at Charlotte. ‘She has lasted these past few weeks, which is more than I can say for the others.’
‘I have a suspicion,’ Lord Stanley said, his voice smooth as velvet, ‘that not much frightens Miss Lucas.’
Was that admiration—or merely more mockery?
Charlotte forced her expression into serenity. She would not let Lord Stanley intimidate her.
He noticed, and to her surprise looked faintly impressed before offering a gallant bow and stepping away.
Mrs Wilberforce clapped her hands.
‘This reminds me—whom shall we invite to the house party?’
‘Use the guest list from last year,’ Lord Stanley said, his tone indolent, though his gaze remained fixed upon Charlotte. ‘I have already spoken with Mrs Dent; she has provided me with the names. It is in the study.’
Hope and excitement surged through Charlotte together.
There was a list.
The very one that might include the Wolf—and perhaps the three “Grand” Odd Fellows.
She lowered her gaze to conceal the sudden light in her eyes.
Lord Stanley was inviting them here. He must be trying to draw them out—why else would he insist upon the same guest list?
