Another memory surfaced from that dreadful night in the stable. Matthew Stanley had not been calling him “Wolf”—he had been about to say “Wolverton.” She was certain of it. He had scarcely begun the word before he was struck down.
She pressed her palm discreetly against the invitation list to steady her trembling fingers. If she could confirm him as the killer, if she could expose him, she might finally clear her name.
And perhaps—just perhaps—she might not need to hide any longer.
But then another thought surfaced—a deeply unsettling one.
What if he attempted to kill Lord Stanley again?
What if the killer discovered she had switched places with Anne? After all, the whole of London—nay, all England—was hunting Charlotte Walker.
Well, she had no choice. She simply had to expose the killerbeforehe struck again.
She forced herself to remain calm, though her hand shook slightly as she continued writing out the invitations, surreptitiously noting all the other male names upon a separate sheet.
‘Oh Henry, I have decided to add a few more names to the list. Mrs Hill and Miss Underwood would be most offended not to be invited. And what of Captain Whitworth? He has become a veritable regular at our card games now. And William’s friends from Parliament—we must invite them,’ Mrs Wilberforce said as her brother sauntered in and sat in the large armchair.
Charlotte avoided his gaze, her blush returning from their last encounter.
‘Invite whomever you wish, Minerva, but just see that those on the list receive their invitation. I am certain you would not object now that the most capable Miss Lucas has so graciously offered her assistance.’
Charlotte glanced up at the mention of her name and caught his goading smile.
He was mocking her again.
She scowled at him; his smile only widened.
‘Is it not nice of her?’ Mrs Wilberforce said warmly, entirely missing the sarcasm. ‘Now, Henry, I know you are opposed to it, but it is high time you took a wife. I do think you ought to consider some of the debutantes who will be present.’
Lord Stanley pursed his lips.
‘You know how I feel about the matter. They are all fortune- or title-hunters—not a genuine bone amongst them.’
‘Yes... yes—your experience in London was not the happiest, I grant you. That hussy, Miss Templeton, proved herself quite the vulgar creature—but it does not follow that all ladies are alike. Her appalling views regarding your being Muslim were quite intolerable—quite beyond the pale.’
Charlotte wondered whether Miss Templeton was the source of his bitterness towards women.
‘And the Howarths... well, we were all deceived by them. They had every appearance of respectability—who could have guessed the father was so deep in gambling debts? You must get over it, Henry, and look again.’
Lord Stanley exhaled slowly.
Mrs Wilberforce took this as encouragement and forged on.
‘I think you should consider Miss Fraser. Her father is already wealthy, so there is no artifice there. And to boot, she is a beauty.’
Charlotte nearly choked on her tea—no artifice, indeed.
Lord Stanley, however, betrayed no reaction and continued with his correspondence.
‘Or there is the eldest Miss Pearson—well-born, well-fortuned, and a very sweet girl. To crown it all, Lady Pearson herself assures me that they have no objection to your faith, so long as the girl remains Christian. Or, if you prefer a more mature lady... there is Lady Susan. I know she is a widow, but she has financial independence and is very handsome,’ Mrs Wilberforce prattled on.
‘Enough, Minerva. Invite whom you please. I shall not oppose it—provided you cease this campaign on my behalf.’
Taking this as triumph, Mrs Wilberforce smiled and reached for a few extra invitation cards. Charlotte hid a smile. The Ice Baron might yet be manoeuvred into matrimony, and she would have a front-row seat to the spectacle. This, at least, promised some diversion. Not to mention, he would be too preoccupied to trouble her.
After a brief silence, Lord Stanley murmured, ‘I have just received a letter from John; he is in the county. Do make sure he is invited to the house party.’
‘How lovely. John is one of your friends from Oxford, is he not?’ Mrs Wilberforce recalled.
