‘Eton,’ he corrected.
‘Ah yes, I have already prepared one for him.’ She lifted the invitation from the stack. ‘Miss Lucas, cross off Lord Wolverton from the list.’
Charlotte’s heart jangled like a dropped tray.
So John was the elusive Wolverton.
She forced her hand to move steadily over the parchment, though her thoughts spun wildly. Lord Wolverton—her only certain lead—was coming, and he was a close friend of Lord Stanley. Why on earth did those closest to the Baron wish to kill him? First his cousin, now his friend.
Her throat tightened. She dipped her quill again, forcing the motion to appear effortless.
Lord Stanley’s gaze flicked towards her, observant as ever. He must believe her nerves were caused by their earlier encounter—if only he knew. If only he understood the real danger, the real reason for her trembling.
But he did not. And she could not tell him. Not yet.
Instead, she forced herself to dip her head politely and continued writing invitations.
Charlotte finished the last of the invitations just as the afternoon sun slipped behind Alderley Park, casting the study in long amber shadows. Mrs Wilberforce excused herself to attend to some household matter, and Lord Stanley read a newspaper, though Charlotte suspected he was merely waiting for an opportunity to deliver another cutting remark.
She gathered the papers with a sigh and rose from the writing desk.
‘I shall take these to the footman for delivery,’ she said politely.
Henry folded his paper with unnecessary slowness.
‘Quite diligent today, Miss Lucas.’
‘I prefer to be useful, my lord.’
His lips twitched.
‘Indeed. The only trouble is one never knows your methods.’ He paused. ‘Leave the invitations here. I will see to them.’
Charlotte stiffened, searching his face for mockery, but his expression was unreadable.
‘As you wish, my lord.’
She curtseyed and fled the room before he could say anything further to make her blush, stammer, or combust upon the spot.
Chapter 15
A fortnight after the invitations were sent, every one was returned with an acceptance—much to Charlotte’s confusion.
‘Why do you suppose they are coming, despite knowing that Lord Stanley is the Chief Magistrate?’ she asked Sarah.
‘Well, it is obvious, is it not? They must all behave as though nothing is amiss. Attending a house party—one held each year—is expected. If any one of them refused, it would immediately appear suspicious.’
‘But only I heard that they attended this house party last year.’
‘Remember—everyone in the card room heard you when you said Matthew Stanley poisoned Lord Stanley’s drink. The foolish boy admitted as much in the stable to that Wolf fellow as well. So the Odd Fellows will be on their best behaviour, for fear Lord Stanley may suspect a plot against him.’
‘Or perhaps they are coming to try again,’ Charlotte said darkly. ‘What better opportunity than a house filled with guests? They could make it look like a hunting accident... or something equally unfortunate.’ She shuddered.
At that moment, they heard Mrs Dent’s approaching steps and fell silent.
‘I really cannot believe these young folk nowadays—no work ethic,’ she grumbled, entering with Charlotte’s tea tray.
‘What has happened, Mrs Dent?’ Charlotte asked, startled.
