And yet the maid had sounded genuinely frightened.
Charlotte made a mental note to speak to Sarah later. She could often learn more from the maids than Charlotte ever could.
She returned to the schoolroom deeply troubled, only to find Tom in an equally restless state. He continually glanced toward the window instead of his books.
‘What is the matter with you today? Why can you not sit still?’
He bent over his studies, though he continued to fidget and squirm in his chair. Even the infernal mazes failed to hold his attention.
‘Do you think the guests have gone riding?’ he asked hopefully, clearly attempting another diversion.
Charlotte shut the book with a soft but decisive thud.
‘Right. That is enough for now. Go and fetch your kite. We are taking this lesson outdoors.’
Tom whooped in delight and bolted from the room. Fresh air might serve two purposes: settling Tom and perhaps allowing her the opportunity to observe more of the guests.
It was a glorious day—crisp and golden. They took turns flying the kite while Charlotte surreptitiously watched the guests strolling through the pleasure garden. But she was disappointed to find only the younger set taking the air. Soon she discovered that all the older gentlemen were still abed.
Well, at least they cannot engage in villainy whilst asleep, she thought sourly.
She had only just relaxed her attention when a sudden gust yanked the kite string, wrenching it violently from her grasp and sending it spiralling into the upper branches of an oak.
‘I’ll get it!’ Tom shouted.
Before Charlotte could protest, he was already halfway up the tree.
‘Tom! Come down this instant!’ she cried, her heart lurching into her throat.
He did not listen. A branch snapped sharply beneath his foot, and he barely managed to scramble onto another.
There he clung helplessly to the trunk, quite stuck.
Panic seized her.
‘Tom—stay still! Do not move!’
Gathering her skirts, Charlotte reached for the first branch.
‘Let me guess, Miss Lucas...’ a voice rolled over her like distant thunder. ‘You are teaching him geometry?’
Charlotte turned and nearly groaned aloud.
Of course. Of course he would appear at precisely this moment.
Lord Stanley stood at the foot of the tree, arms crossed, looking far too amused—and not entirely unaware of the glimpse her climbing had afforded him of her ankle and calf before he politely averted his gaze.
Charlotte dropped her skirts at once, heat rising to her face.
‘Please,’ she said quickly, before he could remark further. ‘He is stuck.’
She need not have asked. He was already removing his coat.
‘If you do not mind, Miss Lucas,’ he said, handing it to her.
Charlotte accepted it—and became instantly aware of the warm scent of sandalwood and spice lingering in the fabric. She suppressed the absurd urge to inhale more deeply.
He climbed with swift efficiency, powerful limbs navigating the branches with practised ease. Yet halfway up he paused.
