‘Miss Lucas,’ he said smoothly. ‘My sister is indisposed this evening. May I escort you to the dining room?’
Without pausing to think, Charlotte accepted his offered arm. It was customary enough for a hostess, when absent, to elevate a lower-ranking guest to the place of honour. Yet she could not help her surprise that he had chosen her over Miss Fraser or Miss Pearson, both of whom would undoubtedly have accepted with enthusiasm.
Perhaps he merely wished to avoid showing favour to either lady.
And yet, as murmurs rose behind them like disturbed bees, Charlotte felt her ears burn with embarrassment.
He led her to the table.
To her discomposure, she found herself seated directly opposite him.
Their eyes met far too often across the candlelit table, lending the arrangement an intimacy she found unnerving.
She tried very hard not to notice it.
Instead, she concentrated fiercely upon her meal and attempted conversation with the gentlemen seated beside her—Lord Boulton and Lord Bainbridge—but discovered neither required her participation in the slightest.
‘It grows increasingly impossible to secure suitable workers for the warehouses,’ Mr Payne complained, his rounded figure straining as he turned further down the table.
‘Well, you ought to invest in plantations in the Caribbean,’ Lord Boulton replied with breezy certainty. ‘One never hearscomplaints from there. The taskmasters ensure the work is completed.’ He carved into his veal with visible irritation, his shockingly yellow hair falling across his eyes as he shook his head. ‘Frankly, the worst thing Parliament ever produced was the Slave Trade Act. They have shackled English enterprise. No wonder trade flourishes elsewhere in Europe.’
‘I confess I find slavery abroad a deeply ugly business,’ the Captain remarked. ‘What do you say, Stanley?’
Lord Stanley swirled his glass and took a measured sip.
‘I think slavery is, regrettably, a necessary evil. Unpleasant, certainly—but I do not see how the world presently functions without it. It cannot be helped.’
‘Precisely,’ Lord Boulton declared triumphantly. ‘Naturally it is undesirable, but release the slaves and the entire economy would collapse with them. Famine, shortages—chaos everywhere.’
Mr Payne gave a short scoff. ‘And yet I understood you were financing Mr Wilberforce’s campaign. What is that, if not support for the cause?’
‘Familial loyalty,’ Lord Stanley replied evenly.
Charlotte felt a plunge of disappointment at his response. Unlike his father—the late Baron—Lord Stanley appeared to possess little genuine conviction on the matter at all.
‘Whatever the reason, it is a noble cause,’ Sir Oswald declared with bumbling enthusiasm, his bald head glistening beneath the chandelier. ‘Hear, hear!’
When the ladies at last withdrew, leaving the gentlemen to their port and cigars, Charlotte’s thoughts returned immediately to the troubling incident with the highway robbery. She felt certain it had been another attack orchestrated by the Odd Fellows, cleverly disguised as common banditry so as to attract no suspicion. Clever, really—but terrifying.
The thought chilled her.
More troubling still was Lord Stanley’s reckless pursuit of the man. Why did he seem almost determined to place himself in danger?
Several times she considered warning him—if not of Wolverton directly, then at least cautioning him against taking such risks. Yet every possible conversation collapsed almost immediately in her mind. To speak freely risked exposing knowledge she had no reasonable way of possessing.
At last, her guilt outweighed her caution.
It was time to tell him.
She had to warn him properly about the danger he was in, even if it meant revealing her true identity. The thought made her stomach tighten with dread. Yet she could not live with the possibility that he might be murdered while she lacked the courage to tell the truth.
When the gentlemen at last rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, Charlotte approached Lord Stanley cautiously.
‘My lord, I wish to speak with you on a private matter.’
Lord Stanley glanced at her with faint condescension before reluctantly abandoning Miss Pearson.
‘Would it be possible to meet in the study after dinner?’ she murmured, careful to keep her voice low enough that the surrounding guests could not overhear.
