The Captain shrugged lightly. ‘The very wealthy rarely feel obliged to justify their decisions.’
Another memory tugged insistently at Charlotte’s thoughts.
That conversation upon the terrace.
Wolverton had implied that if they killed Lord Stanley, Wilberforce would become irrelevant. But now another possibility presented itself entirely. If Lord Stanley simply withdrew his support, Wilberforce would become irrelevant anyway.
Did that mean Lord Stanley was no longer in danger?
Had he abandoned the cause because he no longer believed in it—or because he had finally realised the abolition campaign lay behind the attempts upon his life?
Charlotte could not decide.
At that moment, Miss Fraser swept across the room and claimed the Captain for a duet at the pianoforte. Charlotte thought he looked faintly reluctant to leave her side as he accompanied Miss Fraser to the instrument.
As the music filled the room, Charlotte’s thoughts wandered once more.
Despite resisting the spinsters’ endless matchmaking schemes, she could not help feeling flattered by the Captain’s attention. He possessed a steadiness and kindness of manner she found increasingly rare amongst the company.
His character, she thought, was above reproach.
A small ache settled unexpectedly in her chest.
She could not afford to indulge such notions—not under her present circumstances—though the spinsters never ceased their teasing whenever the Captain showed her the slightest preference.
In contrast, she was beginning to dislike Lord Stanley. She could forgive his dismissive manner, but the more she learned of him, the less she liked what she found.
Pushing the thought aside, she returned her focus to the matter of the Odd Fellows.
Lord Boulton had openly condemned abolition. It followed naturally that he might welcome the collapse of Mr Wilberforce’s efforts.
But was he an Odd Fellow—or merely a greedy lord?
Perhaps she should keep an eye on him.
But one thing still troubled her: if the Odd Fellows had indeed progressed from kidnapping girls to selling them intoslavery, how were they accomplishing it without attracting attention?
Surely people would notice young women vanishing in alarming numbers.
How were the girls being taken without suspicion falling upon anyone?
She recalled the three missing girls from the Skye estate the previous year, and how their families had scoured the countryside. Even the authorities, for all their incompetence, had taken notice. Yet no similar disappearances had been reported here or upon the neighbouring estates.
Frustrated and no closer to answers, Charlotte left the drawing room to retire for the evening. As she turned into a more secluded stretch of the corridor, she halted abruptly.
Lord Wolverton stood directly in her path.
Only a single wall sconce illuminated the passage, its weak flame casting flickering shadows across his face. But even in the dimness she could see that, despite the quantity he drank nightly, he appeared unnervingly sober.
What made her skin prickle more, however, was the look in his eyes.
Her pulse quickened painfully as he leered at her.
‘Ah, the governess. Miss Lucas, is it?’ he murmured, his tone one of faux gentleness. ‘You vanish from a room and take all its light with you.’
She faltered at once.
How had he learnt her name? She had worked so hard to remain unnoticed.
