After a brief pause, he continued more quietly,
‘Until this house party ends, we must continue as before. I shall address you only as Miss Lucas. And you will continue as the governess. Afterwards, I will clear your name.’
His voice lowered, and the air subtly shifted.
‘However, I do not want you interfering further in this investigation. It is too dangerous—and I will not have it upon my conscience if harm comes to you.’
She wanted to argue.
But something in his tone brooked no opposition.
‘Very well,’ she said.
Unfortunately for Lord Stanley, Charlotte had never been particularly gifted at obedience.
Chapter 22
Charlotte returned to her chambers but did not sleep a wink. Their conversation replayed endlessly in her mind, along with everything she should have said. Of course she had agreed to stay out of the way, yet worry gnawed at her. How could she sit idle while he placed himself in such danger?
And yet—
It was tempting to take her cleared name and run.
No.
How would she live with herself knowing she might have made a difference, yet chose not to merely out of self-interest?
Besides, she still could not leave her post until her twenty-fifth birthday. She was financially bound to it. She might as well make herself useful.
Then there was Lord Stanley himself. Heat crept into her cheeks as she recalled how harshly she had judged him. Even when Sarah suggested he might be acting a part in order to expose the Odd Fellows, Charlotte had refused to consider it truly. She had been utterly convinced of his villainy.
Had her prejudice against his background clouded her judgement?
A sharp stab of shame pierced her at the memory of her suspicions.
Yet she bristled at his dismissiveness. He clearly regarded her as a nuisance and, rather than allowing her to help, had simply cast her aside. Charlotte scoffed softly. Lord Stanley was being foolishly arrogant in refusing her assistance. After all, she had saved his life, uncovered Matthew Stanley’s true murderer, and identified another Odd Fellow in Lord Boulton.
By the time she washed and dressed to begin the day, her mind was made up.
No. She would not allow him to dictate what she could or could not do.
She would avoid him and continue her own investigation. Safely, of course—there would be no repeat of the previous evening. She winced at the memory. But she could still observe, listen, and converse with the guests. People were always less guarded in the presence of a governess.
Fortunately, Sarah had returned to the schoolroom after Mrs Wilberforce’s intervention, and Charlotte wasted no time recounting the events of the previous night—though she braced herself for a scolding.
‘I cannot believe you took such a risk without telling me!’ Sarah cried, jabbing a needle through one of Charlotte’s petticoats. ‘Whatever happened to your good sense?’
‘It was worth it. We know the truth about Lord Stanley now. At least we can trust him.’ Charlotte looked apologetically at her. ‘What are you doing with my petticoat?’
Sarah shot her a deeply condescending look. ‘Have you lost your memory as well as your good sense? I am sewing pocket knives into the hems.’
Her gaze fell upon the alarming number already scattered across the bed.
‘Where did you procure so many?’
‘Master Tom has accumulated dozens of them from carving wooden toys and such in that tree house of his. He told me we could have them.’
Charlotte stared at her, genuinely impressed by Sarah’s foresight.
