The locked room, the note, the timing—it all felt too neat.
With renewed resolve, Charlotte galvanised her plans to uncover the remaining two Odd Fellows.
Indeed, the more she considered it, the more convinced she became that using herself as bait was an entirely sensible plan—provided she exercised caution, of course. The difficulty lay elsewhere.
How, precisely, was she supposed to entice information from Lord Wolverton when she scarcely knew how to flirt?
By midday, preparations for the long-promised picnic were underway. At the Captain’s enthusiastic insistence, Mrs Wilberforce declared that Charlotte, Sarah, and Tom must all join the excursion.
Most ladies travelled by carriage whilst the gentlemen—and a handful of adventurous ladies—rode ahead on horseback. Amongst them, Wolverton’s magnificent white Arabian drew immediate attention, its coat gleaming beneath the sunlight like polished ivory.
She overheard several ladies sighing over the creature as Charlotte climbed into the carriage.
As the party set off, she watched Lady Susan flutter beside him upon her mare.
Drat. Lady Susan had already attached herself to Wolverton and monopolised nearly all his attention. Therefore, Charlottecould not deny feeling relieved when Sir Oswald abruptly disrupted the arrangement.
‘Wolverton, that beast is more beautiful than my wife!’ Sir Oswald declared far too loudly—well within Lady Oswald’s hearing.
Lady Oswald rewarded him with a glare of such concentrated venom that even made Charlotte wince slightly on his behalf.
Wolverton merely inclined his head in acknowledgement before spurring the Arabian forward, leaving Sir Oswald lumbering indignantly behind upon his stout mare whilst Lady Susan watched him go with wounded confusion.
Charlotte noticed at once that Wolverton seemed in an unusually sour mood today. His smiles appeared strained, his manner sharper than before. Had something disturbed him?
The picnic itself was arranged beside a charming brook surrounded by rolling green meadows and clusters of wildflowers. Parasols bloomed across the grass while servants laid out cold meats, cheeses, fruit, and wine. The young gentlemen soon organised an archery competition and eagerly persuaded the unmarried ladies to participate.
Miss Fraser and Miss Oswald became so fiercely competitive during a croquet match that their mothers were forced to admonish them repeatedly for unladylike behaviour.
Lord Stanley politely invited Charlotte to join the archery teams, but she declined.
He did not press the matter, though she experienced an absurd little pang of disappointment when he later partnered Miss Pearson instead.
More frustrating still, Lady Susan’s relentless pursuit of Wolverton left Charlotte with no opportunity whatsoever to speak to him privately.
The Captain, meanwhile, remained invariably at her side, fetching her cordial or a shawl whenever she looked chilly.Charlotte coyly accepted his attention, though she became increasingly disgruntled whenever she caught the spinsters watching from the corner of her eye, taking obvious delight in their interactions.
When the good Captain was finally pulled away—quite forcibly—by Miss Fraser, Charlotte found herself indulging, despite all good sense, in thoughts of matrimony to him. He would make the sort of steady, reliable husband any sensible woman ought to want. She could not—not now. But perhaps, once all this was over...
Well. She might consider it.
It was perfectly clear that Lord Stanley was not permitting the investigation to interfere with his own courtship efforts, so why, precisely, should she be expected to do otherwise? Charlotte thought rather wilfully.
Thus occupied, she was surprised when Mr Hamilton approached her during a pause in the games. Until now, he had scarcely acknowledged her existence.
‘I always find a bracing game of archery revives the spirits,’ he said cheerfully.
Charlotte swallowed a mouthful of cheese before replying. ‘I prefer admiring the scenery. There is something restorative in nature.’
‘Ah, but I suppose you are rarely afforded the opportunity, confined as you are to a dusty schoolroom. Tell me, Miss Lucas, do you ride?’
‘I... I used to.’
She recalled riding with her father across open fields and narrow tenant lanes. A tight lump formed in her throat, though she mastered it quickly.
Then an idea occurred to her.
‘Though I confess,’ she added lightly, ‘I would give anything for the chance to ride that Arabian. Would you not?’
