“We have had a very pleasant afternoon,” Aurelia said, which was not true but was at least proper. “But yes, we are just going.”
“How fortunate, then, that I have caught you before you escaped.” Charlotte clasped her hands lightly. “I have been meaning to speak with you.”
Aurelia doubted that anything fortunate was about to follow. Charlotte turned first to Clara, asking some easy question about the weather and whether she was enjoying the season, then let the conversation drift with deliberate softness toward Aurelia.
“It must be strange for you,” she mused, “to be in England again after so long away.”
“A little,” Aurelia shrugged.
“And after France, too.” Charlotte tilted her head. “Do you still have family there, besides your mother?”
“Only my mother remains there.”
“How is she?”
The question was asked with such smooth sympathy that for one moment Aurelia almost answered naturally. Then, she stopped herself. There was no reason Charlotte Langley should care in the least about Lady Finch’s health.
“She is … tolerably well,” Aurelia searched for the right word.
“I am so glad.” Charlotte’s smile did not alter. “And your father’s … belongings? Were any of his effects ever recovered after … well …”
She gave the tiniest pause, enough to imply delicacy without naming the thing itself. Aurelia felt stillness spread through her.
“My father’s belongings?” she repeated.
“Yes. I had heard, years ago, that some things were lost. It seemed such a pity. Personal papers, was it not? Or have I remembered quite wrongly?”
The casualness of the question made it more alarming, not less. Why should Charlotte know that? Why should she care whether Lord Edward Finch’s belongings had been recovered? Why should that be among the first things she chose to ask?
Aurelia forced herself not to show the unease that sharpened suddenly through her.
“I cannot say what you may have heard,” she spoke evenly. “My father has been dead some years.”
“Of course.” Charlotte’s eyes rested on her face for one moment too long. “How sad for you.”
Clara, bless her, shifted nearer at once, as if she too felt something wrong beneath the surface and wished to stand closer in quiet support. Charlotte noticed. Aurelia saw that she noticed.
But her smile remained gentle. “I only wondered whether time had mended some of what was lost. One always hopes so, does one not?”
Aurelia gave her nothing but politeness. “I believe that the past should be left where it is … in the past.”
“How wise,” Charlotte smiled.
After another few civilities, Charlotte at last stepped aside and allowed them to pass, leaving behind the faintest trace of perfume and a much stronger impression of intent.
Only when they were safely inside the carriage did Clara exhale. “I do not like her one bit.”
Aurelia stared at the window as the house began to recede behind them.
“No,” she agreed quietly. “Nor do I.”
Clara hesitated. “She asked odd questions.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think she knows something?”
Aurelia considered before answering. “I think she knows enough to be dangerous.”
