by Alec, Joyce
The door to the library was ajar and Charlotte pushed her way inside silently, before turning back around and pushing it closed again.
“What is the meaning of this?”
The thin, sharp voice of the lady seated by the fire reached her ears as she turned back to face the assembled few.
“There is something I must give you, Lady Jersey.”
Charlotte watched carefully as Lord Stevenson handed Lady Jersey, one of the patronesses of the ton, the leather-bound journal. The lady was younger than Charlotte had expected, with tight rings of curls on the top of her head and a pair of large blue eyes that were still staring in Charlotte’s direction instead of at the journal that Lord Stevenson held out.
Charlotte cleared her throat, curtsying quickly and feeling herself go hot all over with both concern and awareness—awareness that she was in the presence of someone so influential that, should this go awry, her name and that of her brother might be blackened forever.
“Come, Miss James.”
Lord Glenister was there by her side in a trice, his eyes filled with concern as he offered her his arm. She took it gratefully and he led her towards where Lord Stevenson and Lady Jersey were now seated. His strength was unwavering, giving her the courage and the hope that all would go as planned.
“Lord Glenister found this journal, Lady Jersey,” Lord Stevenson began as Charlotte sat down. “It is the Earl of Brentwood’s.”
Lady Jersey’s brow rose. “Theft, Lord Glenister?”
“For very good reason, my lady,” Lord Glenister replied calmly. “If you would but look at the words within, then you will soon understand.” His eyes darted back towards Charlotte who, despite the impropriety of such a thing, found herself reaching for his hand, holding it tightly within her own grasp as she waited for Lady Jersey to accept the journal.
Thankfully, Lord Glenister gave her his hand at once, courage flowing through him into her heart. They had been intending to give the journal to Lady Jersey in front of the Earl of Brentwood, but given that he had not attended with Charlotte, there was nothing to do but continue on as they intended, in the hope that Lord Brentwood would soon appear.
“Please, Lady Jersey,” Lord Stevenson murmured, as the lady looked down at the journal but made no attempt to open it. “We are relying on you to aid society as a whole with this matter. You must look at what is within, as horrifying as it is, so that you know the truth of Lord Brentwood.”
Lady Jersey looked up at Charlotte, her expression inscrutable. Charlotte did not drop her gaze but held Lady Jersey’s, praying silently that the lady would feel the urgency of the matter and do as she was asked.
“You are courting this young lady, Lord Glenister?”
Charlotte wanted to groan, closing her eyes as Lady Jersey asked something that was not at all related to the matter at hand.
“I do wish that I could say yes, Lady Jersey,” she heard Lord Glenister say. “I wish to do so very much, but I cannot as yet. Lord Brentwood has threatened me on more than one occasion, for he knows that I took his journal and is desperate to have it returned. But I have been sure that the beau monde must know of his intentions and of his deeds. Therefore, I have put my future at stake in order to ensure this occurs.”
For whatever reason, this seemed to satisfy Lady Jersey. She nodded, her eyes back on Charlotte, to whom she gave a very small smile. Charlotte returned it at once, her fingers tightening in Lord Glenister’s as Lady Jersey undid the leather binding and opened the book.
It was just in time. As Lady Jersey’s head lowered so that she could take in the words, the sound of approaching footsteps met Charlotte’s ears. Immediately, Lord Stevenson was on his feet and hurrying towards the door, ready to shut it behind Lord Brentwood.
It was not a moment too soon. The handle turned just as Lord Stevenson reached the door and, as Charlotte held her breath, the figure of Lord Brentwood stepped inside.
She jerked violently as the door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing around the walls of the library. Lord Glenister got to his feet, his hand still in Charlotte’s, who found herself rising to stand by him.
“Goodness me,” Lord Brentwood laughed, his arrogant smile immediately fixed back in place. “Are you attempting to intimidate me, Lord Glenister? I can assure you, it will not work.”
Charlotte lifted her chin as Lord Brentwood’s gaze settled on her. She was not afraid of him.
“I see you played your part very well, Miss James,” Lord Brentwood said with a slight bow that threw mockery in her face. “The journal is not here, I presume.”
“Oh, but it is.”
The voice of Lady Jersey, hard and brittle, cut through the room. Lord Brentwood stopped dead, no longer meandering towards Lord Glenister. It was as though he had not seen the lady in question when he had first entered the room, evidently only becoming aware of her presence at this very moment.
“It seems you have had a lot to write about of late, Lord Brentwood,” Lady Jersey continued, looking back down at the journal again. “A very great deal.”
For the first time since she had met him, Charlotte saw Lord Brentwood lose his composure. His eyes rounded, his hands fell to his sides in a gesture of hopelessness.
“Lady Jersey is acquainted with my family,” Lord Stevenson said, speaking into the silence that had fallen over the room. “It has been of great interest to her to see what you have written therein, Lord Brentwood.”
Lord Brentwood shook his head, his pallor turning a light shade of grey. “That is nothing of importance, Lady Jersey,” he said, obviously recognizing the lady in question. “You cannot believe that those words mean anything.” He laughed harshly, the sound grating on Charlotte. “They are just imaginings, that is all.”
Lady Jersey looked up at Lord Brentwood, her expression dark with anger. “And yet, it states very clearly how you managed to convince a certain gentleman to break ties with his betrothed,” she stated, jabbing down at the paper with one hand. “I remember that incident very clearly, for we were forced to ensure that the gentleman never returned to Almacks.”
Lord Brentwood stared for a moment, before trying to laugh, brushing aside Lady Jersey’s words. “It was an imagining only. I wrote those things as though I had played a part in that story, even though I had nothing to do with it whatsoever. Please.” He took a step closer to Lady Jersey and held out his hand. “Might I have my journal back, Lady Jersey? After all, it is my property and it is only due to Lord Glenister’s sticky hands that it ever left my possession.”
Charlotte could barely breathe, one hand pressed against her heart as she saw Lady Jersey look in Lord Glenister’s direction. Lady Jersey could decide what she was now to do, of course, but if she chose to return the journal to Lord Brentwood and if she believed all that Lord Brentwood said, then Lord Glenister would be the one forced to retreat. He would have no other cards to play. The only choices open to him would be to return to his country estate and live there quietly, never able to return to London for fear of repercussions that might come his way.
“Lord Glenister was only doing what was right,” Charlotte said before she could stop herself. “He should not have been prying, yes, nor should he have been reading your personal effects, Lord Brentwood, but that does not mean that taking your journal and exposing your true character and your dark deeds was wrong in some way.” She let go of Lord Glenister’s hand and took a few steps closer so that she could look Lord Brentwood directly in the eye.
“You have threatened him,” she continued softly, her courage rising with every word. “You have had him beaten so terribly that he was unrecognizable even to my brother, who was already acquainted with him. You have tried to find a way to come between myself and Lord Glenister, in an attempt to use me in order to garner a way for you to receive your journal. You have threatened Lord Glenister’s very life and still, he had been solely fixed on doing what is right. He does not want the ton to have to deal with a gentleman such as you any longe
r. The desire to protect the debutantes, the genteel ladies and even the gentlemen from your clutches is not a bad intention in any way, Lord Brentwood. In fact, it is more than admirable and I am glad that he has done so.”
Before she could say another word, Lord Brentwood’s hand shot out and slapped her, hard. She cried out and stumbled back, not frightened of the man but finding herself filling with indignation that he had dared do such a thing. Lord Glenister caught her at once, something roaring from his lips as he headed in the direction of Lord Brentwood, only for Lord Stevenson to place a restraining hand on Lord Glenister’s arm.
Lord Brentwood had thrown off all restraint, it seemed. He appeared confident of Lady Jersey’s favor towards him. Had they had this all upside down? Could it be that Lady Jersey herself was, in some way, reliant upon Lord Brentwood? Lord Glenister’s arms settled around her waist as he pulled her in tight against him, leaving Charlotte to try and calm her breathing and her tense, taut nerves.
14
Charlotte rubbed hard at her cheek, glaring at Lord Brentwood. His lip curled as he stared back at her, his face a deep scarlet.
“I knew you were difficult, Miss James,” he sneered, “but I did not expect you to stay by the side of a thief such as Lord Glenister.” He laughed mockingly, shaking his head. “Although, mayhap, since you are both as foolish as each other, you will be very well suited.”
Lady Jersey rose to her feet at once in a flurry of skirts, her brows knotted together as she pointed one long finger in Lord Brentwood’s direction. Charlotte’s gaze traveled towards the lady and, just as she looked at her, saw that Lord Brentwood’s smile began to fade as he also turned to face Lady Jersey. His arrogance and his pride had, it seemed, made him forget entirely who else was present within the room, forget just how significant Lady Jersey was. Was it all now about to come tumbling down on his head?
“You have proven the true nature of your character,” Lady Jersey said, her voice calm and steady and yet her eyes burning with rage. “You yourself have admitted that his journal belongs to you. You have told me that what is written within—both things that have occurred in the past and things that are planned for the future—are nothing more than your ‘imaginings’.” She shook her head, her lips thinning. “You must truly think me a simpleton.”
These words clattered to the floor at Lord Brentwood’s feet. Charlotte found herself sagging against Lord Glenister with relief, finally feeling a sense of safety and security washing over her.
“But you cannot mean to keep this journal from me, Lady Jersey!” Lord Brentwood’s voice had become wheedling, his hands now pressed together as though in prayer. “You know what would occur should it come to light.”
Lady Jersey looked towards Charlotte and Lord Glenister, her cheeks flushed with rage. “That is precisely the intention, Lord Brentwood,” she stated, giving Charlotte a nod of understanding. “You have lost in this current battle, sir. It is time to lay down your arms and retreat.” She turned her sharp eyes back onto Lord Brentwood, who seemed to collapse in on himself as he stared back at the lady in shock. His shoulders slumped, his knees buckled and his arms fell loosely by his sides.
“I will have to quit London,” he whispered brokenly. “I shall have to return home and live—”
“Live a very quiet life, I would think,” Lord Glenister interrupted, his voice loud and filled with relief. “Your name will not be worth anything here in London, Brentwood. You will have lost every single modicum of influence you had here. The ton will be free of you, and I, for one, consider that to be something excellent.”
For a moment, Charlotte thought that Lord Brentwood would hurl himself at Lord Glenister, such was the expression of deep loathing in his face. His eyes were glinting horribly, his jaw furiously working as he looked back at Lord Glenister, although no words came from his lips.
“You have all of five minutes, Lord Brentwood.”
Lord Brentwood sagged again, a long sigh of regret leaving him. “Five minutes, Lady Jersey?” he repeated, sounding dull and hopeless. “What can you mean?”
Lady Jersey waved a hand. “I should not be this gracious to you, but I shall allow you five minutes to retreat before I quit the room and share this journal with the other patronesses, my friends and my acquaintances.” She arched one delicate eyebrow, making a shooing motion in Lord Brentwood’s direction. “It is more than you deserve, Lord Brentwood, but there it is. Five minutes. No more.”
Charlotte watched Lord Brentwood closely, her heart settling into a calmer rhythm now that the power had been taken from him. He stared at Lady Jersey for some moments, before his gaze turned to Lord Stevenson, then to Lord Glenister and then finally, to herself. She looked directly back at him, not afraid but refusing to allow another word to pass from her lips. There would be no need to even speak his name now that the matter was at an end.
“Go!”
Lady Jersey’s commanding voice seemed to break through Lord Brentwood’s stupor, for he jumped visibly, then turned on his heel and hurried towards the door, making an almost comical figure as his hand slipped on the door handle, forcing him to turn it at least four times before it yielded to him.
And then, he was gone with the door left a little ajar. Charlotte did not know what to do, finding tears burning in her eyes as she looked up into Lord Glenister’s face. His expression was one of utter relief, his hand now tight around her shoulders as he pulled her against himself, his lips resting on her forehead. Charlotte allowed the tears to fall, the moisture disappearing into Lord Glenister’s shirt as he held her tightly.
“It is all at an end,” she heard him whisper as though he could not quite believe it. “There is nothing to fear any longer.”
“No, indeed there is not.”
Lady Jersey’s voice was sharp and a trifle loud. She rose from her chair, her skirts swishing about her in a most becoming fashion as Charlotte turned from Lord Glenister’s embrace to speak to her.
“You have been most courageous, Miss James,” Lady Jersey said, coming towards her. “You spoke well. You showed determination.” She smiled softly, her face losing some of the haughtiness that had been etched into it from the first moment Charlotte had met her. “I think you will always be welcome at Almacks.”
“I thank you,” Charlotte replied, aware that there was a lump in her throat and silently praying that she would not break down completely in front of such an honorable lady. “This is both astonishing and wonderful in equal measure. I can hardly take in that it is at an end.”
Lady Jersey laughed softly and then looked up at Lord Glenister. “It seems you are freed from your obligations, Lord Glenister,” she said with a knowing smile. “Nothing need hold you back now.”
“No, indeed not,” he replied, his hand now resting on the small of Charlotte’s back. “I am truly grateful to you, Lady Jersey, for all you have done.”
“As am I,” Lord Stevenson agreed, coming towards them both. “Should you like me to escort you back to the ballroom, Lady Jersey? I believe Lord Brentwood has had more than his allocated five minutes.”
Lady Jersey nodded, smiled and turned to walk with Lord Stevenson towards the door.
“But do not be more than a few minutes yourself, Lord Glenister,” she called back over her shoulder. “I am a stickler for propriety, as you must know, even if I do love society gossip.” She laughed and Charlotte felt the last of the tension drain from the room. “There is a reason the ton call me ‘The Silence’, Lord Glenister, and it would do you well to remember that.”
Charlotte could not contain her own laughter, astonished at Lady Jersey’s demeanor which had come so soon after her indignation and anger. She was, in a good many ways, an extraordinary lady and it did not seem to make sense that she held so much influence.
“A few minutes, I assure you,” Lord Glenister promised, as Lady Jersey was led out of the room. “And thank you again, Lady Jersey, for all you have done.”
This was met by a simple wave o
f the hand, which had Charlotte laughing all over again. The relief she felt flowed through every part of her. The air seemed fresher, the room brighter. Everything was wonderful.
“I cannot take this in,” Lord Glenister murmured, looking about the room as if he expected Lord Brentwood to come storming back in at any moment and declare that he would do Lord Glenister in for giving him so much trouble. “I am free now.”
Charlotte nodded, glad for him that he would not have to carry the burden of responsibility on his shoulders all over again. “You are, Lord Glenister,” she agreed, her eyes on him as he left her side and began to walk about the room in a clear attempt to gather his composure again. She could not even begin to imagine what he was feeling at this moment. To have been troubled with first the journal and then Lord Brentwood’s threats must have been a difficult thing to endure. The memory of when she had first found him caught at her mind. He had been battered and bruised, choosing to endure a beating instead of giving up the journal. He had put society as a whole before his own wellbeing and had the scars now to prove it. The wound she had dressed, the stitches she had sewn… they were all evidence to the fact that Lord Glenister was a good man. A better man than any other gentleman of her acquaintance.
“It is over,” she heard him whisper, saw him push one hand through his hair, his eyes fixed to the floor. “He cannot harm me now.”
“He can do no harm to any other either,” she responded, tilting her head to the right as he looked up at her with wide eyes. “You have succeeded, Lord Glenister.”