by Sarah Sokol
Charlotte heaved a sigh, ready to relieve the burden of the past day's events upon the most sympathetic pair of ears on earth.
◆◆◆
Thank God for Sophie.
The thought repeated in Charlotte's head as she was guided to her seat with her hand tucked into Ben's warm elbow. Sophie managed to seat Charlotte with Ben to her right and Sutcliffe to her left. She'd rather have Oliver nearby than the stoic duke, but it was better than having to sit near Lady Grayson's daughters.
They had been chattering since they first arrived and hadn't stopped since. They seemed like sweet girls, but the inane chit chat of polite society was too much for Charlotte today. She felt grounded, driven, and the fire at her home made her feel superior to these young girls. As if she had somehow experienced more of life than them. It was terrible, she knew, but she couldn't help it.
Hastings and Oliver were both charming the absolute life out of Grayson ladies, however, and Hollis was seated at the head of the table looking pleased. Sophie sat at his side, presiding like a queen over the whole table.
Lady Grayson was seated across from Sophie and kept casting glances over at Charlotte as the servants brought the first course; a light broth that smelled mouth-watering.
"How was your trip out of town, Lady Whitcomb?"
Charlotte blinked, startled out of her thoughts by Ben's gruff question.
"Oh. It was uneventful, Lord Winters. All is well at home," she said with a dutiful smile. No need to elaborate on poor Duncan's error.
"Indeed?" Lady Grayson's cool blue eyes stared from her finely made up face, and her coiffed hair wobbled when she shook her head. "I must say, it has been quite the topic of gossip in the ton. Everyone thought perhaps you had a... reason, to leave so abruptly."
Sophie's voice cut in sharply. "What reason could you possibly mean, Lady Grayson?"
The older woman gave a demure shrug, keeping her eyes fixed on her soup. "The usual. Problems with the estate, perhaps, family emergency, or even a run-in with a rake."
"A rake?" Charlotte laughed, certain the woman was joking, then sobered as she saw the vindictive lift of the woman's mouth. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"It is no secret you've been carrying on a little flirtation with our dear Lord Hastings," Lady Grayson said with a practiced flick of her lashes. "Don't be so demure. Should I tell my Lydia that she is to be disappointed?"
Charlotte's brain felt like it had gone completely blank. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, sure everything she could say would simply make this worse.
"I am certain Lord Hastings makes it his goal in life to disappoint every lady." Sophie saved her from having to answer with a disdainful sniff. "Now, if we are going to gossip, Lady Grayson, at least let us gossip about people who aren't here. Do you know of anyone having any disgraceful affairs of late?"
Lady Grayson almost choked over her spoonful of broth at Sophie's blunt question, but her keen eyes sharpened once more, and she leaned in to share something that would no doubt be juicy. It was impossible to resist Sophie's give-me-the-gossip face.
Ben cleared his throat from Charlotte's right, now that the attention was diverted from them. "But really, how are things? I know it must have been something awful, to take you away from, er, everything going on in London."
She turned to him and lifted her gaze. Finally allowing herself to take in his appearance, she was surprised at the signs of exhaustion in his face. There were lines near his mouth, and he sported shadows of his own. And yet, his dark eyes were warm and fixed upon her with his full attention, and her cheeks pinkened at that sensation.
"It was one of my patients," she murmured without thinking. "A sick girl. I thought she was getting worse, but I was misinformed, so I came right back."
"Your patients?" Ben didn't look as if he were trying to ferret out information. He just watched her with a little smile playing about his lips. "The mysterious Lady Charlotte Whitcomb's nefarious secret is that she is a doctor. You should've told me a year ago. My imagination painted it far worse."
Charlotte laughed, shaking her head and ducking down to take a sip of her broth. "Nefarious secret, please. Just a topic I prefer to avoid."
"Then let me assist your avoidance." Ben paused, took a deep breath, and smiled again, wider this time. "Have you any interest in gardening, Lady Whitcomb?"
"Oh." Charlotte didn't know why that question was so startling to her. It was just so odd to attempt a normal, polite conversation with Ben. She almost expected the confrontational tone of their interactions, and now that it was missing, she felt lost. "Yes, actually. I like to keep an herb garden, in the summers. Though I've been sadly neglecting it of late. Why, do you?"
Ben's eyes brightened and warmed even further, and his soup went neglected. "I do. Tell me, have you ever heard of the amorphophallis titanum?"
Charlotte shook her head, fascinated by how he lit up over this topic. "No, I haven't. What is it?"
As he launched into the explanation of the 'corpse flower' and its brief but odoriferous blooming, Charlotte watched his face for clues. Clues to what end, she no longer truly knew. She just couldn't stop her eyes from tracing over his animated expression, looking for what Sophie had been talking about before. Some sign that he liked her, perhaps. She couldn't glean much aside from his relief that she was not snipping his head off at every opportunity. And who could blame him for that?
Charlotte made a few attempts to draw the duke into conversation as well, and perhaps learn more about him, but all her questions were headed off with brief, monosyllabic responses. Soon she gave up, and just enjoyed her conversation with Ben.
The rest of the dinner passed in merry talk and good food, with Sophie holding court and steering Lady Grayson's more malicious conversational attempts into harmless discussions until at last the final course had been served, eaten, and complemented appropriately. The gentlemen followed Hollis away into his study, presumably to smoke and drink or do whatever else society proclaimed women were too delicate to partake in.
The ladies followed Sophie's lead into the parlour for more tea and stilted conversation. Lady Grayson soon seemed to have enough of Sophie's bull-headed tactics and made excuses for her and her daughters to take their leave.
Once the room was empty of all but the two of them, Sophie heaved a huge sigh and flopped back on the cushions of the sofa, holding her stomach.
"I've always had an appetite, but eleven courses were about four courses too many," she moaned.
"I don't know how people eat like that all the time," Charlotte said. She was seated before the piano, having thought to perhaps liven the atmosphere with a song before the Graysons' abrupt departure. Now she plucked the keys softly, enjoying the gentle tones in the quiet sitting room.
Keeping her eyes fixed on the keys, she continued pressing them into the melody of "The Dying Poet." It had been one of the first songs that had made her pay attention during her lessons, and Avery had been so delighted he had troubled himself to learn the left-hand part. He wanted to make music together.
She didn't even notice Sophie's uncharacteristic silence until a hand touched her shoulder, sending gooseflesh down her arm. Glancing up, she startled back in surprise at the sight of Ben looming over her.
He studied her with an odd expression, his mouth serious, but his eyes whimsical, and bowed to her before extending one arm. "I know this is forward, but we are old friends. I think it can be forgiven. Will you take a turn with me in the garden?"
Charlotte's eyes went wide, and she darted a glance over to Sophie, who sat with her mouth in a perfectly rounded circle, her eyes nearly as wide open as her lips. She snapped out of her shock and made a nodding and shooing motion with her fingers.
"I would be delighted," Charlotte said, standing to place her fingertips against his arm. As she allowed him to guide her across the room towards the door, her heart fluttered. Whether it be in anticipation of answers, arguments, or simply more time to figure ou
t these confusing feelings, she had absolutely no idea.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Garden Path
Ben's pulse pounded when Charlotte's warm, strong fingers closed over his arm. He didn't know exactly what he was going to say to her tonight, though he had rehearsed it in his head enough times. When he talked to himself, he always went in circles.
"This is a lovely home," he said as he held the back door open and handed Charlotte down the steps to the garden. "Lady Kenward has made the place her own."
"I would never expect anything less from Sophie."
"You've known each other a long time, haven't you?" Ben stepped outside, letting the door fall shut behind him. He offered his arm once more and she reclaimed it with the same firm grip. No delicate ladylike butterfly touches for his Charlotte.
They began to walk down the short stone path that meandered around the edges of the garden. Ben shortened his strides to match Charlotte's thoughtful pace and took advantage of her extended silence to study her face. She had looked bright and lovely at supper, laughing and talking amicably, but he had learned she was good at covering up her moods. Now, out here alone, she seemed distracted or troubled. He wasn't sure which.
It was late, after such a long supper, and the moon was half-covered in drifting clouds, but there was still enough light to illuminate her expression. She looked up at him from under her long lashes, and on any other woman he might have thought the look almost... dreamy.
It seemed as if beholding Charlotte in the moonlight was going to make a damned poet out of him.
As they passed by the shadowed patch of purple chrysanthemums bobbing in the breeze, Charlotte spoke.
"My apologies. What was your question?"
Ben struggled to remember it himself for a moment. "Er, Sophie. Lady Kenward, that is. How long have you known her? Quite a long time, it must be?"
"Oh!" Charlotte's face relaxed into a smile, the same fond one she had whenever her friend was mentioned. "Yes, we've always been close. I'm fortunate to have been able to keep her friendship into adulthood. I know how rare that is. Was it the same for you and Oliver?"
"Good God, no." Ben laughed, surprised by the question. "We fought constantly. When we were nine, he declared me his mortal enemy and avowed nemesis."
"I wouldn't have thought that," Charlotte said, chuckling with him. "You seem to get on so well now."
"I was a judgmental little prick, and he was a scrappy boy with a bad temper. Once we grew up a bit and realized we liked each other anyway, things fell into place."
Charlotte stopped, turning to look up at him. "And have either of you changed since then? Oliver seems so even tempered."
"And I remain as judgmental and prickish as ever? Blow well struck, Lottie." Ben grinned, stooping down to pluck a dead rose from the end of its stem. Crumbling it in his palm, he let the bits of it catch on the wind and swirl down before them on the path.
"That isn't what I-- Oh dear." A hint of red suffused Charlotte's cheeks and she bit her lip to hide a smile. "That is not what I meant. However, with my history, I can imagine why you would think so."
Knowing Charlotte, that was as close to an apology as he would get for the countless insults she had tossed at him and the Conclave. "Not at all. But regardless, I didn't bring you out here just to discuss subjects better left forgotten. I have information to share."
"Information?" Charlotte lowered her voice to nearly a whisper, and the intimate nature of it sent a shot of desire through Ben. "What sort of information?"
He forced his quickened breathing to even out before responding. "We have discovered what we believe is a connection between the London murder spree and your own brother's death."
Charlotte ambled further up the garden path. "Yes, I had thought there must be. What did you find that you're now willing to share?"
Ben followed, watching the hypnotic sway of her skirt, until she came to stop at the iron garden bench and sat down.
He stopped before her and reached inside his jacket, removing the ornate black quill which had been a weight in his pocket all evening. It had been thoroughly cleaned since he had taken it from the crime scene, but it still felt odd to hand Charlotte something so intricately connected with his world of death and violence.
The sick feeling in his gut intensified when she pulled it close to examine it. Her fingertips caressed over the small, precisely-carved glyphs that covered the shaft of the quill.
"I want to ask that you keep this between us, as we've been attempting to keep the existence of these quills a secret. We have determined these must be used as some sort of power amplification. Spells written using the quill would pack more of a punch. We don't yet know where the quills are coming from, but we assume whoever is committing the murders is creating them, perhaps selling them or giving them as gifts. No shop carries them, and we haven't been able to connect the victims in any way, other than these quills."
Charlotte lowered the quill to rest in her lap. "I see. That is interesting. Is the quill some sort of black magic?"
After the illuminating conversation in the ritual room, it was a complicated question. "I don't think it's what society would define as black magic," Ben said finally. "They're arcane."
Charlotte lifted her chin. "So, then you do know where they are coming from. The Conclave."
"It's a strong possibility," Ben admitted. "We have a few potential suspects."
"Oh? Who?"
"There is no way on God's green earth I am telling you the answer to that." Ben laughed, and Charlotte joined him in a reluctant smile. "You'd show up at their house with a pistol demanding surrender."
"Your point is taken." Charlotte held the quill up to Ben and he tucked it into his jacket. Her cheeks took on a slight pink tinge, but she still held her chin up and met his eyes. "I suppose if we're being honest with each other, I should tell you, I've seen a quill just like that before. In fact, I have it upstairs in my room."
"What?" Ben's heart rate began to speed, thundering in his chest as he stepped closer to her. "Did someone approach you? Give it to you? Who was it?"
"Nothing like that." Charlotte shifted on the bench, then rose back to her feet and turned away, beginning to pace down the garden path once more. Her next words were so mumbled, Ben couldn't pick them up.
"Beg pardon?" He caught up to her side and looked down at her decidedly guilty expression.
"I may have found it. Er, on the body of that man. The thief who died at the ball."
Ben paused, letting that sink in, then let out a startled laugh. "Good God, woman. I didn't even notice. You must have quick hands. You'll have to give it back, of course, to be kept with all the other evidence."
Charlotte looked surprised, then let out a relieved laugh of her own. "Of course. I'll fetch it before you leave tonight. I didn't tell you before as I wasn't sure I could trust you."
"But now you can?" Ben tried to keep his voice casual, as if the answer were not vitally important to him.
Charlotte was silent for so long, Ben felt his stomach clench in anticipation of another cutting blow. Instead, she squared her shoulders and met his gaze. "Yes. I think perhaps I can."
"Good. That's very good." Ben couldn't resist the smile that took over his features despite the serious nature of the conversation. "In that case, I have something to ask of you."
"Oh? What is it?"
"The quill we found in your brother's hand upon his death. It's in the box of things we brought back to you when I informed you that his investigation was closed. Would you be able to fetch that quill again? We'd like to compare it with the ones we've found at these most recent murders." This was the errand Ben had come up with to keep her busy, but he was genuine in his interest. It had been a long time since they had closely examined Avery's things, it couldn't hurt to revisit now that new discoveries had come to light.
"Yes, of course I can. But don't think I missed the fact you lied to me," Charlotte said, turning back to him and crossing
her arms. "Why put me through that whole facade of closing the investigation? Why not just tell me the truth from the start?"
Ben groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. "Believe me, I never would've done if I'd known you would react the way you did. Coming to London, trying to chase down a killer... I could've saved myself the damned trouble. But to be honest, we always thought it might be someone in the Conclave. I wanted to go through all the steps of shutting it down to make the person think they were safe. Maybe they would slip up, make a mistake. Leave a self-portrait at the next crime scene, perhaps."
"You should have trusted me," Charlotte said. "I would never have done or said anything to jeopardize this investigation, and you of all people should know that."
"I do now." Ben stopped before the small trickling fountain in the centre of the garden. "It's just in my nature. My family, my parents, none of them know anything about my employment. Just that they're proud of their boy, the leader of the Conclave. I keep them at a distance for their own safety, it's just what I've always done. I should've realized you'd be too bloody stubborn to allow yourself the same treatment."
A small, pleased smile crept over her lips at that remark.
Charlotte likes being called stubborn. Interesting.
"True," she replied. "But it is understandable. If I could go back and protect my family from everything that befell them, I would give anything to do so. At any rate, I wish you had asked me to fetch the quill before I already went home and came back. I must admit the thought of another journey out there so soon makes me quite exhausted to contemplate."
"Yes, when I heard of your abrupt departure, I had the same thought," Ben said. "But there is no great rush. Next time you are out visiting your patients, perhaps."
"Good idea. I will likely go out next week sometime," Charlotte agreed. She wandered around to the other side of the fountain from Ben. "Why do you suppose fountain figures are always scantily clad ladies?"