by Sarah Sokol
"I know. I assure you I do not take it lightly," she said. "At least let me lean on you as we go down the stairs."
"Of course. Do you want me to fetch Hollis to sweep you up in his arms? It's quite a floaty feeling." Sophie collected Ben's large overcoat which had been draped over the back of a chair.
"Oh, no. It isn't that bad." Charlotte pushed to her feet and took a cautious step. Fortunately, all the damage had been done to the top of her feet, and although it throbbed a little, it wasn't even as bad as when she'd sprained an ankle at fifteen. "Actually, I think I can make it on my own."
Despite her assurances, Sophie insisted upon following and clucking like a worried hen with each step as Charlotte winced her way down the stairs. By the time they reached the sitting room she had a small bead of sweat on her upper lip and regretted refusing Sophie's offer of help. However, once they appeared at the door, Ben was there waiting and such thoughts flew right out of her head.
His hair was still slightly damp from a bath, dark waves combed back from his forehead, and his eyes looked anxious, but crinkled up in a smile when he saw her. "Good morning, Ch- Lady Whitcomb. You look very well. Allow me?"
He offered his arm and Charlotte accepted it, leaning heavily upon him while he guided her to the settee.
"Thank you." She shot him a smile, hoping her expression conveyed a thank you for more than just an arm to lean on. If not for him...
"Here is your coat. I had no time to get it cleaned, though I'm certain it will be fine today, and if you like I could keep it and get it cleaned first, but I thought you might prefer to have it back, rather than delay, and perhaps you might have your own way of doing things, or a special cleaner you prefer, or perhaps your valet does it?" Sophie chattered and offered the black garment to Ben.
He blinked under the barrage of words, then began to grin and reached forward to take the coat. "I'll have it cleaned. Thank you, Lady Kenward."
"Of course, of course. Please, take a seat."
"Thank you," Ben repeated, easing down next to Charlotte. The settee felt immediately ten times smaller.
Sophie remained hovering over them beaming a broad smile with her hands clasped together for a moment, then seemed to remember herself. "Oh! Tea. Tea, Lord Winters? I shall fetch it. You two just stay and catch up."
"That's really not necessary, Lady Kenward," Ben started to say, but before he finished speaking, Whirlwind Sophie had already left the room.
Charlotte laughed and linked her fingers together in her lap. "Apologies. She's a little high strung this morning."
Ben chuckled, shifting to face her on the small settee. "There is no need. She's delightful. And anyway, I am the one here to apologise."
"What do you have to be sorry for?" Charlotte asked, surprised.
Ben took a deep breath. "My behaviour last night was unacceptable, ungentlemanly, and boorish. You are a wonderful-- that is, I was happy you were safe. And I should not have kissed you so, especially after... While you were--"
"It's all right. Apology accepted. I did not take offense."
He exhaled a self-deprecating laugh. "You are too gracious. I was prepared to grovel if need be. I had a whole speech. I even brought flowers."
What had she been expecting? A proposal of marriage? Was that even what she wanted? She certainly hadn't been ready when Henry had asked. Repeatedly. This was for the best. Ben had just been caught up in the moment last night, as had she. There was no reason for the lead weight of disappointment that seemed now fastened to the centre of her chest.
Enough of this nonsense, she told herself sternly. He was here being a perfect gentleman, and he was her friend. She forced aside the heavy feeling and smiled up at him. "Oh yes, flowers. Sophie mentioned they were beautiful, where are they?"
He glanced up, surprise plain on his features, then his brows drew into a scowl. "Damn. Apologies, they're a bit shy."
Rising from her side, he strode to the pianoforte, where she now saw an elegant glass vase with three long purple stems inside, though no flowers were in sight. He wrapped his fingers around the bottom of the vase and carried it back to Charlotte, settling down at her side once more and holding the vase between them.
"Just stay quiet for a moment," Ben whispered.
Charlotte nodded, staring at the dark purple stems. As the silence drew out for a time, she became increasingly aware of Ben's presence at her side. His heat, his knee pressed against hers. The way she could feel him inhale and exhale.
She peeped up at him, curious if she was the only one feeling this awareness between them like an electrical current. He had both eyes fixed upon the vase, watching patiently. His jaw was clean shaven this morning, and she wondered if his kisses would feel different without the rough stubble.
Fighting back the urge to sigh like one of the forlorn misses in Sophie's novels, she looked back at the vase too, just in time to see a flash of movement. It was subtle but brought her gaze to the very tip of the stem, where the largest knobby bit was moving. Slowly, the stem split open and curled back to reveal a spiralling flower, flush pink fading to white petals that emerged, uncurling one at a time from where they had hidden away.
One by one, the other stems followed suit, the second with soft purple and white petals, the third with pale yellow. As they unfolded completely, the centres of the flowers gave a small puff of powder that filled the room with a sweet scent before dissipating. Fully opened, the blooms resembled a mix between a rose and a daisy, like nothing she had ever seen before.
"They're so beautiful," she murmured in awe, lifting her fingertips to brush the pink petals. They reacted to her touch, at first shying away, then curling against her fingertips like a caress. "What are these?"
"They're called primula assuetus faunus, or rather, fairy primroses." Ben's tones were also hushed, but this time when Charlotte looked up, his dark eyes fixed on her and he smiled warmly. "They say if the wee folk see these blossoms showing their face, they know it's safe to come out."
"That's wonderful. So, should I expect tiny guests to be visiting me next full moon?"
"I haven't seen any yet, but I won't give up." Ben laughed, and at the loud noise, the blossoms shrank away again, spiralling back into themselves faster than Charlotte would have thought possible.
"Did we frighten them?"
"Like I said, they are shy. We will give them some time to acclimate." Ben stood and carried the vase over to the pianoforte once more, setting them in the sun. "They should last a long time, and just need a bit of water and sunlight to be happy."
"I've never gotten a gift like that before," Charlotte said. "Truly, they are beautiful beyond compare."
"Perhaps not beyond compare," Ben muttered. His face was averted as he rearranged the stems, but Charlotte was sure there was a hint of red about his ears.
She was paying far too much attention to his expressions. "May I take advantage of your solicitous visit to inquire about Sutcliffe? Has he confessed to all, or will my testimony be necessary?"
"Oh. Yes." Ben turned and strode back to her, reclaiming his seat once more. "We could always use additional testimony, and the constables would like an interview at some point, but really we have all we need. He buttoned up at first, but once we managed to get him talking, he wouldn't shut up. Confessed in great and vivid detail to all the murders but one."
"Your first man, the one you weren't sure of?" Charlotte guessed. "Or the thief from the coatroom?"
"Well, no." Ben rubbed the back of his neck, and Charlotte now saw the signs of a sleepless night on his face. "To be honest, I was hoping not to have to tell you this until we beat everything out of him. But it's Avery. He claims he supported Avery and didn't want him dead."
Charlotte was stunned for half a moment before anger took over. "What?" Her voice rose to an unladylike shriek and she balled her hands into fists. "That scum-sucking ratbag. Let me talk to him."
Ben reached forward, placing his hand over her fist in a calming gesture. "We'll break him. We think
he's playing it smart. Much worse consequences for killing a nobleman than those commoners. Perhaps he hopes to avoid the noose."
"Hanging's too good for him," Charlotte snapped. "And it would be even if my brother were king of the beggars."
"I can only agree with you there." Ben's lips quivered as if he were trying not to smile, and the sight of it deflated her anger as quickly as it came.
"Sorry," she sighed and rubbed her temple. "I am a bit on edge."
"Understandable." Ben's thumb stroked in soothing circles over the back of her hand. "It's all in the phrasing, though. That's what Oliver keeps saying. Sutcliffe said he didn't want Avery dead, not that he had nothing to do with it. We have his writing, his notes, his attempted rituals, all to go over and dissect. We'll get him to confess before this is done."
"Very well. But I still wish to see him," Charlotte said firmly.
"I anticipated you might. I will see what I can do, but you must promise me something. And no more lies between us." Ben gave her a look of mild reproof. "Promise to trust me. I will do whatever I can to give you everything you need. Don't rush off alone trying to break into prison at night to see Sutcliffe, or some nonsense."
"Please, Ben. I'm not completely insane."
"Just promise."
"Very well. I promise." The silence grew between them for a moment, but it was too full of unspoken feelings to be allowed to linger. "Did you learn anything else from Sutcliffe? What he was trying to accomplish?"
"He told he us he's been trying to 'strengthen the veil between the planes,' something like that." Ben rubbed his jawline. "He's so knowledgeable, it's hard to tell which words are the ravings of a lunatic, and which may be founded in reality. He's afraid the Purcells are somehow finding a way back from where we banished them."
"And you think he might be right?" Charlotte asked. "I know very little about the other planes and how they work."
"Me neither," Ben admitted. "We're going to be doing a lot of research on the matter in coming months, to verify if there was any foundation to his paranoia. Regardless, the murders and those half-baked rituals he attempted were never going to be the solution."
"I should hope not." Charlotte frowned. "He did mention the Purcells when he had me all... tied up. He said I was just like them. And that he could smell their presence in the city streets, or something like that."
"Yes, he ranted the same to us a few times." Ben hesitated, then his mouth pulled up in half a smile. "Maybe he thinks the Purcells stank like horse dung and unwashed masses."
Charlotte snorted, too surprised to suppress her unladylike laugh. "Was that a joke, Ben? Have you decided to start joking, now? You have to warn me of these things."
"Was that your real laugh, Charlotte? Now that's something a man could use a warning for," Ben chuckled.
"Oh, dear." Sophie's voice cut into their merriment. "This looks so cosy and wonderful, I just absolutely hate to interrupt, but this is marked urgent."
She advanced into the room holding a note, a maid following behind with a tea tray. The three waited in silence as the maid set down the tray, bobbed a courtesy, and exited the room. Then Sophie offered the sealed note to Charlotte.
It was written in Agatha's hand. Tearing it open swiftly, she scanned the contents.
Dear Lottie,
The horses and cows have all taken sick, and Stephen fears we may lose them. We are not certain how, perhaps the stream has gone foul. Do not come if you cannot, we are handling things best we can, but I know you would never forgive yourself, soft hearted dear that you are, if you came home to find them gone.
I hope everything in London is going well, I know you are making us proud.
Yours sincerely,
Agatha
"What is it?" Sophie asked. "I don't like that look on your face."
Charlotte let her head fall forward. "Trouble. There's trouble at home, I have to go back."
"Darling, you're weak as a kitten. You can't possibly make such a journey," Sophie cried out.
"I am not weak at all. It is only my feet," Charlotte said. "I will sit in the sunshine next to Duncan and be replenished by the time I have arrived."
"What has happened?" Ben's voice was rough, worried, and Charlotte glanced up, surprised to find him so invested in her circumstance.
"It is only the livestock, they've taken ill. It will be easy, animals are simpler to fix than humans," Charlotte said. In truth, a long carriage ride and time in the smelly stables did not particularly appeal to her, but she had little choice in the matter.
"Oh dear. I wonder if smoke got in their lungs from the fire," Sophie pressed her fingers to her lips. "Should I pack your things?"
"Don't bother. I will come back as soon as everything is taken care of." Charlotte rose to her feet, her cuts throbbing. "Lord Winters, I am sorry to leave you so rudely."
"Please, think nothing of it. And allow me." Ben jumped to his feet and offered his arm to support her once more. "I cannot think of allowing you to make such a journey alone in this state. If you are determined to go, let me at least escort you, and assist as well as I can."
Sophie clapped her hands together. "Yes! Yes, that is perfect. And it will be proper, as you have your horse with you, correct, Lord Winters? You can just ride alongside and make sure Lottie is safe and does not delay her return. I shall miss her too much if she stays away!"
"I make no promises on that score," Ben said with a polite smile and bow. "Lady Whitcomb makes her own choices, I have found. But I will ensure she is safe."
"Don't press your luck, you two." Charlotte smiled, well aware of their shenanigans. Acting as if it were a settled matter and praising her independence, while subtly taking the choice from her. Instead of making her feel herded, however, it made her feel cared for. "Very well. Ben may escort me on the very illustrious and dangerous journey to the English countryside."
"Ideal." Sophie clapped again. "Something for the road? I can bundle up these tea cakes. Lord Winters, at least, will eat them. Men are always hungry, aren't you?"
As Ben tried to fend off the teacakes from the advancing Sophie, Charlotte just laughed and hobbled over to collect her vase of fairy primroses.
For some reason, suddenly the prospect of the journey didn't seem so tedious after all.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Idiot Makes a Discovery
"Idiot," Ben muttered to himself, casting a sideways glance at the carriage. Duncan and Charlotte perched on the wooden bench high atop the humble black contraption rattling along the muddy country road.
Charlotte was soaking in the sunshine, head tilted back and a wide, carefree smile on her freckled face. It was fascinating, she spoke as though the sun replenished her energy or her magic in some way. As far as Ben knew, blood mages only got energy from themselves, or the people around them. If Charlotte had truly found a way to get it from sunshine alone, she was even more of a rarity than he had first thought.
And he already considered her a rare one. He doubted there were many women with such qualities he admired, set in such a pleasing form. Wit, kindness, elegance, strength, and of course, beauty. He felt hot under the collar as the image of Charlotte's naked body appeared in his mind with perfect recollection. A beautiful sight regardless of the circumstances, and a sight he would never wish to forget even if he could. He had not slept in nearly two days now, but he had a feeling as soon as his head landed on a pillow, his dreams would be filled with her.
"Bloody ham-fisted idiot," he growled again, digging his heels into Merlin's sides. The horse sped smoothly to a canter, and he rode forward in front of the carriage so he wouldn't keep casting glances at the sun lighting up Charlotte's hair.
Why hadn't he said anything that morning? He'd been about to, but then she had cut him off and forgiven him, acting as if their kiss hadn't meant anything. He had been so taken aback, he didn't know what to do. He had expected her to be shaken, shy, the way he had been, yet there she had sat, calm as you please, and tol
d him it was all right.
He still should have said something. Confessed his feelings or told her that he was willing to do the right thing and marry her.
He could almost hear Oliver's voice in his head at that thought. Oh, you're a prince of poets, Ben. 'Willing to do the right thing,' what girl could resist such a proposal?
His inner Oliver had a point. Besides, it was only a kiss. Nobody would really expect him to marry a girl because of one kiss. It would be an excuse, something to hide his true intentions behind. And what were his true intentions?
It wasn't a good time for him to get married. He had to deal with the scandal of a Conclave member being a serial murderer. It would be difficult to explain away, even with the queen's assistance. He might be tossed out altogether if he brought up the question of legalizing blood magic.
Then again, would it ever be a good time to fall in love? Charlotte was... important. He had thought, if he knew she was safe, it would be enough. But now he had touched her, felt her, gotten to know her, and he knew it would never be enough. There was something deep inside him that craved her, and always would.
"Idiot," he sighed, less angry now, and instead simply resigned. None of this mattered. He knew what he wanted. The problem was, he didn't know if Charlotte wanted the same. And he'd been too much of a coward to ask.
He knew what would make him feel better; inflicting pain upon his cousin. He slowed Merlin to a trot once more, allowing the carriage to catch up to him as he pulled his notebook and quill from his waistcoat pocket and ripped out a page. He scribbled a quick note to Oliver.
O,
Urgent business takes me out of town, will return as soon as possible. Please continue interrogation of S, alert me with any developments.
~B
He crumpled the parchment in his palm, tossed it up and ignited it with a blast of fire from his cane.
"Ignis mitte," he murmured as the parchment burned to ash. "And enjoy the sensation, dear cousin."
He felt guilty for misleading Charlotte with his earlier statements about Sutcliffe. The fact was, they had Sutcliffe in a Truthspeaking circle drawn by eight high-level Conclave members, and the man still insisted he had not killed Avery. Ben currently had no choice but to believe it.