by Sara Reinke
* * * *
“Here are troubles I do not need,” Charlotte muttered later that morning, as Una and Meghan wrestled her into her corset. “Kenley Fairfax be damned. Wait until Mother learns a bloody highwayman has taken a fancy to me.”
“Maybe she will not learn of it,” Meghan said. “Oh, she will learn of it,” Charlotte said. She gasped sharply, hooking her fingertips around her bedpost as Una offered a mighty jerk against the stay ties. “Caroline knows about it, and what Caroline knows, the world does, too, in short measure.”
She heard an unexpected sound from beyond her window—hoofbeats approaching, and the rattle of a carriage. She glanced over her shoulder toward Una. “I thought Caroline said Lord Harlow kept business in London.”
“He does,” Una replied. “He delivered her here this morrow along the way.”
“He could not have even made it yet, much less turned ’round and returned,” Charlotte murmured, turning loose of the bedpost. She pulled away from Una and Meghan, crossing toward her window. “Who else would pay such early call?”
She peered through the glass, her breath frosting against the pane. She watched a large gentleman’s carriage pull up before the house, and the coachman—a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark, sweeping greatcoat and tricorne—stepped down from his bench, striding briskly for the cab door.
She recognized the coachman; when he drew open the door, and the occupant stepped out, heralding his passage with the brass-tipped end of an ornamental cane, she recognized him, too. “It is James Houghton,” she said, frowning. “What on earth is he doing here?”
James walked away from his coach, mounting the broad, tiered steps leading up to the threshold. Edmond Cheadle closed the carriage door and stood rooted in spot, clasping his gloved hands together in front of him. He lifted his head; she could not see his face for the heavy shadows cast by his hat brim, but she nearly seemed to feel his gaze settle upon her as he looked directly toward her window. It was a startling, disconcerting sensation—he could see her looking down at him—and Charlotte drew back immediately.
“Help me dress,” she said, turning to Una and Meghan. “Hurry now! Grab my crinolines. Help me dress.”
“What are you going to do?” Una asked, raising a suspicious brow.
“James has no reason to be here,” Charlotte said. “And I want to find out why he would come anyway.”
Una sighed wearily. “Charlotte…” she began. “Cinch me up, Una, come now,” Charlotte said.
“I do not need a lecture. Reilly has told me often enough. I am too nosy for anyone’s good. Hurry up.”