Page 21 of The Inconvenient Compromise
* * *
Charlotte entered the house,dropping her shawl and removing her gloves. She’d gone to the theater not out of any desire to see the play but simply to see and be seen. It was imperative to take every opportunity to support the story she had told. Being a sympathetic figure was key to the plan.
The butler was lurking in the corridor. He was the only one in the house who knew about her guest. Miss Weddington was in a room upstairs, hidden away, while Charlotte figured out how to obtain the amount of money she had demanded. Her husband turned a blind eye to many things, but taking several thousand pounds was certainly something that would get his attention.
“How is she?”
“Quiet, so far,” the butler replied. “I’ve taken food to her. No one else knows of her presence, though it will not be easy to conceal it for very long.”
“What would I do without you?” Charlotte said in a rare display of genuine affection. “I will go up and speak with her. It will take longer than I thought to amass the funds she is demanding. Other arrangements will have to be made in the meantime.”
“That will not be well received.”
Charlotte nodded. “Indeed. It will not. And it’s best to get it done.”
“I will ensure that the rest of the state seeks their quarters immediately. No prying eyes or listening ears.”
After a moment, Charlotte took a fortifying breath and then climbed the stairs to the long abandoned nursery that was now Estelle’s sanctuary. She didn’t knock. Instead, she opened the door and slipped inside quickly and quietly.
“Do you have it?”
“I only have seven hundred pounds on hand to give you. That is not enough for you to start a new life… at least not one that involves more than penury.”
Estelle’s face twisted into an expression of rage. “I will not be put off by you! I have the power now, Charlotte. Not you!”
Charlotte bristled at the threat, at the notion that she was the one with the most to lose when Estelle could very well face life in an asylum. Her tone was frosty when she replied, “It will take time, Estelle, to gather the sort of funds you are asking for.
“Time, Charlotte, is something that I do not have. Neither of us does. I would remind you that I have all the evidence needed to see you ruined forever!”
Charlotte, realizing that antagonizing Estelle would only make matters worse, softened her voice and relaxed her features into a friendly and contrite smile. “We should not be at odds. After all, we have common goals, do we not? Our efforts have failed, and now it is best for both of us if you are far from London. That way, neither of us will have unfortunate consequences.”
Mollified, Estelle nodded. “I cannot leave with less than two thousand pounds. If I am to set myself up as a widow of some means, I will need to look the part, and that costs money. How long will it take you to amass that amount?”
“Give me one week. I will have everything arranged by then,” Charlotte stated.One way or another.
Estelle crossed the room and peered out the window. “I will never be bullied and cowed again. Not by you. I will be the one to decide what I want and when I want it, I will take it!”
Charlotte said nothing to that. “Keep the door locked during the day. The servants have no reason to come up here and have been warned not to. But they are a lazy lot, always looking for a place to hide from their work.” With that, she turned on her heel and left the nursery. She’d only made it a few steps down the corridor when she thought better of it. Turning back, she reached for the door but did not open it. Instead, she turned the key in the lock, the tumblers clicking into place. Then she slipped the key from the lock and dropped it in her pocket. Insurance. She didn’t need Estelle getting out and causing problems.
EIGHTEEN
Wednesday—Night…
They’d returned to Mivart’s for the night. The following morning they would be moving into the Mayfair house that had been the Duchess of Westerhaven’s prior to her marriage. On the ride home, Fiona had been very quiet. So quiet that he had grown concerned.
“What is it?” Lucian asked softly. “You’re troubled.”
“Is it a mistake to bring Francesca to live with us?” Fiona asked. “Given what we now know—that we must dodge whatever wicked schemes are afoot from Lady Bruxton and Miss Weddington—I wonder if we are not placing her in greater danger.”
“She is in danger regardless of where she lives,” he said. Lucian settled himself on one of the chairs in their small sitting area and tugged her down with him so that she was perched on his lap. She tensed at first, still not used to the intimacy between them. But then she relaxed, leaning against him with a soft sigh.
He continued, “Because anyone wishing to hurt you will know that she is your greatest weakness. And while the danger may greater if she is near us, I also have more faith in my ability to protect the both of you than I do of your father’s ability to protect her. With the drinking, your mother’s distraction by her own vices, and the limited number of servants in your family’s home—I think, regardless of whoever may be targeting us, she will still be safer in our care.”
“You’re right, of course. We could tell my father about the danger, but he would likely ignore us out of nothing more than his own contrary nature.”
“Let’s not talk about your father,” he suggested, his hand settling on the curve of her waist as he pressed a kiss against the tender skin of her neck, just below her ear. “Or your sister. Or Lady Bruxton or Miss Weddington. Tonight, Fiona, it is only the two of us in this room. The rest of the world has been locked out.”
She shivered against him. “I find that I am not in the mood for conversation at all.”
