Page 57 of To Resist a Scandalous Rogue
The pair sat quietly for several minutes. Finlay had just pulled a small notepad from his coat pocket to record some notes when Townsend’s gravelly voice cut through his concentration. “I was not aware your sister was also a patroness at Lord Inverray’s little foundling home.”
Tingles of suspicion one again raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He had written Torres a note detailing his belief the Townsends were connected to Charlotte in some way, and such a comment made him thankful he had. “Darington and she both are and have been for some time.”
“I’m sure it was mentioned at the fundraiser at Campbell House and it slipped my mind.” Townsend extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. “I’ve been meaning to pay the home avisit, seeing as how Mrs. Townsend and I now count ourselves as donors.”
Finlay mumbled some sort of affirmative, while he feigned furious notetaking.
“Is it true Lady Flora hired one of the foundling home teachers to serve as a companion?” The older man’s tone contained a note of derision. “I’m surprised Inverray would allow such a lowly person to accompany his sister to events in society.”
“I’d hardly call a teacher a lowly person.” Only when his pencil snapped in two did Finlay realize how tightly he’d been holding it. “From my understanding, the marquess and Lady Flora hold the young woman in high esteem.”
“A Mrs. Taylor, correct?”
Finlay groaned internally. “Yes, I believe so.”
“Do you hold Mrs. Taylor in high esteem as well?”
He forced himself to shrug. “I don’t see why I wouldn’t. I trust Inverray and Lady Flora’s judgment.”
“Naturally.” Townsend patted his belly, and a predatory smile lurked on his lips. “I was merely curious.”
Of course he was, Finlay thought, as his misgivings began to solidify into certainty.
…
After classes were completed for the day, Charlotte convinced Lady Flora that she wanted to observe Shabbat in her own home. The Scotswoman had been agitated, concerned the men who had tried to take her would return to see the job done, but relented when Charlotte agreed to allow a Kilmorow footman to remain nearby as protection. Even now, the young but strapping Jimmy sat in the small foyer downstairs reading a dime novel and sipping a cup of Mrs. Gladington’s tea.
Charlotte was grateful for the privacy, especially after the painful revelation at the dinner party that any fanciful future her mind dreamed up between Finlay and her was as corporeal as smoke.
During the short ride, she realized how she missed her home. Living at Campbell House was a luxury. Instead of putting her in the servants’ quarters, Lady Flora had insisted she stay in the guest wing, assigning her to a room of the likes she’d not seen before. Also, her employer had gone out of her way to make Charlotte feel comfortable. Flora walked with her down to breakfast every morning and supper every evening, and even took the Shabbat meal with her. She had asked thoughtful questions about the blessings and rituals, and her genuine interest and respect were palpable. And rather than depart at night to one of the many events she was invited to, the Scotswoman seemed content to stay in and challenge her to rousing games of chess. And on those evenings Lord Inverray dined with them, he engaged them in stimulating conversations about current affairs and listened to their opinions on political issues.
The Campbell siblings had made her feel like an honored guest, and that was the rub. No matter how luxurious her surroundings or how included she was made to feel, she was keenly aware she was not their equal.
Over the last few days, she’d come to regard her little flat as a refuge. A place where she didn’t have to worry about her grammar, or whether her opinion would offend a powerful marquess, or whether her feisty employer would finally decide she’d helped Charlotte long enough. She simply craved some time on her own to just make sense of everything that had happened over the last week.
Her flat looked exactly as it had when she’d last visited, although the air smelled slightly stale from being locked up. She crossed to one of the narrow windows and flipped the latch, opening the panes and breathing deeply as cool air rushed in. Her shoulders suddenly felt less tense, and she turned to survey the room with a sigh. She was home.
After setting the tea kettle to boil, Charlotte set the table for her Shabbat meal. When she finished her simple dinner of pea soup with challah bread, she slowly wandered about the space, running her fingers over the worn spines of her beloved books. She slipped out of her shoes and pried off her stockings, sinking her toes into the hook rug she’d made the winter before. When she caught a glimpse of her kinnor peeking from the trunk in the corner of the room, her heart clenched.
One of her earliest memories was of her father strumming a melody on an old, battered kinnor, and her mother singing softly along. She could only remember a few of the words, but the combination of music had been beautiful. Her father had taught her how to play, and through the years, she’d always longed for a lyre of her own.
Several months ago, she’d finally been able to purchase one. Mrs. Gladington had been immensely patient as Charlotte relearned the instrument, with sometimes ear-splitting practices. But once she’d mastered several songs, her landlady frequently asked her to play for her at night.
Charlotte cradled it in her arms and sank onto her bed. The mattress wasn’t nearly as soft and inviting as the one in her chamber at Campbell House, and yet she preferred it infinitely more because it was hers.
Her fingers danced across the strings, the familiarity returning quickly until the tune of an old folk song filled the air. The tension that had taken root in her bones slowly leached away as she relaxed with the well-known melody.
Abruptly, her mind returned to the morning Finlay had called on her. The morning he’d set her ablaze with a kiss. In a flash, her body heated at the memory. She squeezed her eyes shut and allowed herself a moment to simply remember the sensation of his lips moving against hers.
Thus, it took her several moments to recognize the sound of knocks on her door.
Her palms turned clammy as her breaths grew short.
She’d only just returned. Could she have tempted danger so soon? Remembering Jimmy was downstairs, she steeled her spine as she crept to the door. Pressing her cheek to the wood, she asked, “Who is it?”
Chapter Twenty
“What on earth are you doing here?” Finlay stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. The sound of the lock clicking into place rang around them. “I could not believe my ears when Lady Flora said you’d returned to your home. For someone as clever as you, this was remarkably foolish.”
