Page 97 of Why Do Earls Fall in Love?
“What was that about?” The girl moved quickly in front of her as Charlotte climbed, heading for her rooms. “Is something happening?”
“It appears so. I have no idea what it is, though, only that it appears to be happening in Green Park.”
“Green Park? But I visited there one day. It’s nothing but fields and trees and cows.”
“Apparently Gabriel and his friends have found something of interest there.”
Elizabeth frowned. “What could it be?”
A knock sounded on the door. The girl hurried to Charlotte’s desk and pretended to be absorbed in reading a primer. Charlotte called admittance and Alfred entered.
“Has Lord Whiddon returned?” Charlotte asked eagerly.
“No, ma’am. But you have another visitor.”
“Now? At this hour?”
“Indeed.” The footman sounded disapproving. “Miss Mayne insisted on waiting for you in the parlor.”
“Good heavens. Harriett?” The last thing she wanted to do when her nerves were so on edge was to deal with her cousin. “Very well,” she sighed. “I’ll be back up shortly,” she told Elizabeth. “Keep working at it.”
She followed Alfred downstairs. “Be sure to lock the front door,” she told him. “And stick close. Our guest won’t be staying long.” She gave him a nod and swept into the parlor.
“Oh, Charlotte!” Harriett bounced off the settee. “I simply must speak with you!”
* * *
“Something is not right.”Whiddon spoke barely above a whisper. He held still, pressed against a tree. The moon had just climbed high enough to shed a little light over the clearest spot at the northern edge of the Queen’s reservoir.
“He’ll be here. He wants his money.” Chester crouched low on the other side of the tree. “It’s not ten o’clock yet.”
“This doesn’t make sense. Why choose here? There is no strategic advantage to him here. It’s too open. He must have known we would scout the place out ahead of time.”
“He didn’t know we would have enough men to encircle the whole, wide spot, thanks to Stoneacre.”
Whiddon shook his head. “This is not like him. It’s too straightforward. It’s not sneaky enough.”
A long, low call of an owl sounded from the direction of the park gates.
“That’s the signal,” Chester said with excitement. “Have your pistol at the ready. He’s coming.”
They waited.
And waited.
The noise came first, a low creaking sound that echoed eerily in the quiet.
Then a short, stout figure came into view, cloaked and hooded and slowly pulling a low, wooden cart.
“That’s not Hurley.”
“Maybe he’s in the cart,” Chester whispered.
Whiddon was already striding out into the open. He passed the anonymous figure to peer into the cart. A box lay inside, small enough that it could have been carried. “Where’s Hurley?” he barked.
No answer.
Whiddon beckoned. Chester came forward, watching the figure, his pistol held low and ready.
