Page 20 of Charlotte's Story
“I know, but I’m not sure how considering my memory.”
“I know someone who could go on the list.”
He turned to me, his hazel eyes widening with anticipation. “Who?”
I swallowed. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
He frowned. “What are you talking about? She’d never try to hurt me.”
“But just think about it, William,” I said. “She’s the reason we didn’t leave for our honeymoon last night. She knew exactly when you left her house and where you’d be. She had means and opportunity, and just because we don’t know what her motive is doesn’t mean she doesn’t have one.”
“No. No, that’s not—that doesn’t make sense. She wouldn’t do that. She’s a woman of grace, refinement, and precision,” he said. “She had a checklist for the last party she hosted at Rosings Park, Charlotte. A color-coded checklist. People who do that don’t just murder people.”
I blew out a breath. That had gone about as well as I’d expected. “Then why did she ask you to come visit her so abruptly that night?”
“I can’t remember.” He huffed out a breath and it misted in front of him in a white puff. “But it wasn’t her.”
“You can’t ignore the possibility simply because you admire her,” I said.
We walked for a minute in frosty silence, but then William’s shoulders dropped.
He glanced at me, then at the sidewalk before he bent down and plucked a small blue bloom from the grass. “I don’t like it when we argue.”
Our hands brushed as he handed me the flower, and I drew mine back to my side. “Why are you giving me a frostpetal?” I glared down at the beautiful flower which was curled into a small bud.
“Because it reminds me of you.”
My head whipped up. “Why?”
“Because like you, it draws in upon itself when the world grows cold.” He stroked the bloom with a single glowing fingertip, coaxing it gently open. “But given sufficient warmth—perhaps the steady devotion of a certain humble clergyman—it blossoms into something breathtaking.”
I chewed on my lip, unsure of what to say, although there was something reassuring about his flowery speech. It was proof that not all of William had disappeared with the amnesia, but I wasn’t sure how much of his straightforward earnestness I could handle.
“My frostpetal,” he said softly.
The quill hanging on the necklace warmed with his words.
Cheeks burning, I turned my face down to stare at the ground and shoved back the small flutter in my stomach. I didn’t need him to make me feel anything unnecessary. Feelings werecomplications, and that was something our arrangement didn’t need. Feelings left you vulnerable, as Hugh had taught me all too well.
The winterwisps glimmered red and green in the distance, flaring into existence between the trees before winking out again.
“Your eyes are like enchanted cocoa truffles glistening under the moonlight.”
I snorted. “You’re comparing me to food?”
“Excellent food!” he said.
I laughed, then coughed. What was he doing making me laugh, and why was I letting him? This new William might be even more dangerous than the one I married. No, I was being silly. I’d never let myself start to care for him as anything more than a friend. I could handle friendship.
Thankfully, we made it home soon after, and William grabbed a message from the mailbox before joining me inside. I slumped onto the couch. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours, yet it felt like there was a lifetime separating the Charlotte from last night who’d ignorantly sat down to read with a cup of tea and the Charlotte of today who was now trying to find a murderer.
“So what do you think we should do?” William took the chair next to me, skimming the letter.
“I wish I knew.” We needed answers, but all I had were questions.
“Lady Catherine has invited us for dinner tonight. We should go so I can keep her apprised of everything that’s happened. Maybe she’ll have some idea for what to do.”
Going to see her was the last thing I wanted considering shewasmy entire suspect list, but maybe he was right. Going to her would make it seem like we didn’t suspect her, and maybe it would also get us some answers.
