Chapter Eleven

Mrs. Gladington had stopped her in the stairway the previous evening to tell her the men who had come inquiring after Charlotte Townsend were seen not two blocks away, knocking on doors and intimidating the residents. It was reported an older, heavyset gentleman had been with them. Charlotte managed to maintain a straight face during her landlady’s recitation, although her heart had sunk to her feet. The older gentleman could only be her former father by marriage.

The revelation left her with a permanent case of indigestion. Or terror. Surely heartburn went hand in hand with constant, wide-eyed panic. She didn’t know why her father-in-law could be searching for her, but she knew his motives were not good. He’d made his disdain for her apparent.

Not only were the men a concern to her, so, too, were her neighbors. Most of the people who lived in her building or on her street were hardworking, honest folks who looked after each other. It had taken months for them to view her with anything other than indifference, and if Roderick’s father began offering coin for information about her whereabouts, how long would their good opinion remain? If Mrs. Gladington could make the correlation between Charlotte Townsend and Charlotte Taylor, others would as well.

Such harried thoughts clamored about in her brain as she walked to Little Windmill House the next morning. Between Finlay’s marked interest in her and the remnants of her old life threatening the fragile foundation of sand on which she’d constructed her new life, she was at sixes and sevens. As if in concert with her threadbare emotions, low-hanging fog blanketed the city under its depressing banner. Charlotte dipped her chin under the wool of her scarf, shielding her face from the biting wind.

Her thoughts turned to the emotional experience at the park the day before. If Finlay and Lord Inverray had not appeared when they did… She couldn’t allow herself to finish the thought. Thankfully, the marquess had not said a word to her about losing sight of her young charge, and when they had returned to Little Windmill House, Charlotte patiently played with Steven until her next class.

As she turned the corner, she was pummeled by the full strength of the early winter gusts, and she closed her eyes against the assault.

Suddenly, her arm was wrenched behind her, and she staggered back. She twisted around and met a pair of steely gray eyes.

“Mrs. Townsend?” The man’s voice was hoarse, carrying a hint of warning that even the wind couldn’t blow away.

This was one of the men searching for her, she realized, willing herself to be calm. Demanding herself not to give him any indication she was the woman he sought.

She shook her head, even while she tried to pry herself from his grip. “No! I’m not Mrs. Townsend. Release me this instant.”

The man’s hand didn’t lessen the pressure it applied to her arm. She would have finger-shaped bruises on her upper arm on the morrow.

His gaze roved over her face, and she imagined he was searching it for similarities to the description of Charlotte Townsend. A boulder settled in the pit of her stomach when his eyes widened as they took in the beauty mark at the end of her eyebrow.

“Mr. Townsend will be right glad to learn we’ve found you at last,” he said, dragging her into his side. He looped his arm around her shoulders to hold her close.

Fiery panic bubbled under her skin, and yet her thoughts cleared, defense her sole priority. She took a deep breath and stomped her boot down on the man’s instep. He howled his pain, cuffing her across her cheek as he stumbled from her. She blinked away flashes of light. Released from his embrace, Charlotte shot her elbow back into his unprotected gut. He doubled over, wheezing and cursing in turn.

Lifting her skirts, she dashed down the walk. The man yelled for her to stop, his demands laced with pained obscenities. Yet Charlotte charged ahead, desperate to reach the safe haven that was Little Windmill House. Her father-in-law and his men might try to enter the premises, might demand for Mrs. Stevens to turn her over to him, but she’d be safe there. For there lay allies.

With that single-minded determination, she ran as fast as her legs could carry her. The wind yanked her bonnet from her head, strands of hair escaping and whipping around her face, stinging her frozen skin. Her skirts plastered around her legs and hampered her strides, yet she didn’t stop. The pounding footsteps on the pavement behind her became an accelerando to flight.

Her lungs burned like torches in her chest. She pressed her body to its limit, terror its only fuel. She sensed the man’s presence just behind her. The last intersection loomed ahead, and once she crossed it, she hoped someone in the house would hear her cries for help.

With her last burst of energy, she streaked across the road, unseeing, praying she wasn’t hit by a wagon or cart. A horse’s panicked whinny and a loud gasp jerked her head about to the sound, and she found herself locking eyes with Lady Flora’s stunned gaze.

Without a moment’s thought, Charlotte rushed toward her. “Help me! Please, my lady.”

Lady Flora’s lip curled as her attention landed on her pursuer, who was still advancing on Charlotte, arms outstretched. “Duncan! Handle this fiend.”

A barrel-chested man hopped down from his mount next to Lady Flora’s with a grace she had not expected. Charlotte blinked, wondering how she’d missed him. Duncan intercepted her would-be captor with a diverted grin on his craggy face. “It would be my great pleasure.” His thick Scottish brogue almost lent a friendly note to his words…but the harsh lines bracketing his slash of a mouth were menacing.

Although Duncan was several inches shorter than the man who’d accosted Charlotte, he was as wide and as thick as an ancient oak. He twisted his neck to the side until it popped.

“Would you like my whip?” Lady Flora asked, extending a hand to her and helping her to mount behind her. Charlotte wrapped her arms around the woman’s waist, vaguely cognizant that she gripped her cloak in her hands as if she wouldn’t let go.

Duncan shook his head, his gaze never leaving the man who’d pursued her. The man didn’t seem to realize the danger he was in, as his eyes had been fixed on Charlotte’s movements. When he took a step in her direction to, no doubt, rip her off the horse, he was thrown back as he collided with Duncan’s meaty arm.

“Nae. I don’t suspect I’ll be needing the whip today, Flo.” Duncan chuckled, his gravely laugh raising the hairs on her arms.

Finally sensing the danger, the man took a step back, his mouth gaping and the color seeping from his face.

Flora pursed her lips, her eyes narrowed. “Pity.”

They cantered off, and Charlotte tucked her face into the Scotswoman’s back, unwilling to see what sort of punishment Duncan meted out to her father-in-law’s man. She didn’t care where they were going, only thankful Lady Flora was taking her away from danger.

Minutes clattered by with the horse hooves before the mare slowed her gait. She pulled her head up to see they’d entered the mews of a grand townhouse. She frowned, certain Lady Flora would bring her to the foundling home. Could the Scotswoman have brought her here to see her sacked in private? Had she discovered Mr. Townsend hunted her and maneuvered to separate her from the children?

She couldn’t blame her employer for doing what she needed to protect the children and the home’s prestige. Grief coalesced in her throat, and despite her efforts, she couldn’t swallow it down.

With her shoulders fallen in resignation, she allowed her superior to assist her down and followed her silently into the back entrance of the house. She held her tongue when Lady Flora bypassed the kitchens or the servants’ hall, and instead led her up the stairs and into a spacious drawing room. She encouraged Charlotte to sit in a narrow armchair under the windows before tracing back to the doorway to speak with a servant. She suspected the Scotswoman asked for word to be delivered to Little Windmill House with the reason for her absence, although she couldn’t be certain.

After the servant departed, Lady Flora shut the door and crossed to a sideboard on the other side of the room. Charlotte listened listlessly to the ting of clinking crystal and the pop of air that followed a stopper being released from a bottle.

The sounds seemed dulled. All of her senses were submerged in water, as if she saw and heard and felt from a great watery depth. Only when a glass filled with an amber liquid appeared in front of her face did she blink.

“Drink this,” Lady Flora demanded. After Charlotte grabbed the tumbler with a trembling hand, she plopped onto the settee across from her.

Charlotte raised the glass for sniff, and the overpowering fumes of alcohol made her eyes water. “It’s still the morning, my lady. I can’t drink this.”

“It doesn’t matter what the time is. I fear you’re going into shock. Drink it.”

Taking in the rigid set of the Scotswoman’s shoulders, Charlotte deflated. Tilting the glass, she swallowed the entirety of the liquor before collapsing back into her chair. The shocking burn shot fire through her blood, jolting her senses back to consciousness. She pressed a hand to her throat as she willed her body to accept the scalding tonic.

“Feel better?”

Charlotte licked her lips as tingles crept over her scalp. “I don’t know if better is the word I’d use, but I’m no longer shaking.”

“A small victory to be sure.” Lady Flora slowly arched a brow. “Care to tell me what occurred this morning?”

“That man tried to abduct me.”

Her answer was spoken without forethought or contemplation, and Charlotte bit her lip as she wondered whether it was wise to confide in Lady Flora.

“Do you know why he wanted you?”

She was resolved to hold the woman’s gaze. “I don’t.”

Not altogether an untruth. She wasn’t sure why Mr. Townsend was so determined to see her apprehended, but she could guess.

She was saved from having to comment further when the door opened and a maid bustled in with a large tea service. Lady Flora prepared her a cup of tea, setting it on the elegantly carved table before her. Charlotte took a sip, closing her eyes as the comforting taste hit her tongue. When the door opened again, she didn’t look up, assuming it was a servant.

“Oh, Flo, I didn’t realized you were in here.” The Marquess of Inverray’s whisky-smooth voice made Charlotte wince. What would he think to see her here, especially knowing she had lessons this morning? “Firthwell and I can meet in my study instead.”

Her eyes flew open, her head snapping back when she took in the two gentlemen standing just within the doorway. Finlay’s gaze focused on her with an intensity that had her sputtering her tea.

“Oh, do forgive me, Mrs. Taylor. How do you do?” Lord Inverray stepped farther into the room and dipped his head. “Whatever has brought you to Campbell House?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. In the back of her mind, she wondered if she appeared like the gaping, gasping fool she felt like.

“Someone tried to abscond with her, Niall.” Lady Flora’s voice was tight with tension.

“What?” Finlay prowled across the room, dropping before Charlotte and taking her teacup from her hand so he could grasp it. “Are you well? Were you injured?”

Charlotte locked her jaw, shaking her head back and forth, any words lost in the presence of the storm brewing across Finlay’s visage.

“She’s well, just shaken.” Lady Flora patted Finlay on the shoulder before approaching her brother. “I left Duncan to deal with the fiend and brought her here to determine if she knew why she’d been targeted.”

“Wise move, Flo.” Lord Inverray considered Charlotte, speculation firing in his gray eyes.

Swallowing, her mind racing over what to tell them, she glanced at Finlay. He watched her, his hands holding hers so tightly her fingers were numb.

Fearful. He appeared to fear for her. The muscle ticking in his jaw told her he was also angry. At her or the man who’d accosted her?

She glanced up when she sensed Lord Inverray step closer. The marquess sank onto the settee, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Tell us what happened, lass.”

“He grabbed me two blocks from the home.” She dropped her gaze to where her hands lay enclosed in Finlay’s. “I managed to elbow him, causing him to release me. I ran until Lady Flora and Mr. Duncan came across me in the street.”

“Do you know why he attempted to abduct you?” Finlay vibrated with repressed fury.

Any of the explanations that came to mind would undoubtedly sound like fabrications, so she shook her head in denial.

Finlay pressed his lips together until they turned blue. After a tense pause, he released her and pulled back. “Did he say anything? Why he was taking you? For whom?”

Charlotte ached to tell Finlay everything. To share this burden that had settled like a barge on her chest. She longed to reveal that she was afraid: of what her father-in-law wanted from her, of never feeling safe. And she wished she could share how very weary she was. How bone-deep exhausted she felt.

Instead, she knotted her fingers together in her lap. “I don’t remember. It all happened so fast.”

Finlay leaned forward on the balls of his feet, as if to press her for more information, when Lady Flora interrupted. “All perfectly understandable, I’m sure. Let’s hope Duncan was able to gather more information.”

Meeting the Scotswoman’s gaze, she nodded in thanks. Lady Flora inclined her head, but doubt was evident in the crinkles in her brow.

“I’m relieved you were unharmed, Mrs. Taylor.” Lord Inverray crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Until we can determine what the villain’s motives were, I suggest we devise a means by which to keep you safe.”

“I-I don’t think that’s nec—”

“You should stay here, Mrs. Taylor.” Lady Flora lifted an insouciant shoulder. “I don’t see how it could be wise for you to return to your home.”

Charlotte jerked her head. “While I appreciate the gesture, I cannot stay here.”

Lady Flora paused, her teacup suspended before her mouth. “Why not?”

Battling back a frustrated sigh, Charlotte said, “Because it wouldn’t be proper.”

“Proper? Pish. After working with me as long as you have, you should know I’ve never been terribly interested in what’s proper.”

“A fact that is a fount of stress for me,” Lord Inverray grumbled.

As if she hadn’t heard him, Lady Flora took her time studying the selection of pastries on the tea tray. “If you feel you need a proper excuse to stay at Campbell House—aside from the fact you were invited—well then, I say we put it about that you’re to be a chaperone for me.” She looked at her brother. “Aunt Isobel is leaving to Scotland for several months, so the excuse is completely plausible.”

“If I may, perhaps ‘companion’ would be better.” Charlotte was surprised she was even considering such a thing. She should have rejected the suggestion immediately. “We are of a similar age, so I’m not certain chaperone would be appropriate.”

Lady Flora blinked several times, her mouth twisting. “Am I finally past the magical age where I no longer require a chaperone to go out in public?”

“You already do go unaccompanied in public, Flo.”

Lady Flora waved away Lord Inverray’s growled comment as if it were an insect. “This is an exciting development.”

“My lady,” Finlay interjected with a huff, “please do stay on topic.”

“I beg your pardon.” Flora wiped a napkin across her mouth. She didn’t appear particularly chagrined. “You’re correct, Mrs. Taylor. Instead of chaperone, you’ll be my companion.”

“A sound suggestion…finally.” Lord Inverray rolled his eyes. “Mrs. Taylor, you can stay here as Flo’s companion until we can determine what exactly is going on. It may be that the man simply considered you an easy target. Whatever the case, we’ll do our best to ensure your safety.”

“When do you expect Mr. Duncan to return? I’d like to hear if he learned anything from the villain,” Finlay said, his jaw tight.

“I don’t know.”

“We have to leave soon to meet Matthews.” Lord Inverray glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Unfortunately, we don’t have time to wait.”

Finlay’s expression darkened, but he nodded and rose to his feet. Running his hands down his pantaloons, he dipped his head at Lady Flora before his focus landed on Charlotte. His gaze was gentle. “Have a care, Mrs. Taylor.”

“When I return, I’ll accompany you both back to the home.” Lord Inverray bussed Lady Flora on the cheek then grasped Charlotte’s hand and bowed over it. “Despite the frightening circumstances, I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”

Charlotte managed a small smile, and as the men departed, she noticed Finlay’s hands were balled into fists.

Apprehension threatened to strangle her, and she wasn’t sure whom she should fear more: her father-in-law or Finlay.