Chapter Seventeen

“What else is on your schedule?”

Finlay pushed an empty coffee cup aside and glanced at the agenda his secretary had included in his stack of paperwork for the day. As his eyes focused on the long list, he quelled a sigh. “Several meetings, including one with Matthews, before your dinner party. Then I leave to Weobley tomorrow for canvassing.”

Inverray relaxed back into his chair and propped a booted foot over his knee. Although the coffee shop they’d convened at was filled to the rafters with MPs, secretaries, barristers, and the like, their collective noise resembling a busy hornets’ nest, Inverray somehow appeared unperturbed. “Gad, I don’t envy you.” He leaned over to glance at Finlay’s list. He stabbed a finger at a line. “Kiss babies, commiserate with the elders, and talk cricket with the men in the pub. Once you buy them a round of ale, they’ll be slapping you on the back and buying you pints.”

“I’m beginning to think this standing for Parliament business merely involves a whole lot of pandering,” Finlay said on a chuckle.

“Grasped that lesson already, have you?” Inverray raised his hand to summon a server and ordered another cup of coffee. “Sometimes you will find the easiest path is to grin and laugh.”

Propping his elbows on the table, Finlay massaged his temples. He’d been traveling back and forth to Weobley, meeting voters, attending party meetings, shaking hands, and doing a lot of smiling. He was done with smiling. He just wanted to sleep.

“The Eddingtons will be at dinner.” Inverray paused as he accepted his cup of coffee from the server. After taking a sip, he regarded Finlay over the brim. “I take it Miss Eddington is a candidate for the future Lady Firthwell.”

Finlay shrugged, even as his palms grew sweaty. “Eddington has been generous with his connections. If I must listen to his daughter play the pianoforte as compensation, I will gladly do it. At least she is semi-accomplished at the instrument.”

“And she’s quite bonny.” Inverray’s gray eyes held a smile.

“Her attractiveness is a bonus,” Finlay conceded.

“Yet…I don’t detect much interest from you.”

“Yes, well.” Finlay signaled for another cup of coffee as well, desperate for a distraction.

“Matthews would deem her a prime candidate for a wife,” Inverray pushed, regarding him with his mouth quirked.

“Then perhaps he should marry her,” Finlay bit out, before he snapped his jaw shut. “My apologies. I shouldn’t be directing my annoyance at you.”

“If I were considering a bride based solely on her suitability to host political events,” Inverray said, his lips tilting up, “well, I would be irritable, too.”

“You don’t seem to have been hurt by your lack of a wife.” Finlay cringed at the peevish tone of his words.

“That’s because I have two sisters who’ve served as my hostesses. Juliana is a natural. Welcoming, clever, and well versed on the issues. When she plays hostess for Ashwood and me, the event is sure to be a success.” The marquess’s expression darkened for a moment. “I never really know what kind of hostess Flora will be. There’s no doubt she can be charming, and when she’s in the mood to please she has even the most curmudgeonly old MPs eating out of her wee hands. But…” He chuckled, the sound more frustrated than amused. “But all it takes is one remark, one cutting comment, and well, Flora’s set-downs can be brutal.”

“And yet, you continue to ask her to serve as hostess for you.” Finlay swallowed down a flick of amusement. He’d always enjoyed Flora’s no-nonsense personality, but he could definitely see how it would be problematic in a delicate political setting.

“It’s time she grew up and embraced her position in life. Our father has indulged her terribly, and now I fear she will never settle down.” Inverray’s voice dropped to a growl. “Never be tamed.”

Finlay took a long sip of coffee as he considered the marquess’s words. It wasn’t his place to argue for or against Inverray’s assessment, and he suspected Lady Flora needed no champion. Familial strife was something he was infinitely familiar with.

“I’m certain Allie would consent to serve as hostess for any events I may host,” he said, easing the direction of the conversation away from Inverray’s family troubles.

“Matthews did want Her Grace and Darington to lend you their support.”

“But he still wants me to marry.” Finlay tipped his head back to look at the ceiling as if it contained the answer to the earl’s mandate.

“If not Miss Eddington, who else would you consider?”

Charlotte.

Her name was on the tip of his tongue before his brain had even caught up with the question. The woman was an ever-dwelling specter in his thoughts. He hadn’t seen her since he’d left Campbell House two days prior, but Lady Flora’s maid had delivered a note to his valet telling him that she was well and determined to start teaching again. Flora insisted she continue to stay at Campbell House for at least a sennight longer, until they were certain any danger to her had passed.

The problem was they weren’t certain from which direction the danger was coming. Although she’d denied it, Finlay was still convinced her attempted abduction was tied to her former in-laws.

The sound of a throat clearing jerked him back to the moment. He met Inverray’s diverted gaze. “I beg your pardon. I was woolgathering.”

“I assumed.” There was a smile in the marquess’s tone. “And has your woolgathering allowed you to remember another possible viscountess candidate?”

Finlay scrubbed a hand down his face. “At this time, there are no young ladies on my list.”

Inverray chuckled and shook his head in much the same manner as his youngest sister.

As a ball of stress coiled in his gut, Finlay flipped through his papers absentmindedly while his thoughts dwelled on his supposed wife hunt. He was scheduled to meet with Earl Matthews later that day; the man wouldn’t be pleased to discover Finlay’s marital prospects had remained unchanged since their initial meeting. But lud, he’d seen to everything else on the earl’s list. Surely a confirmed bachelor such as Matthews wouldn’t fault Finlay for not embracing such a suggestion with arms wide open.

He was certain the earl wouldn’t see it that way, however.

“Mrs. Taylor resumed her teaching schedule today,” Inverray interjected suddenly, his voice seeming to carry above the din of the coffee shop. The man gazed about the shop impassively, and yet, Finlay suspected the marquess was attuned to his reaction.

That knowledge did not stop his mouth from dropping open for what felt like an entire first act before Finlay managed to wrench it closed. He snatched up a spoon and stirred his coffee, although he had not added anything to it. “That’s good news, I’m sure.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw the marquess drum his fingers on his knee. “She was quite anxious to return to her post. Outright refused my suggestion to wait a few more days. She seemed convinced that any danger threatening her had passed. Still, she wasn’t forthcoming about what constituted that danger.”

“Do you think perhaps”—he took a bracing gulp of coffee and tried again—“what I meant was, do you believe the trouble has passed?”

Finlay was aware his question was infused with a fierceness he’d be hard pressed to explain as a friendly inquiry. Thankfully, the marquess did not appear surprised by it. He instead narrowed his eyes in consideration.

“There is definitely something else there, but I don’t know what. Mrs. Taylor continues to avow she’s unaware of why she was targeted, so there’s not really any concrete evidence to pursue. That Flora convinced her to stay on at Campbell House was a miracle in itself. Mrs. Taylor is inordinately stubborn. But then, so is Flo.”

He stared into the dark depths of his cup as he considered whether to reveal to Inverray what Charlotte had shared about her in-laws. If there was potential for them to cause trouble for her, and by extension the Little Windmill House, the marquess should be made aware of what he’d learned. But then, what had Finlay really learned? He didn’t know her in-laws’ names or her late husband’s surname. He was sorely lacking details that would make the story credible.

“Oh, there’s Sorringham. I have to talk to him about a committee meeting tomorrow.” Inverray took a drink of coffee and stood, adjusting his cravat. “I’ll return in a few minutes.”

With a nod, Finlay dropped his gaze to his pile of notes, determined to put Charlotte and her troubles out of his mind for the time being. He had meetings to prepare for, and he needed to focus.

He was refreshing his memory on details surrounding the formation of the Metropolitan Police Force when he was abruptly shoved forward from behind. He jerked his head around to see what the problem was when he met a familiar face.

“Lord Firthwell, please accept my apologies.” Guillermo Torres flashed a disgruntled look at the back of the gentleman who’d pushed him. “Despite the many titles floating about the room, it’s severely lacking in manners.”

The gentleman turned at Torres’s words, his face already scrunched in derision, when his eyes widened at the sight of the tall Spaniard. Torres raised his dark brows at the man, and he immediately scuttled away.

“Why don’t you sit and I’ll signal a server,” Finlay offered, gesturing to Inverray’s empty seat with his hand. He hoped the marquess didn’t mind.

“Gracias.” The man sank into the chair and crossed his legs, popping his bowler hat on his knee. “How have you been, my lord?”

“Well,” Finlay replied automatically. “Busy with the estates and keeping up with Allie’s investment ideas.”

“Her Grace has a keen mind when it comes to numbers and opportunities. She’s already made several recommendations that have aided West Indies Interest.”

Torres was an employee of Darington’s, although Finlay wasn’t exactly sure what the man did for his brother by marriage. He did know the Spaniard was instrumental in rescuing Alethea from men who’d sought to use her against their father, the scandalous incident that led to the Earl of Rockhaven’s exile. That Guillermo Torres could be trusted was not in doubt.

An idea took form in Finlay’s mind.

Bouncing his leg under the table, he held his silence as Torres ordered a cup of coffee and a hearty slice of pigeon pie. He’d just managed to stifle a flinch when the dark-haired man speared him with an intense look. “How is your campaign advancing for the Weobley seat?”

“How did you know about that?” Finlay dropped his spoon on the table with a clang. Several gentlemen at surrounding tables glanced their way but diverted their eyes elsewhere when confronted with Torres’s intimidating expression.

“I may have just returned, but it’s my job to know things.” He shrugged and nodded politely when his food was delivered. He speared a healthy piece of pie on his fork. “I know Abernathy is standing for it as well. The conservatives are struggling to unite behind him, because there’s concern about his suitability.” Torres leaned across the table as if sharing a great secret but didn’t drop the volume of his voice a decibel. “He was involved in a messy affair with a highborn lady several years back, if I remember correctly.”

Numerous heads nodded in acknowledgement around them, and Finlay realized Torres wanted others to hear him. He’d intended to remind the busybody patrons that Abernathy was not the moral paragon his supporters were attempting to portray him as.

Biting back a laugh, Finlay smoothed a hand over his mouth. He was tempted to follow up with a witty comment of his own but thought it best to let others make of Torres’s comment what they would. Instead, he asked, “Have you told Allie and Darington of my plans?”

“Of course not.” The Spaniard raised a dismissive brow. “That is your news to share. I merely informed them you were no longer in Herefordshire, but Her Grace said your last letter had been sent from London.”

“Yes, I’ve been here for several weeks now,” he murmured offhandedly, thoughts of how he felt about the man keeping abreast of his affairs tumbling through his head.

“While I’ve seen to His Grace’s affairs, I’ve also made it a point to keep an eye on his brother whenever my business brought me to London.” The man paused, a peculiar look flitting across his face. “I regret I was not here when the late duke needed me the most.”

Finlay swallowed and dropped his gaze to the tabletop. Men working for Finlay’s father murdered Albert, Darington’s late brother. That the duke and Alethea could overcome the horrible crimes Lord Rockhaven committed against Darington’s family was a testament to their love and respect for each other.

And apparently Finlay wasn’t the only one experiencing guilt over a tragic event he’d had no control of.

“So do not be alarmed if I know how you’ve kept busy in the year since Their Graces departed for St. Lucia,” Torres said, correctly divining Finlay’s thoughts. “You are important to them, and they are important to me.”

Finlay considered this for a moment and found he was relieved his sister and Darington had such loyal people surrounding them.

He hoped a little of that loyalty extended to him when he asked, “As such, would you be available to conduct a private investigation for me?”

“Is it for your campaign?”

“It’s not.” Finlay crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s personal.”

Torres narrowed his eyes. “Tell me.”

After explaining the crux of the situation in hushed tones, the man tapped his index finger on the table. “It’s going to be difficult without names.”

“Naturally.”

“She worked at a cobbler shop in Spitalfields?” Torres’s eyes had glazed over, as if he were already mentally combing the streets for said shop.

“That is my understanding.”

“And her husband was an officer with the East India Company. First name of Roderick? Died two years ago?”

“Correct.”

Torres pushed back his chair. “This should be fun. If your suspicions about her in-laws are correct, then you would be doing her a very great service.”

Toying with the lip of his cup to avoid meeting the other man’s gaze, Finlay snarled. “No woman deserves to be treated so callously, and by those she should be able to trust.”

“Indeed. It would be my very great pleasure to reveal their sins.”

“I’ll send word to my solicitor to make a check ready for you. It should cover your travel expenses and hopefully several fine bottles of brandy,” Finlay said.

“I’d rather forgo the brandy.” A grin brightened the Spaniard’s face. “Supply me with a few bottles of the fine whisky from your vault and I’ll be content.”

Finlay chuckled, not at all surprised at the request. His maternal grandfather had one of the finest distilleries in all the kingdom. “I should have known to offer that in the first place. Darington has mentioned he should start paying you in Huntly whiskey.”

“He’d tried to, but Her Grace wouldn’t allow it.” Torres snorted.

“Where will you start your search?”

“In London.” Torres picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. “If she’s from here, then her trail starts here. There’s no reason to believe her real name isn’t Charlotte Taylor. Perhaps it’s not her married name, but I highly suspect she didn’t cloak herself with an alias. From your description of her behavior after the attempted abduction and later at the musical event, she was surprised. Perhaps she didn’t expect her in-laws to reappear in her life. It’s possible they’re threatening her. Or even blackmailing her for reasons she’s not sharing.” He scratched his chin. “If they never approved of her and all but drove her away from India following her husband’s death, there should be no reason for them to contact her now. Unless—”

“Unless they want something from her,” Finlay finished, unease sitting heavy on his shoulders.

“Precisely.” Torres devoured his last bite of pie and swiped his napkin across his face. He grabbed his hat and rose to his feet. “I was just thinking when I walked into this little shop that I was bored. Thank you for spicing things up again.” With a flourish, he donned his hat. “I’ll be in touch.”

Finlay watched him leave, hope brightening his mood. Knowing he had someone working on Charlotte’s dilemma allowed him to focus on his campaign without the feeling of guilt to nag at him.

“Who was that gentleman you were speaking with?” Inverray asked as he sank into his seat once again. He followed Finlay’s gaze to the door and slowly raised a brow.

“He works for Darington. Preceding Allie and him into port, it seems,” Finlay said lightly. If nothing came from Torres’s investigation, he saw no need to reveal private details Charlotte had shared with him.

“I think your campaign will get a much-needed boost from Their Graces’ return.” Inverray nodded distractedly at a gentleman who called his name but did not rise to greet him. “You’ve been doing a stellar job, but having the support of a duke and duchess, especially newly returned ones who all of London will be curious about, will be fantastic.”

For the first time since the morning someone had tried to abduct Charlotte, Finlay allowed himself to set aside the mystery of her troubles and focus instead on his campaign.

…

Lord Inverray had said the dinner party would consist of a handful of gentlemen and their wives. The marquess was attempting to push through a child labor bill, and the event was meant to court potential supporters. A handful still seemed like a great deal of guests to host for an “intimate dinner” to Charlotte, but Lady Flora seemed pleased with the number.

“That is the perfect amount of people for meaningful conversation, and yet enough guests to ensure you’ll find at least one person of interest to talk to,” she explained to Charlotte.

“I expect you to mingle about and speak to everyone, Flo.” The marquess’s voice had grown stern. “As hostess, you’re to make everyone feel comfortable, and that means taking the time to speak with all those in attendance, even if you find their conversation dull.”

His sister had scowled. “I’m well aware of my duties as hostess, Niall.”

Yet, here Charlotte stood, listening as two gentlemen argued the political repercussions of the Catholic Emancipation bill. Last she’d seen of her hostess, she’d been discussing the racing schedule with a burly gentleman. Charlotte was sure she was nearby but wasn’t at liberty to look for her. After catching a glimpse of Lord Inverray’s frustrated expression, she decided she could assist both of her employers by simply mingling with their guests.

So that’s what she did. Charlotte circulated about the drawing room, smiling, offering greetings, and chatting with various guests. Some immediately pegged her for a servant and ignored her, but most were surprisingly friendly. Charlotte knew she was not expected to participate in conversations, but she couldn’t help but offer observations.

“Is it possible, gentlemen, that now that the Catholic Emancipation bill has passed, relief will be considered for other religious minorities?”

Both men paused, matching frowns contorting their faces. “What other religious minorities, exactly?”

Charlotte flashed a polite smile. “From my understanding, England is one of the most religiously diverse countries in Europe. Consequently, there are many other religious groups besides Catholics. Jews, Methodists, Baptists, and Unitarians to name just a few. If Catholics are given the right to participate in political life and attend universities, shouldn’t the other groups as well?”

She feared she’d said too much when the men continued to stare at her as if she’d sprouted wings from her back and commenced hovering before them.

“I believe that’s a fair question, and one that is already being discussed as an action item for the coming session.”

With a start, Charlotte jerked her head about and met Finlay’s gaze. Where he’d come from she didn’t know, but her skin suddenly felt flushed. Her eyes greedily moved over his face before she turned away.

“I’ve heard talk that merchants in Liverpool have been organizing to push Jewish emancipation on their MPs.” Finlay pressed his lips together. “I think we can all agree that it would be unwise to alienate our merchant friends. Plus, I see no reason why Parliament would consider emancipating Catholics but not Jews.”

“You know the Catholic bill was passed only to thwart outright rebellion in Ireland.” Mr. Everhill crinkled his nose. “I don’t see the Tories discussing the topic of Jewish emancipation so soon after the last conflict.”

“I’m sure you’re right. You have much more experience working with them than I do.”

The older man puffed out his chest, and Charlotte worked hard to keep a smile at bay.

“Still,” Finlay began, linking his hands behind his waist, “the mercantile class is not without power. I suspect our Tory friends will not long get the reprieve they desire.”

Charlotte knew Finlay was only speaking practically about the issue, but she couldn’t stop the swell of pride she felt for him. It was only fair that her people finally be given the same rights and privileges as their fellow countrymen, and they would gain an ally in their fight if he were elected to Parliament.

The men talked for several minutes longer until one of them abruptly elbowed Finlay. “The Eddingtons have arrived. I suspect you’ll want to greet their daughter.”

Darting her gaze across the room, she glimpsed the pretty blonde dressed in a lovely pale pink gown as she was waylaid by several gentlemen. Charlotte’s throat felt tight, and she pivoted away. She had no cause to feel jealous of the young woman who had been kind to her when last they met.

She continued to tell herself such when Finlay chuckled and smacked the older man on the shoulder. “Yes, I better move quick before one of these swains turn her head.”

He offered his goodbyes, briefly meeting Charlotte’s eyes before he crossed to where Miss Eddington held court. The young woman beamed a bright smile as he bowed in greeting, and Charlotte was certain she’d crush her teeth to dust from clamping them together so tightly.

“Do forgive me for interrupting, gentlemen, but my sister has requested Mrs. Taylor’s assistance with a matter.”

She blinked to find Lord Inverray at her side. She mumbled farewell to the older gentlemen as the marquess looped her arm around his and escorted her from the room.

“How may I assist Lady Flora?” she asked numbly, still thinking of the way Finlay had greeted Miss Eddington.

“Flo is discussing some exhibition at the British Museum with Lady Temple.” Lord Inverray led her into the library. “She’s fine.”

“Oh.” Charlotte shook her head. “But I thought she needed—”

“It appeared you needed a moment to yourself,” the marquess interjected, his gaze gentle.

“It did?” she whispered, mortification stealing her breath.

“I doubt anyone else noticed.” His tone was conciliatory.

“But you did, and that’s enough.”

Lord Inverray looked at his feet for a long moment before meeting her gaze. “You know not to pin your hopes on him, correct?”

Charlotte lifted her chin. “I would never dream of doing anything so foolish.”

He studied her face. “Of course not. I apologize for even thinking it.”

With those words he left her, and Charlotte wondered when she’d become such a fine actress.

She slipped from the library several minutes later, her mask of composure back in place. Dread and deeper, more painful emotions lurked underneath, but she didn’t give herself time to consider them.

After checking with Mrs. Patterson to ensure everything was prepared for dinner, she entered the drawing room through a narrow side door the servants used. A tall potted plant obscured it from view, making it an unobtrusive way to map out where she should go to avoid Finlay.

A quick glance told her he presided over a small group not far from where she stood. Before she could sidestep them, she heard him say her name. “That would be Mrs. Taylor, Lady Flora’s companion.”

“She seems awfully young and quite pretty to be a companion,” a red-haired woman said, her eyes shifting between Finlay and Miss Eddington, who stood beside him.

“She’s a fine teacher and has been a great help to Lady Flora,” Finlay said lightly.

“You seem to be friendly with her.” Miss Eddington turned to him completely, as if she needed to view his face as he responded.

“I suppose so.” Finlay pressed his lips together. “She replaced my sister at the foundling home, and I promised Her Grace I would make sure her former students were well cared for.”

“I see,” Miss Eddington said slowly, her gaze glued to his face. “And once you win Weobley, do you plan on being as involved with the foundling home?”

Stroking his chin, Finlay tipped his head to the side. “I will continue to be a patron, for I believe in their mission, but I don’t possibly see how I will have time to visit. Parliament will keep me quite busy, I’m sure.”

“It definitely will,” an older man said. “There are times I’m gone all day and come home late, with barely any time to spend with my wife and children. Thankfully, they understand the sacrifice.”

“And what of you, my lord?” The auburn-haired woman took a step closer to Finlay. “Are you finally searching for a wife?”

“To sacrifice my time with?” He chuckled.

“A bride, the right kind of bride, could make your quest to secure Weobley that much easier.” The woman’s mouth stretched into a grin. A wicked grin. “But I’m sure you already know that, my lord.”

“Indeed, I do,” he said as he smiled down at Miss Eddington.

And Charlotte knew it, too. Straightening her spine, she willed herself to smother the fire that burned in her chest for him before it became an inferno she no longer had the power to extinguish. Without a second’s hesitation, she left fairy tales behind and escaped to her room.