Chapter Twenty-Six

Finlay thundered up the front steps of Darington Terrace. He’d already sent a note to Torres’s rooms but couldn’t bear to wait for the Spaniard to appear. He needed to tell Alethea and Darington what had occurred, and if necessary, ask his brother-in-law to throw his ducal title around with as much force as possible.

He hadn’t had the chance to knock on the door before the butler opened it. As he stepped into the foyer, he glimpsed his sister bustling down the hall, her eyes glued to a piece of parchment in her hand.

“Lockley, can you please have this delivered to—” She stopped, her mouth falling open. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here. Come with me.”

Without another word, she pivoted and headed back down the hall. Finlay followed closely behind.

When they reached the study, she opened the door to reveal Torres speaking to the duke in front of the fireplace. Both men turned to him with expressions of surprise.

“My, that was quick,” Darington said with a nod of approval.

“He arrived before I could send the note,” Alethea explained. She turned an expectant look on Finlay. “Torres has news for you.”

“And I have news for you.” He exhaled. “Charlotte’s been imprisoned in Newgate for theft.”

His sister gasped. “What? Why?”

He briefly explained what occurred when he’d returned to Charlotte’s flat, including what he’d learned of the Townsends’ blackmail. Clenching his jaw, he withdrew the locket from inside his coat.

“It was foolish to have taken it from the safe, but I wanted you to see it, Allie. It’s one thing to read of their affair in the diary.” He swallowed. “It’s another to see proof of their affection.”

Alethea accepted it from him silently. She inspected the outside before lifting the latch and glimpsing the portrait and note within. Her face grew pale.

“How would Mrs. Taylor have even known the significance of the locket?” Darington asked.

Finlay brushed a hand across his mouth. “I had already told her the truth.”

The room grew silent as everyone pondered the import of his actions.

“Well, I believe Torres has a way to help her,” the duke said.

Finlay’s gaze darted to the Spaniard, hope flaring to life. “Have you found anything?”

The man’s lip curled up. “Oh, there were many skeletons in Townsend’s closet.”

Long minutes later, Finlay stood looking down at the information Torres had managed to collect on Charlotte, her late husband, and his family. So many lies. So much resentment, and for no other reason than Charlotte was Jewish and had married above her reach.

“This should be more than enough to implicate Townsend.” Darington picked up a document, his eyes skimming it while his expression darkened. “Once you reveal what you know, I don’t see why the warden wouldn’t release her.”

“You need to ambush him with the details.” Torres leaned a hip against the desk. “He already knows you have a connection to Mrs. Taylor, so he’ll probably be expecting you. If he thinks you might maneuver to see her released, there’s no guarantee he won’t try to have her moved or even transported. You want him to have his guard down, so when you make your move, he’s vulnerable.”

“How do you propose I do that?” Finlay walked to the sideboard and grabbed a decanter of brandy, pouring himself a glass. He threw back the contents. “Leading Townsend to believe I’m not interested in Charlotte’s well-being would mean waiting. And I refuse to wait while she’s locked in that vile place.”

“I agree. We can’t leave Mrs. Taylor there.” Alethea nodded as if she were the final word. “But there has to be some way to catch Townsend by surprise.”

A knock sounded on the door. The butler appeared.

“Your Grace, a visitor is here looking for Lord Firthwell. A Mr. Duncan Campbell. May I show him in?”

“Yes,” Finlay and Alethea said at the same time.

Lady Flora’s intimidating cousin walked through the door, his eyes immediately alighting on Alethea. “Your Grace, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Alethea rushed forward to grasp his hand. “It’s been too long. How have you been? How are the horses?”

“Allie-love,” Darington murmured softly.

Alethea pressed her palms to her cheeks. “Goodness, how easily distracted I am these days.” Turning to Duncan, she said, “You needed to speak with Firthwell?”

“I do, but I’m sure Flo will be relieved when she discovers all of you are here.” He rocked back on his feet. “She’s only now headed to Newgate. Inverray was detained and not able to depart as quickly as Flo had hoped. I was tasked with watching the Townsends. Flora believed you would want to know the instant the man left the party to head to the prison. She seemed to think you would want to be there when he was.”

“I do,” Finlay said. “Hopefully one of us will make it there before him.”

“It will be a close thing. Traffic is bad.”

Alethea clapped her hands together. “I’m assuming Townsend has learned Lord Inverray has gone to see her, and he’s probably rushing back to ensure his prize prisoner is not freed before he can contest it. While he’s there arguing it, you can appear and put this whole matter to rest.”

“Muy bien, Your Grace,” Torres said, nodding in approval. “While Lord Inverray wields a good deal of clout, it’s best to assume the warden is in Townsend’s pocket. His lordship’s presence will grant you time, but you’ll need this to see her cleared completely from the allegations.” He gestured with his chin to the sheets spread across Darington’s mahogany desk.

Finlay closed his eyes as he played out how the scene would unfold when he arrived at the prison. Not only would he surprise Townsend with his unexpected appearance, but hopefully Charlotte as well. She needed to know he would stand with her. Fight with her. Defend her as much as she allowed him to.

“We don’t have a second to lose.” He had to get there before Townsend. He feared what the man would do if he thought Charlotte was without friends. Finlay turned to Darington. “Will you come?”

The duke didn’t hesitate. “Of course. I’m sure I’ll be superfluous, but one of the perks of being a duke, I’ve found, is any opportunity I have to throw the title around.”

…

Voices in the corridor awoke her.

How the soft murmurs pierced the haze of her troubled sleep she didn’t know, but Charlotte was instantly wary. Without changing her position, she strained to hear the conversation, fear a staccato in her throat.

“She needs to be on the next ship to the Australian colonies.”

“Really, Townsend, you want her transported over a ring your son gifted her? Even for you that’s cruel.”

“If I wanted your opinion, I would ask for it. Now, I expect you to see it done. And fast. She has friends, and I don’t want them to thwart this.”

“Get the transport papers signed all proper like, and I’ll see it done. But if she has powerful friends, there could be trouble. I won’t put myself in front of the firing squad without protection, so the paperwork has to be in order.”

“I’m off to retrieve my wife, but I will ensure everything is neat and tidy, for I want the whore gone.”

The voices disappeared down the corridor, and Charlotte pressed a fist to her mouth.

Mr. Townsend wanted her to be transported? Her mind struggled to comprehend the kind of hatred he possessed that would fuel such a request. Surely there was more to the root of his animosity than her marriage to Roderick. Would she ever be able to escape his toxic reach?

Perhaps she’d find relief in Australia, she thought with a dry chuckle. Cor, but the Townsends might just travel to the other side of the world to kick her into the mud again.

Several long minutes or hours—she had begun to lose track of time in the blackened cell—the light from a lantern pierced her eyelids. Blinking furiously against the harsh glare, she was able to make out a familiar feminine form.

“Faith, Charlotte, you’re frozen through,” Flora said, crouching by her side and assisting her to stand. With a flourish, she draped a wool blanket about her shoulders, and Charlotte sank into the warm folds with a sigh of relief.

Lady Flora ushered her through the narrow cell gate and down a series of paths, preceded by a guard carrying a lantern. Thrusting open a door, the woman led her into a cramped office and deposited her in a chair near a roaring grate.

Her fingers were stiff. Her dress was damp. Her bones ached from being curled on the hard stone floor in her cell. And she was exhausted. The cries, coughs, and bouts of laughter had made sleep miserable. She still wasn’t sure if she was dreaming or not.

“Niall, she can’t stay here a moment longer. I refuse to countenance it.” Flora spoke to the marquess, but her eyes were fixed on the warden.

The older man sighed, as if he had just waged a lengthy battle. He probably had with the Campbell siblings as adversaries. “As I told you before, your ladyship, I can’t just release Mrs. Taylor because you say so. She has been accused of theft and all but confessed as much to a magistrate.”

Charlotte blinked. “I did not confess to theft! I confessed to selling a ring that was rightfully mine.”

The man snorted. “Likely story.”

“The magistrate did not give me an opportunity to explain the situation properly,” Charlotte declared, her hands balling into fists around the cloak.

“And what, pray tell, was the situation?”

Mr. Townsend stood just inside the door, his wife peering around him. With their arrival, the room felt that much smaller. And infinitely more hostile. Still, she was not fighting this battle alone. Lady Flora and the marquess had come to help her, and that knowledge caused her to square her shoulders.

“I admit to selling it. However, it was my ring.” To the warden she said, “Did he tell you that? It was my wedding band that their son had given me. It was mine to do with as I saw fit.”

She stated this truth firmly, meeting first her father-in-law’s gaze and then her mother-in-law’s. Whether they had approved or not, Roderick had married her. No machinations on their part now could change that fact.

“Ah, but see, when he died it was no longer your property. A woman is not allowed to own property outright—her possessions are her husband’s. Thus, when Roderick died, and it became clear he had not made provisions for you in his will, his property diverted to his beneficiaries.” Townsend’s grin was predatory. “My wife and me.”

“That’s a rather predatory viewpoint, don’t you think?” Lady Flora’s voice dripped with contempt. “Mrs. Taylor’s husband died in India, and you immediately turned her out. Not only did she lose her husband, she lost everything else. And in a foreign land. Disgracefully heartless, if you ask me.”

The marquess grunted in approval, the glare he directed at the Townsends filled with disdain.

“I would say it was heartless of her to marry our son against our wishes,” Mrs. Townsend said, speaking for the first time. “If it wasn’t for you, he never would have left for India.”

Charlotte tried to keep her voice calm, but the Townsends’ determination to paint her as some dime novel villain was infuriating. “Roderick was already scheduled to report to Bombay when I met him. Perhaps he would have considered requesting a transfer had you been more accepting of our engagement.”

A scowl overtook the older woman’s lined face. “You poisoned him against us. I know you did. Your kind is sneaky and underhanded.”

Charlotte bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from responding to the woman’s wrath-filled words. Lord Inverray had no such compunction.

“You’d do well to remember in whose presence you’re uttering such disgusting prejudice.” The marquess didn’t move, and yet his presence seemed to dominate the space. “There are many Jews in my acquaintance who work hard and strive to make England a better place for all. It’s grossly unfair to reduce them all to a cliché.”

If Mrs. Townsend intended to argue Inverray’s point, she quickly snapped her mouth closed when she caught her husband’s eye.

“I’m sure my wife is just upset. This whole situation has been very vexing.” He turned to the warden, spreading his hand before him. “That ring has been in the Townsend family for six generations. For it to be sold, for no doubt a fraction of its worth, in some dusty, dirty Bombay market is insulting. She has to pay for this transgression.”

The warden wiped a hand across his brow. His gaze kept flitting between Lord Inverray and Mr. Townsend, deep grooves etched into his forehead. It was apparent he was not keen to thwart Lord Inverray, and yet his eyes kept returning to Townsend, his pupils wide, as if seeking guidance. In that moment, Charlotte was certain the man had received a handsome compensation to see her locked up, and he didn’t want to forfeit it.

The warden cleared his throat. “I think it would be best if Mrs. Taylor was brought before a magistrate for him to sort out the details. I’m not qualified to make such a judgment.”

The marquess slapped his hand against his thigh. “Grand idea. Until such a hearing is convened, her ladyship and I will take Mrs. Taylor to Campbell House. We will ensure she arrives at the hearing at the appointed time.”

“I would prefer if she stayed here,” Townsend interjected.

“I’m sure you would,” Flora grumbled, her teeth bared at the man.

“Do you doubt my word?” Inverray’s voice could have cut glass.

“I do not.” Townsend smoothed hands down his lapels. “But Mrs. Taylor manipulated my son, and despite your best intentions, I’m convinced she’ll try to use her wiles on you.”

“Crafty, I tell you,” Mrs. Townsend added, thrusting her chin in Charlotte’s direction.

Lord Inverray rolled his eyes. “I assure you, I have the utmost respect for Mrs. Taylor, but I’ll not have my head turned.”

“Warden, may we have a moment to speak in private?” Mr. Townsend clasped his hands together, the picture of politeness.

“Of course,” the man said before he stepped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Charlotte, Lady Flora, and Lord Inverray slid their gazes to Townsend. Unease threatened to choke her. Why had he requested to speak with them in private?

Keeping his hands clasped in front of his large belly, he rocked on his feet. “I feel we are at a crossroads, my lord. You believe Mrs. Taylor should be allowed to return to your luxurious home in Mayfair, where she’ll enjoy all the comforts your stately townhome has to offer. I believe she should stay here as a punishment for her crime.”

“Only you deem it a crime.”

“Be that as it may,” the older man conceded, “I feel we can come to a compromise.”

“Is that so.” The marquess flexed his jaw. “And what do you propose?”

“Here is my proposition: you leave now without Mrs. Taylor, and I won’t disclose that a known thief is working for you as a teacher.”

“I beg your pardon.” Flora’s voice had risen an octave, the color high in her cheeks.

“Explain yourself,” Lord Inverray demanded.

“It has come to my attention your little foundling home is seeking additional donors.” Townsend lifted a shoulder. “You certainly won’t attract the illustrious patrons you desire with a criminal on your staff.”

Cor, it’s what she had feared, except Mr. Townsend wasn’t threatening to ruin Finlay, but her employers. She pressed a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. After everything his lordship and Lady Flora had done for her, Townsend was intent on destroying their hard work for it.

Gulping a breath of air, Charlotte affixed an approximation of a smile on her face and laid a hand on her friend’s arm. “Perhaps it would be best if you and his lordship left. I will be all right. You know I’ve survived worse.”

“But you shouldn’t have had to,” a wonderfully familiar voice declared.

With a gasp, Charlotte jerked her gaze to the door. There stood Finlay, a striking, dark-skinned gentleman behind him. But Charlotte processed this detail in passing, for her eyes wanted only to rest on the viscount. She released a shaky breath, as if just his presence had reminded her heart to beat again.

Prowling into the room, he stopped when he stood adjacent to her chair, and his heat thawed the parts of herself she’d thought were better left frozen. “Mrs. Taylor will be leaving this godforsaken place today, and allow me to explain why.”