Chapter Twenty-Seven

It took every ounce of discipline Finlay possessed not to draw Charlotte into his arms and hold her close. Her skin was starkly pale. Her eyes were haunted. Her hair was lank and damp. She looked like she had just stolen across the river Styx and had not yet reclaimed her corporeal form.

But if he was to free her from this place, and from the threat of her former in-laws, he needed to focus.

After a surprised pause, Mr. Townsend dipped his head and offered him a benign smile. “Good gracious, Lord Firthwell, I did not expect to see you here.” Sliding his gaze to Charlotte, he smiled. “Whatever would people say if they knew why you’d come?”

Rage turned his vision red, but he didn’t react to the taunt. He was saved from responding when Inverray crossed the room and extended a hand in greeting to him and then to Darington. “Your Grace, it’s a pleasure to see you. I hadn’t realized you’d returned.”

“Just yesterday, in fact.” Darington shook the marquess’s hand. “Once I learned what was happening here, I insisted on accompanying Firthwell.”

“And I appreciate it. Darington, this is the man I told you of. Mr. Townsend.” Turning to the older man, he gestured to his brother-in-law with his hand. “This is His Grace, the Duke of Darington.”

Townsend’s head jerked back, but he quickly recovered, bowing politely. “Your Grace. I’m honored to make your acquaintance.”

“We will see if you feel the same in a bit,” Darington drawled. Showing the man his back, he approached Charlotte. She scrambled to rise, but he held out a hand to stop her. “Please don’t get up. You’ve been through an ordeal. But I am pleased to meet you. Firthwell has told Her Grace and me much about you.”

Charlotte offered a tremulous smile, a small dusting of color settling over her cheekbones. “The pleasure is mine, Your Grace.”

“Why exactly are you here, Firthwell?” Townsend planted his hands on his hips. “I understand Lord Inverray and Lady Flora’s presence in this place, as they are Mrs. Taylor’s employers, but I fail to understand why you are here.” He tapped his chin. “Unless this is your way of showing that she’s now under your…protection.”

Lady Flora’s sharp gasp punctuated the air, and Finlay clamped his jaw tight. If such an accusation were made publicly, he’d be sunk. He planted his feet. “I will not dignify your insulting innuendo with a response.” He pulled a roll of parchment from his coat. “I’m here because I have some information I thought you might like to know before you commit to persecuting Mrs. Taylor for a charge you know is false.”

“False? No, my lord, it is not false.” Mr. Townsend smirked. “She has all but admitted to selling the ring.”

“And the warden agreed the full case should be heard by a magistrate before a sentence is enacted,” Inverray said through his teeth.

“Be that as it may, I would prefer for Mrs. Taylor to remain here until that can happen.” The older man slicked his mustache with a finger. “I believe I’ve provided you with ample reason to agree with me.”

“And what reason would that be?”

With a muscle ticking in his jaw, the marquess dragged his gaze from Townsend to look at Finlay. “Townsend here has made it known he will tell others there is a thief employed at the foundling home, thus hindering our fundraising efforts.”

Finlay rocked back on his feet. “That is rather—”

“Callous? Cruel? Underhanded?” Lady Flora offered, ticking the words off her fingers.

“All of those things.” Finlay raised his brow. “However, his threat should not concern you.”

Townsend snorted. “I would not take me and my connections for granted, my lord. I may not possess a title, but I have plenty of power.”

“Oh, I know you do. But I’ve come here with enough information to guarantee you leave Mrs. Taylor alone for the rest of her life.”

“Wh–what do you mean, Fin?” Charlotte sounded breathless, as if she feared voicing the question.

He dropped to his haunches in front of her and grasped her hands. “They lied to you. While you were tending to Roderick as he fought that horrible illness, Townsend located his will and tossed it in the fire.” Finlay narrowed his eyes at the man over his shoulder. “Roderick’s valet told us he helped you locate the paper in your son’s belongings and watched as you cheerfully destroyed it.” He squeezed her hand. “The valet tried to find you to tell you what he saw, but you had already fled.”

She was silent for a moment, her eyes large. “They wouldn’t let me stay for Roderick’s funeral.”

A low growl filled the small space as he rose and advanced on Townsend. “She was his wife. Whether you agreed with their marriage or not, your son loved her. He provided handsomely for her in his will. But in your bitterness and spite, you eschewed the opportunity to welcome a daughter into the family. You turned out your son’s grieving widow in a foreign country without a farthing to her name.”

Townsend notched his chin up and looked away. But Mrs. Townsend seemed compelled to defend her husband. “Roderick had always been a dutiful, loving son until she came along. Then, he wanted nothing to do with us.”

“Perhaps because he realized what vile people you are.”

Mrs. Townsend’s face became a mask of indignation. Finlay expected her to fire an insult back at him, but she held her tongue. Apparently good breeding stayed her temper.

“Thankfully, my man was able to locate a copy of the true will from Roderick’s London solicitor, outlining how his entire estate would go to his beloved wife, Charlotte Townsend.” He returned to her side and leaned close. “He loved you, Char, and did everything he could to provide for you. Don’t ever doubt that.”

An odd silence ensued, as if the occupants of the room held their collective breaths. But Charlotte just sat there, expressionless… until he saw the tears filling her eyes.

…

A sob wrenched free from Charlotte’s throat, and she hunched over, burying her face in her hands. Deep, soul-cleansing cries tore from her chest, and tears singed their way down her cheeks. She tried desperately to contain her emotions, but now that she knew the truth, knew that Roderick had not abandoned her as she’d convinced herself he had, there was no controlling the relief flooding all her extremities. It overflowed her heart.

While she cried, Finlay held her hand, his finger sweeping across her knuckles in a comforting touch. Lady Flora sat close to her side, a warm and steady presence.

Finlay continued, “The one thing I couldn’t understand, Townsend, was why you and Mrs. Townsend were so determined to see Charlotte excluded from Roderick’s will. Why did you show up unexpectedly, and without invitation in India?” The moment was so ripe with apprehension that Charlotte lifted her head to peer at him. “And then I found the notes.”

“The notes?” she croaked.

“The gambling notes.” He looked steadily at Mr. Townsend, who returned his stare with dull eyes. “Isn’t that correct, Mrs. Townsend?”

She hiccupped in surprise. She shot her gaze to the older woman, whose visage had turned a florid color. “I don’t understand.”

“Mrs. Townsend has a weakness for vingt-et-un.”

“And whist. Craps. The horse races.” Mr. Townsend snorted, shaking his head. “The woman would bet on whether the sun would rise in the morning if she thought someone would take it.”

Something resembling pity drifted to the surface of Charlotte’s conscience, but she ruthlessly drowned it. Roderick’s mother didn’t deserve her goodwill.

“So when her debts became greater than you could handle, I’m sure a trip to India, under the guise of visiting your son and his wife, seemed the perfect excuse to flee your creditors.” Finlay’s voice had dropped an octave. “And when you arrived in Bombay and found your son deathly ill, how long did it take you to start looking for his will?”

“Now see here,” Townsend said, drawing himself up and tugging on his waistcoat. “We were distraught to find Roderick so sick.”

“Reginald began searching through Roderick’s stuff the day we arrived,” Mrs. Townsend interjected, clutching a handkerchief to her face.

Townsend glared at his wife but didn’t dispute her claim.

“And that is why you sought Charlotte in London, is it not? Because once again, Mrs. Townsend’s debts were threatening to send you to debtors’ prison.”

“She remembered that we never recovered my great great grandmother’s ring from Roderick’s belongings.”

“That’s because Roderick’s belongings were not yours to claim.”

“The ring was valuable. Priceless even.” Mrs. Townsend sniffed. “Been in the family for generations. That alone should have been reason enough for her to return it.”

“But I had been part of the family, too,” she whispered.

Mrs. Townsend dismissed this with a snort.

“Did you try searching for the ring while you were still in Bombay?”

“Of course we did,” the older woman snapped. “But it was near impossible in that horrid place. So many thieves and cutthroats. Savages. The lot of them.”

Finlay appeared unmoved by the woman’s sentiments as he stared at her. “I find it odd you claim not to have been able to find the ring. See, Roderick had the ring catalogued in his will, providing a detailed description and appraisal. Armed with this information, my man visited various jewelers and pawnshops in London. And isn’t it an odd coincidence he found a ring matching the description at a shop within a ten-minute hackney ride of your home?”

Unfurling his fist, he revealed a delicate gold ring. The sight of it was like a vise had snatched her lungs and squeezed them tight. With a trembling hand, she allowed him to place it on her palm. She studied it, each detail a bittersweet jab at her memory.

“Is it the ring, Charlotte?” Lady Flora asked.

She could only manage a nod in response.

“The shopkeeper said a woman matching your description, Mrs. Townsend, had come in not a fortnight past and sold it.” Finlay tapped his chin. “Another odd coincidence, don’t you think?”

Mr. Townsend rotated to look at his wife, his eyes large. The woman stared at the ground, unwilling to meet his gaze.

Lord Inverray cleared his throat. “Townsend, it would appear your wife located the ring in Bombay, after all, and has had it in her possession this entire time.”

“At least until she recently sold it.” The duke squinted his eyes. “I’m not certain one can accuse another of theft when nothing has been stolen. What say you, Townsend?”

The older man said nothing, a sickly green pallor coloring his skin.

“I quite agree, Darington. I assume the amount she received for the ring was put toward another silly wager. But with her debts closing in around you, you then came up with a new scheme to extort money from Mrs. Taylor.” Finlay’s eyes shot green fire. “Did I get that right?”

“The debtors are starting to circle.” Mr. Townsend tugged on his cravat, panic leaching his skin of color. “I was desperate! And then I saw her at Campbell House and had to act.”

“Well, your debts have been sold.” Finlay’s triumphant smile was disarming. “To me.”

A deafening silence descended on the room. Charlotte was certain her jaw had unhinged. And a strange fire roared in her chest, and tears filled her eyes. She suspected it was love.

For her.

He had done it for her. Even though she had threatened to reveal his darkest, most scandalous secret, he had defended her. There was no other reason for Finlay to have bought the Townsends’ debt. The cynical side of her reasoned he could have done it to ensure his political future. But he turned to her then, his gaze gentle.

“You’re not alone, Charlotte. You will never be alone again.”

She believed him. After everything he’d done for her, the multitude of ways he’d made her feel treasured and valued, despite her lowly beginnings and humble circumstances. She now knew, without a shred of doubt, he truly cared for her.

“So you bought my vowels.” Townsend squared his shoulders. “What are your terms?”

Finlay tilted his head to the side as he considered the man. “I am content to leave the terms you’re used to unchanged, except”—he slid his gaze to hers—“for a few conditions.”

“Such as?”

“You’ll resign your position. Immediately.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ll retire to your country seat, but not before you publicly claim Mrs. Taylor as your son’s widow.”

As Inverray chuckled in the background, Townsend scowled. “Even if we do recognize her as Roderick’s widow, she still won’t win you Weobley. There are too many voters who will question your judgment. They’ll be suspicious of her, like we are.”

“Let them. I’ll delight in watching her prove them wrong.” Finlay advanced on the man. “If I learn any negative word concerning Mrs. Taylor has fallen from your lips, I’ll call your vowels due immediately. If I hear you’ve returned to London, for any reason, I’ll double your loan payments. And no sudden trip to India would be able to save you. Do I make myself clear?”

Townsend swallowed, his eyes darting to his wife before he nodded. “Perfectly.”

“Excellent.” Finlay offered Charlotte his arm. “Let us leave this place, my dear.”

“Yes, let’s,” she agreed, pressing into his side.

Before they swept out the door with the duke, Lord Inverray, and Lady Flora, Charlotte glanced at the Townsends. Mrs. Townsend was weeping softly into a handkerchief, but her former father-in-law observed her with a crinkle in his brow. When he met her gaze, he nodded.

Charlotte suspected she was finally free.