Chapter Twenty-Six

Charlotte lifted her chin and gave Mrs. Smith a bracing smile while her insides trembled. Every instinct told her not to walk through that door. But neither would she cower.

Her aunt was sitting in one of the straight-backed chairs. Charlotte thought it was appropriate as those were the only types of chairs that could be found in the woman’s home. She didn’t believe in comfort. Thought it led to softness and Lord knew, one should never be soft.

“Aunt Martha.”

The woman lifted her head, and Charlotte had to force herself not to wince. She was suddenly reminded of the first time she’d met her aunt. Still reeling from her father’s unexpected death, grief-stricken, frightened of what her new life would be like, she’d approached her aunt in much the same way. Martha had sat there, looking Charlotte over from head to toe, frowning, dark eyes assessing.

She’d stood there for what seemed like a very long time while her aunt simply looked her over.

“Your mother was a whore,” was the first thing that Aunt Martha had said, and Charlotte had felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. Everyone had always said nice things about her mother, and to hear this was like a slap in the face. It had stung just as much.

Charlotte had opened her mouth to defend her mother, had taken one look at the hard, emotionless eyes of her aunt, and had promptly shut her mouth.

“I guess I am the only one willing to take you in. Your mother’s family knows bad blood when they see it.”

Bad blood? Charlotte had had no idea what that meant but later figured that it meant her mother had somehow tainted Charlotte. She’d refused to let herself believe it and held tight to the stories her father and Lady Crawford had told of her mother.

Now, five years later, and much older, Charlotte felt the same as the fifteen-year-old girl standing before her aunt back then.

“I see you’ve landed on your feet,” Martha said. “Just like a cat.”

Charlotte refused to rise to the bait. Instead she sat in the chair opposite her aunt. “What do you want, Aunt Martha?”

Her aunt sniffed and looked around. “No tea?”

“I don’t think you’ll be staying long enough for tea.”

Those dark, bottomless eyes flashed anger, but she pressed her lips together. “Not much of a house for an earl.”

Charlotte didn’t feel that she should have to explain Jacob to her aunt, but she did so anyway, because old habits died hard. “The earldom is new to us. We’ll be moving into the Hyde Park house soon.”

Her aunt tipped her head and studied her, much the same way that she’d studied her all those years ago. “I see the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. I knew you would end up like your mother at some point. I tried my best with you, Charlotte. I tried to beat the demons out of you.”

This wasn’t the first time that she’d heard about the demons inside of her. She’d spent countless nights lying awake in terror, afraid those demons would come out of her like smoke out of a lamp. She’d pictured them exiting her body through her nose and mouth and then reentering her body the same way.

“You certainly beat me enough,” Charlotte said.

“It was for your own good, girl. Don’t forget it.”

“I think you enjoyed beating me. I think you had some twisted satisfaction in beating me and Edmund.”

“Edmund has nothing to do with any of this.”

“Doesn’t he?”

For a moment, Charlotte thought she glimpsed fear in the woman’s eyes, but it was quickly extinguished.

“Did you come to wish me well on my new marriage, aunt?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why did you come?”

“I’d heard the rumors and wanted to see if they were true. I tried to hire him, you know. Your husband. I tried to hire him to find you. You ran off, and I was worried.”

“Worried? About me? I’m touched.”

“Freedom has obviously not been good for you, girl. You’re mouthy. If you were living with me I’d—”

“I know exactly what you would do, and that’s precisely why I’m not living with you.”

Charlotte blamed Jacob for giving her the courage to speak her mind to her aunt. Or maybe blame wasn’t the right word. Maybe credit would be a better word. Thanks to Jacob she finally had the fortitude to speak her mind.

Aunt Martha sniffed. “I see you have no respect for your elders. You never have.”

“Respect must be earned.”

The woman’s fingers folded into fists as if she wanted to strike Charlotte. And Charlotte, sensing her anger, braced herself for the strike.

The door opened, and Charlotte was never so glad to see Jacob in all of her life. He seemed to fill the doorway as he took in the scene.

“What’s happening here?” His voice was low and controlled, but Charlotte sensed the anger vibrating through him.

“Aunt Martha has come to call,” she said with a bright, forced smile.

His gaze flickered to her then back to her aunt as he entered the room.

“I see you’ve managed quite well,” Aunt Martha said to Jacob. “I asked you to find my niece, and not only did you find her, but you wed her.”

When Jacob pulled up a third chair and sat next to Charlotte she felt that she could finally breathe a bit easier. His presence made everything better.

“It seems you didn’t tell me the entire story of why Charlotte ran away,” he said.

Martha’s lips twitched. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You said you had no idea why she would have run. Then later you said that she wasn’t quite right in the head.”

“Yes, well, you will find that out soon enough. The girl’s not right. Bad blood on her mother’s side.”

Charlotte clenched her fists in her lap as anger hurtled through her. But Jacob appeared calmer than ever as he studied Martha.

“Yes, I’ve heard about that. Marrying for love is such nonsense,” he said.

Charlotte looked at him quickly. What was the game he was playing?

“Marrying for love is so trite,” Martha said, shaking her head. “Such a shame. I wanted better for the girl.”

“The girl? You mean Charlotte?”

Martha sniffed and looked away.

“I think she did well enough,” he said.

“Caught herself an earl.”

Jacob leaned back and crossed his ankle on top of his knee to rest his wrist on it. “Tell me, Lady Morris, how is Edmund…I mean Lord Morris?”

For a moment Martha didn’t seem to know what to say while Charlotte waited for her answer with breath held.

“The same as always. Not good for much. Like his father.”

“God rest his soul,” Jacob murmured.

Martha’s face paled a bit.

“I heard he was taken suddenly. Sick one moment, dead the next.”

Charlotte drew in a breath, surprised at Jacob’s crassness.

Martha eyed him shrewdly, seemingly not at all offended.

“I hear your wife died a terrible death,” she said. “Childbed fever is not an easy way to go.”

“No, it’s not.”

Charlotte could only watch in wonder as the two matched wits, trying to outdo each other, in what? Their ability to shock and bully? It was like a duel with words, with neither flinching at the pointed barbs.

“I lost my son, too,” he said. “It must be so nice that you still have Edmund to comfort you.”

Martha seemed to squirm ever so slightly in her seat. “If Edmund were a normal person then yes, it would have been nice.”

“But he’s not normal. Is he?”

She looked away, then quickly back as if she didn’t want him to sense vulnerability in her. “He’s normal enough, I guess.”

“You guess?” he raised a brow at her.

“He’s Edmund. That’s about all I can say.” She seemed to gather herself, and Charlotte tensed for a verbal attack. She’d learned early on to detect her aunt’s moods. “So, you married the girl for what? Did you tup her, and she forced your hand? It would be just like her. She’s not much different than her mother.”

Charlotte winced.

“I married her to save her from you,” he said.

Martha opened her mouth and then closed it.

“I can’t imagine from what,” she sputtered. “I took her in. I fed her, clothed her.”

“Loved her? Taught her how to be a young lady?”

“Bah. Love makes a person soft, and there’s no need for her to be a young lady when she was meant to serve me for the rest of my life. Oh, yes, didn’t you know, Charlotte?” A wicked gleam entered Martha’s eyes. “I was grooming you to take care of me in my older years. No one else to do it, might as well be the scraggly orphan.” She pointed a bony, crooked finger at Charlotte, and it took everything Charlotte had not to back away from it. “You owe me, girl.”

“I would have killed myself if I had known that was my fate,” Charlotte said.

The finger wavered, and finally she lowered it to her lap. “That’s a sin. Desecration of a body that God gave you.”

“Like killing innocent women is not a sin? Cutting their heads off? Tossing them in the river for the fish to feed off of?”

For a moment Martha was completely still, the color drained from her face. She stood quickly. Charlotte stood, too, her instincts kicking in from so many years of dodging the woman’s open hand.

She raised that hand, pulled it back, and Charlotte stood her ground, head high, not willing to let the woman see her fear. Not anymore.

Jacob stepped between them. “I think it’s best you leave, Lady Morris. And it would probably be good if you didn’t come back.”

Slowly, her hand dropped to her side, and Charlotte could see that she was trembling with rage.

What had this visit really been about? Did her aunt want to see with her own eyes that Charlotte was truly out of her reach, or did she want to assess the situation to determine what her next move would be?

With a harrumph Martha moved toward the door.

“Aunt Martha.”

The woman turned reluctantly, her hand on the doorknob. “We both know why I left, and it had little to do with your treatment of me.”

For a moment the woman looked old and frail, her wrinkles more defined, her once erect shoulders stooped. “I have no idea what you’re speaking of, girl.”

“I think you do. I think you know what Edmund is doing, and you’re frightened for him. Maybe even frightened of him.”

She scoffed, but this time Charlotte saw the deep-seated fear. “That boy? He’s too much of an idiot to do anything other than what I tell him. Has no brain, that one. Not good for anything.”

Charlotte had heard this dozens of times. It had made her feel sorry for Edmund. Until he’d destroyed her doll. And then she’d tried to stay away from both of them.

“He needs help,” Charlotte said, thinking maybe she could get through to her aunt. She seemed vulnerable at the moment, a little lost. Maybe Charlotte could help.

“He needs a good beating. Get those demons out of him. Prayer is what he needs.”

“If you’re frightened then you need to tell the police what you know.”

Aunt Martha raised her chin, looked down her nose at Charlotte. “What would I be frightened of, girl? My own son?” She laughed, a reedy sound that was more like a wheeze. “You’re daft, just like I told your husband you were.” She jutted her chin toward Jacob. “You’ll find out soon enough, I suppose. God save you then.”

She swooped out of the room. Charlotte moved to the window where she could see her aunt descending the steps and climbing into her decrepit coach.

Jacob put his hands on her shoulders. “How are you?”

“Shaken, but surprisingly well. I wasn’t expecting her to visit.”

“What did she want?”

“That’s what I can’t figure out. Why come now?”

“Talk about daft. She’s about as daft as one can get.”

Charlotte leaned back into the strength of her husband. “You were magnificent.”

He laughed. “That’s high praise, indeed.”

“You were so well composed, as if she wasn’t getting under your skin, when I knew she was.”

“That’s what I do. I’ve interviewed countless criminals and victims. You can’t let them see that they are getting to you or they win. Your aunt is no different than them.”

“I wish I had known you sooner. I wish you could have been there to point this out to me when I was younger and terrified of her.”

He squeezed her shoulders. “I don’t think it would have had the same effect on you as it does now.”

His hands slid down until he wrapped his arms around her middle.

Good Lord, but I love this man.