Raise my dowry.” It was the first, most logical solution she could think of.
Edward’s eyebrows shot up. Even Simmons, who was the best of London butlers and rarely expressed any kind of emotion, cocked his head as he turned from the front door to help Edward from his greatcoat.
“Should we discuss this elsewhere?” Edward asked, handing the butler his hat and gloves and glancing around the foyer. Two footmen stood nearby whose eyes were trained on their slippers, but who weren’t, in fact, as part of the wallpaper as they’d like to appear.
Charlotte had been waiting on the stairs most of the day for her brother to arrive home, sitting on the landing, swirling patterns in the thick pile of the rug. She didn’t want to wait any longer, not even as long as it took to walk to Edward’s study.
“Don’t you think it’s time, Ned?” she asked as she trailed after him down the corridor. “This is my fourth season and I remain unmarried.”
Edward didn’t answer until they’d reached the study and the door had firmly shut. He turned to her, his arms crossed, with the expression he normally reserved for disagreements with their brother or when casual negotiations with an ambassador over port turned hard.
“Your dowry is incredibly generous. Your lack of a husband is not due to a lack of money.”
From the desk by the window, Fiona cleared her throat, drawing attention to her presence. She tucked a tooth-worn pencil into her braid and gathered her papers. “Should I leave?”
Edward nodded curtly, but Charlotte held up her hands. “No. Stay.” John had been Fiona’s mentor. He’d been the one to teach her chemistry and physics after he’d caught her reading his scientific treatise rather than sweeping the floor as she’d been hired to do. Fiona owed John her entire career. If the subject came up, she would definitely side with Charlotte on the matter.
“It is a generous dowry, brother, and I’m appreciative. But it’s clearly not enough. I’ve had but two suitors this season, and neither were the caliber of men to make my insides flutter.” Her insides hadn’t truly fluttered in years. There had been the occasional flip when a particularly handsome man had said something flirtatious. But the heart-racing, breathless, butterflies-rioting-inside-her feeling that characterized her interactions with John had disappeared when he had.
She’d thought they’d disappeared for good until she’d seen him again last night.
Edward rubbed the spot between his eyebrows. “What sum do you think will attract a gentleman that fifty thousand would not?”
“Eighty thousand pounds.”
Edward dropped his hand, his eyes wide. He stared at her as though she’d grown two heads.
He was going to say no outright. She was certain of it. He had that cautious expression he used when he was looking for a way to deny a request without beginning an argument. She’d seen it during the dinner she’d arranged with the German ambassador the month before, and he was giving it to her now.
Fiona used her husband’s momentary silence to interject. “That’s a very specific number, Char,” Fi said, crossing to her husband and pushing him not-so-gently toward the armchairs by the fireplace. “What need do ye have of eighty thousand pounds?”
Drat. She’d wanted to avoid this particular part of the conversation. She’d hoped to first convince Edward to increase her marriage settlement and then speak to John before sharing the plan with her siblings. When dealing with the duke, one needed all of one’s ducks lined up neatly.
But it was clear Ned was not about to agree to the increase without a more specific explanation.
She took the seat opposite the two of them, spread her skirts out neatly, and then folded her hands in her lap. Edward’s fingers drummed on the chair’s arm.
“John is being forced to marry Lady Luella Tarlington because her eighty-thousand-pound dowry would solve his financial predicament. Luella.” She added the last for emphasis.
Edward’s expression shifted. It was as grim as the gathering clouds outside. The drumming stopped and his fingertips pressed into the leather. “No.”
It was the answer she’d expected, so she remained calm. It was merely the first point of negotiation. “Why not? You can afford it. You’re one of the richest men in England.”
Edward closed his eyes for a long moment before he opened them and caught her gaze in his weary one. “Charlotte, be reasonable. It’s not about the money.”
Drat. Money was easy to haggle. “Then what? John is your friend. I would think that you’d want to help him secure his estates and stay free from the fangs of that woman. Fi, tell him.”
Fiona shook her head softly and the hope Charlotte had been holding on to slipped. How could she? After everything John had done for her, how could Fiona turn her back on him?
Putting aside the steep disappointment, Charlotte turned her attention back to the man who held her future in his hands. “Well then? What reason could you have not to support one of your oldest friends?”
Edward’s face twisted at her criticism. “I will support him in every way I can,” he said through gritted teeth. “But that does not include allowing him to marry my little sister in order to save his own hide. Money be damned, it is not a union that I will stand for.”
Charlotte couldn’t remember the last time her brother had raised his voice at her. She never gave him cause to.
Her eyes burned hot, but she refused to cry in front of him. She drew on the anger that roiled in her belly. “Why would you do this? After you wrecked everything by sending William away, you swore you’d not repeat your mistakes. You promised not to dictate my choices. You allowed me to turn down every proposal, even though I knew you wanted me to find a husband. Why are you so insistent on having your way now that I’m finally doing as you wish? And in a manner that would help everyone?”
He shifted in his seat, settling in for a long fight. “You want a reason other than your request to near double your dowry?”
“Yes. I know you, brother. You don’t make decisions based on money. You make decisions because you think they are right. So, what is your true objection to my marrying John? Tell me. Because from my point of view, it makes perfect sense. I must marry and so must he. It would be a convenient match.”
“Because it would break you, Char. Because you have loved him your entire life and his marrying you for your money would break you.”
Embarrassment engulfed her. They had argued about John before, but never had Edward so blatantly spoken of Charlotte’s infatuation. For him to use it against her now was cruel.
Besides, it was an irrelevant argument. Just because there was no love between her and John now didn’t mean they wouldn’t find it ever. She would be his wife. Over time, love could grow.
She turned to Fiona for support once more, pleading silently.
Fiona responded with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Char. But I agree with yer brother. It’s nae wise. ’Tis not a match that could work.”
She clenched her skirts in her fists, not caring about the deep creases she was creating—just needing some physical release for frustration. “How can you know that? How can either of you possibly know that?” Their presumption was infuriating.
“Because you’re not a good fit, Char,” Edward snapped. “You’re too different. You love people. You need to be around them. You haven’t been home a single night this month. John would hide away from the entire world if he could. He only returned to London because his brother died and I have no expectation of him staying. One of you would be miserable in that union, and I will not chance that it be you.”
Fiona leaned toward Charlotte, putting a restraining hand on her husband’s arm. “I thought you want to marry for love, Char,” she said gently. “Wasn’t that why you turned down all those proposals? Why would you accept a marriage of convenience now?”
She had been looking for love. She’d turned down so many exceptional matches because she’d been searching for someone who ignited that spark, that giddiness, those rioting butterflies. But they had never come. Season after season she searched, and season after season she was left wanting. The only person she’d ever been drawn to was John. He might not love her, but at least she knew he would treat her well. He and Edward wouldn’t be such close friends if John were a cad.
“I didn’t think love would be so hard to find,” she admitted. “Now that it’s clear that a grand romance isn’t in the cards for me, why shouldn’t I marry if I could achieve something worthwhile doing so? At least we know that we all like him. He’s been a kind and loyal friend to you both.”
Fiona reached over and put a hand on Charlotte’s knee. For a second, Charlotte thought that perhaps the argument had been won. But then Edward spoke.
“No. It is my greatest wish to see you happy. Marriage to him won’t deliver that. If John is foolish enough to propose, I will not give my permission.”
* * *
John was asleep once again. Once again, he was dreaming, this time of pink lips that were in constant movement—thoughtfully pursed, quirked in amusement, thinned with skepticism. They smiled at him, shyly. Teeth caught the lower lip. He couldn’t wrest his eyes from them. Couldn’t stop his body from reacting to their fullness, to how soft and kissable they were. He slid his hand through long, black tresses.
Knock, knock. Newton barked.
“Blast it, Mosely.”
The door opened slightly. Through the crack, the butler called, “Lady Charlotte Stirling to see you, my lord.”
Lady Charlotte. With midnight black hair and full, pink lips. His memory was too perfect not to know exactly who he’d been dreaming about. What the devil is she doing here?
John pulled on stockings and breeches and jammed his feet into slippers. He shrugged into the shirt he’d left hanging on the back of a chair and quickly put on a waistcoat and jacket. He tied his cravat as he walked down the hallway, Newton padding after him.
As he reached the foot of the stairs, he paused. None of the drawing rooms were in a state to receive visitors. John had opened as few rooms as he could get away with when he came home. Surely Mosely hadn’t admitted her into John’s private rooms again.
The butler caught John’s hesitation. “She’s waiting out front, my lord.”
“Thank you, Mosely.” He nodded. Taking a fortifying breath, John stepped outside. The grey clouds that had formed yesterday still obscured the sun, but given the way Charlotte beamed at him, it was a good thing. Much more brilliance, and he’d be blinded. “Why are you standing out here?” Damn. Should have started with a greeting.
She tipped her face toward him. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as though she hadn’t noticed his appalling manners. As she caught him in her gaze, his heart kicked hard, almost as if it were struggling against him. Her tongue flicked across her lips so quickly, a normal person might miss it. But that image was now burned into his brain along with every other memory of her, and instinctively he knew where his dreams would take him tomorrow.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” she said, oblivious to the direction of his thoughts. “It would be inappropriate for a single woman to visit a man’s bachelor lodgings.”
This whole blasted scene was inappropriate. Wilde was his best friend. Charlotte was Wilde’s sister. These heady thoughts were a betrayal.
Newton, who had trailed John to the front step, barked and jumped up, his front paws landing on Charlotte’s shoulders. She faltered only for a second, eyes blinking at the dog whose snout was suddenly only inches from her own. Then she grinned, and gave both ears a good scratch, seeming not to care about the dog hair that was covering her kid gloves.
“Down, Newton,” he barked, heat creeping up his neck. Newton never behaved this poorly.
The dog sat, his tail wagging briskly in the dust of a stoop that hadn’t been swept in God knew how long, looking up at Charlotte adoringly.
Trying to ignore the way his companion’s immediate acceptance of Charlotte made John’s insides tighten, he focused on his uninvited guest. “You visited yesterday. Was it not inappropriate then?” It would be best for all involved if Lady Charlotte came over less.
If she thought him a grouch, she didn’t give a hint of it. “Yesterday I brought food with me. In my experience, society will overlook a lot of questionable behavior if you sweeten the experience with a good meal.”
“And today?” Surely her standing alone on his doorstep, in full view of those who were walking down the street, was also questionable.
“Today, we’re to promenade.”
John could not think of a less appealing way to spend the afternoon. The thought of getting dressed up and strolling through the ton, leaving himself wide open to any pointed arrows they shot his way, made him shudder. “Lady Charlotte—”
“Call me Charlotte.” Again, she hit him with that bright smile, so dazzling he almost forgot what he was about to say.
“Charlotte, this isn’t a good time.”
A small crease formed between her brows. “Why not? What were you doing?”
“Sleeping.” And enjoying every minute. Especially the dreams he was having of raven hair and pink lips and skin so soft it begged for his touch. No one in their right mind gave up dreaming for the odious task of walking through Hyde Park.
The small snort she gave dislodged a brick in the wall that he was desperately trying to erect between them. “Goodness. Well done,” she said. “I would sleep until mid-afternoon every day if my commitments allowed it. How heavenly that must be.”
“Quite.” And he would still be sleeping if she hadn’t invited herself over.
“But you’re awake now, and we can take Newton for a walk.”
Newton barked. His tail swished side to side with excited vigor, his jaw lolling open, his lips pulled back in a wide doggy smile.
Blast. John sighed, unable to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Now there is no choice. You uttered the ‘W’ word.”
* * *
John hadn’t been to Hyde Park in well over a decade. He had driven past it a few times in recent days as he traversed London paying calls on all the tradesmen to whom he owed money, but each time he’d been so focused on the tasks before him that he hadn’t paid attention to the ton’s favorite playground.
He and Charlotte were gaining the attention of the flocks of women who strolled the path and picnicked on the lawn. They would look in his direction and snap open their fans, bending their heads to whisper behind the decorated rice paper.
Nausea swirled in his stomach. He tried to relax, but his muscles remained clenched tight and his jaw clamped shut.
Charlotte looked perfectly comfortable under such a microscope. She acknowledged the strangers with a quick wave or greeting but never allowed them to engage her in lengthy conversation, deftly rebuffing all questions directed at him in a manner that left no one offended.
Despite her apparent willingness to be at his side, she would pull subtly on his arm each time a new person caught her attention, as though she would flutter from one person to the next were he not there weighing her down.
He would leave her to her socializing, if he could. If walking off mid-promenade weren’t exceptionally rude. If Newton wouldn’t consider a walk cut short the grandest of betrayals.
Yet, regardless of his discomfort at the onslaught of people, the touch of her hand on his forearm felt like a mainstay. When the gossip around them threatened to overwhelm him, he focused his attention on that point, where the warmth of her fingers through her gloves held him steady.
“I have a solution for our problem,” she said once they had reached a relatively deserted section of the park.
Warning bells rang. “Our problem?” It had been a mistake to reveal so much to her yesterday. But there was something about her that teased words from him when he’d normally stay quiet. Despite the lack of logic or reason, his instincts were to trust this woman whom he barely knew.
His body swayed toward her, unbidden, without permission or input from his mind.
“Yes,” she said. “Our problem. I love Edward. His dilemmas are mine. You’re Edward’s oldest friend, so your dilemmas obviously concern him, which means your problems are ours, which is lucky for you because I am very good at problem-solving.”
She was so like her brother. She shared the same Wildeforde arrogance. The same Wildeforde loyalty. The former was a characteristic not uncommon among the ton. The latter was a trait he was unused to, given its utter absence within his own family.
But Wilde had been a steadfast friend for decades, always by John’s side in the face of cruel taunts and unlikely challenges. That his sister was equally faithful should not have been unexpected.
Luckily, Charlotte barreled on with no need for him to put his thoughts into suitable words.
“You’re going to speak with Lord Campbell about potential mining opportunities on your estates. He was completely destitute this time two years ago, with three daughters unwed and a wife with a penchant for collecting Ming dynasty china. Then, he found a coal seam under his property and now he’s so brimming with cash, his butler must beat away fortune hunters with a sharpened broom handle.”
There was such satisfaction in her tone that the part of him that hated to disappoint people was tempted to congratulate her for the suggestion, however unfeasible it was. The other part of him wanted her to stay well out of his business. “There are no coal seams near any of my properties,” he said curtly.
Her brow furrowed. “How do you know?”
“Coal is predominantly found in the north, where peat bogs are more abundant. My estates are further south.”
“Oh.” She colored slightly, pursed her lips, and for a moment her eyes flicked toward her shoes as though he’d embarrassed her. Before he could apologize, she raised her gaze, squared her shoulders, and turned to him. “I hear that investments in companies such as the Dutch East India Company, or other such imports, can be quite lucrative. My friend’s husband purchased a stake in the company a few years back. They seem rather flush, to be honest. I’ve rarely seen her wear the same thing twice, though I can’t agree with such waste.”
The Dutch East India Company, and ventures similar, were not avenues he would explore. The scientific community was a wide, closely knit network of philosophers that spanned the globe, which was how John knew exactly the damage such companies were wreaking on the countries they traded from. There wasn’t a single capital city in Europe, Asia, or the Americas where John did not have some associate, and the stories they conveyed alongside their scientific discoveries horrified him.
But such stories were not fit for ladies’ ears, so he offered a different excuse. “There are few short-term investments that could deliver the funds I need within the necessary timeframe. Most investments need a full year or more to mature and I don’t have that.” He had hoped to be back in Boston by September.
Lady Charlotte narrowed her eyes, tapping her finger against the shaft of her parasol. “There must be another way. Something more palatable than marriage to Lady Luella. Have you nothing left to sell?”
His temper darkened even further, until it matched the increasingly gloomy skies above. “Trust me, anything Walter could sell before he passed, he sold. There is not a single piece of artwork on the walls. The silver is gone. Even some curtains have been taken by his tailor in lieu of payment. The only thing of value I have is the engineering firm, and selling that is not an option.”
He’d spent his adult years building that company. It was literally the product of his sweat, blisters, and endless nights grappling with challenge after challenge. The firm was his life, and those connected to it—Asterly and Amelia, Wilde and Fiona, Oliver the foreman—were his true family, the only people in this world who could be counted on. Selling his shares would be selling his soul.
Besides, he needed the biannual dividend it paid to keep the fires lit in the many homes he was now responsible for. And, when one of the ideas currently knocking around his brain fully formed, he would need that partnership in order to bring it to fruition. He needed Fiona as a sounding board and Benedict to help turn a theoretical concept into a physical product. No, he could not sell the firm.
“There wasn’t a single thing left on the walls?”
John shook his head. “Even his wardrobe was bare.”
Charlotte’s brows furrowed. “That’s odd. Walter was superbly dressed to the end. I saw him the night before he died, you know. I remember thinking the opal buttons on his jacket clashed awfully with the gems in his cufflinks. It was far too ostentatious to be fashionable, even with our set. A family could live for a year off that outfit alone.”
Walter’s extravagance was not a surprise, but now that Charlotte mentioned it, the lack of clothing in the home when John arrived was odd. His mind began its usual leapfrogging of thoughts when Charlotte sighed deeply and his attention caught on the slight whoosh of her breath and the way her shoulder relaxed against his arm and the slowing of his own heart rate as though his nervous system was somehow intrinsically linked to hers.
She continued to nod toward the groups that were looking her way, but her parasol twirled in her fingers in a way he imagined her mind was circling over his predicament.
Now would be the moment to head off any further interference, to reestablish a distance between them. Yet the words refused to come.
“This really is a pickl—” The parasol lurched to a stop as her fingers clenched the curved ebony handle. Her lips thinned the way her brother’s did when he was confronted by something distasteful.
John searched their surroundings, looking for the source of Charlotte’s discomfort.
Damn. There, making a slow but deliberate journey toward him, was Lady Luella Tarlington, flanked by two young women whose expressions weren’t nearly as artful. Where Luella looked as calm as a balmy summer day, her sentinels looked like vicious guard dogs.
Beside him, Newton’s ears went flat, a low growl reverberating through both him and John.
John gave him a reassuring pat on his flank and the growling stopped, but Newton’s teeth remained bared. The set of Charlotte’s jaw suggested that beneath her saccharine smile, her teeth were likewise clenched.
“Well, well, well,” Luella said. “What a surprise to see you, my lord. When you didn’t pay a call this morning as I was expecting you to, I assumed you were on your deathbed. What other reason could you have for not following through on your commitment?”
He’d made no such promise to the chit and was tempted to say so, but a public dismissal would draw attention. Not to mention it would probably destroy the only salvation open to him at the moment, as much as he was loath to accept marriage as a solution to his predicament.
So he forced a smile. “Lady Luella. You look beautiful. That color becomes you.” God, he hated the artifice of this society. He couldn’t wait to get away from it all.
Her eyes narrowed and John was certain he was about to experience a tongue-lashing. But the blows never landed.
Instead, Charlotte’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on the sleeve of his coat. “Lulu,” she said. “Tell me you haven’t fallen so low as to demand a man’s presence in your drawing room? Wouldn’t that be rather desperate?”
Luella’s eyes narrowed. “Desperate? Like saying yes to every do-gooder cause, joining every committee, and championing every misfortunate wallflower that enters society because that’s the only way you can get anyone to like you?”
Charlotte went rigid, her fingers digging into his arm fully now. A quick look down showed the blood draining from her face. Her throat bobbed. The quick-witted comeback he expected never materialized.
“Was there something you wanted?” he asked, when he realized how deeply the insult had affected Charlotte. Luella’s smug expression was vile. There was nothing John hated more than a bully, and he’d spent far too many years as a target not to see Luella for exactly who she was.
The shrew dragged her eyes from Charlotte’s stricken expression and turned her attention to John. “Lady Mortlake is having a gathering tomorrow night. There will be an invitation waiting for you when you return home. I look forward to seeing you there.”
A gathering. Where he was going to have to talk with other members of the ton. Where he was going to have to practice niceties he didn’t feel. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her where to take Lady Mortlake’s invitation, but until he found another solution to his financial woes, he couldn’t set fire to this particular bridge. He swallowed hard. “I’ll b-be there.”
The scorn on Luella’s face as he stumbled over his words caused heat to creep up his neck. The two sentries she had with her twittered.
“It’s a shame that you’re not invited,” Luella said to Charlotte, throwing one last triumphant look in her rival’s direction as she left.
“Well,” Charlotte said, plastering a clearly false smile on her face. “That was unpleasant. One more example why we need a way out of this situation.”
* * *
Charlotte was still fuming at Luella’s comments when John dropped her off at the front of Wildeforde House. Luella was simply the worst. How dare she insinuate Charlotte was unlikable? And in front of John! Charlotte’s ears burned just thinking about the insult—which was patently untrue.
She was beloved. She worked very hard to be so. Supporting causes was charitable. Joining committees was responsible. Making wallflowers comfortable in a ballroom was kind. Only a monster like Luella would suggest that any of these were bad things.
“I’m fine, Grace,” she said in response to her maid’s concerned look. “Go about your errands. It’s only two blocks to Lady Pembroke’s home. I’ll be perfectly fine without an escort. Her maid can accompany us to Bond Street.”
“If you’re sure, my lady.”
Charlotte was sure. She needed to walk off her embarrassment. There was no good reason that Luella’s comments should have frozen Charlotte’s tongue as they had. Luella had said plenty of awful things in the past and Charlotte had had a retort for each of them. But Luella’s snipes had never hit so personally before.
John, to his credit, had been perfectly kind. Once Luella had departed, he’d made no mention of the comments and had instead described a recent report on the long-term effects of the eruption of Mount Tambora. She’d had no idea the particularly chilly year of 1816 was due to a volcanic eruption, nor that debris could hang in the air for such a long time. The yellow skies that she’d thought uncommonly pretty, but that she hadn’t questioned the provenance of, were, in fact, the result of sunlight interacting with gases in the atmosphere.
His storytelling had almost distracted her from her anger. Almost. Until he’d taken her hand and told her, “I like that you champion wallflowers.”
And then she was reminded once more of how Luella had thoroughly bested her, and how frustrated she was, and how she needed to be better prepared for their next encounter.
She’d been marching quickly toward Josie’s home on the corner of Berkeley Square for no more than thirty seconds, rehearsing future comebacks to such insults, when a young man with a shock of curly orange hair that clashed vividly with his bright red soldier’s uniform appeared from nowhere. He clamped a hand onto her wrist and dragged her toward a waiting hackney cab.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” She swung her reticule, taking satisfaction in the solid thud as it hit her assailant up the side of the neck. There was a roll of pennies inside; William had taught her that safety trick long ago.
“Ouch. Blast. I’m sorry.” The boy tried to raise both arms to protect his head, wincing as he did so. That was when she noticed the sling holding one wrist against his uniform.
“You are Lady Charlotte Stirling, sister of Captain Stirling?”
Charlotte’s hand clenched around the strings of her reticule, ready to swing once more. Only the mention of her brother gave her pause. William had been in the army for almost four years—ever since Edward had thrown him out of the house and cut him off for his irresponsible behavior. She’d received only sporadic letters from him since. “Who’s asking?”
The boy’s free hand tugged at the frayed edge of his sling as he looked around before leaning close to her and whispering, “I have a message from the captain. He asks that you come to him immediately.”
Her heart plummeted. It was a ruse, surely. A cruel one, given how desperately she wanted to see her brother again. If William was home, the army would have sent official word to Edward. William would have returned to Wildeforde House, or at least to his bachelor’s residence, and sent for her through a proper footman, not a grimy lad in a uniform so worn and filthy it was almost unrecognizable.
“My brother is fighting in Burma. Now leave me at once and be glad I don’t report you for accosting a lady in the streets.”
“Sorry ’bout that,” the boy muttered. “Captain said you weren’t an uptight one.” He dug into his jacket pocket and then held out his palm. In it was a ring she knew well—one that bore the Wildeforde crest. It was a masculine version of the ring that currently sat snug on her right hand. It bore a small sapphire.
She snatched it from the boy’s hand. “Where did you get this?” she asked as her fingers closed over it, pressing the metal into her palm.
“I told you—your brother. Please. He needs you.”
It would be beyond foolish to go anywhere with this man. He was a complete stranger and clearly not a gentleman. She should call for help. But the thought of William in trouble pulled at her. He was the person she loved most in this world, and she’d always been there for him when he needed her.
“If Will has truly returned, then why haven’t my brother and I been informed? If he’s hurt, then surely his superiors would have informed the duke.”
The boy shrugged, but he was not practiced in artifice well enough to conceal the fact that he was hiding something. “I don’t know why. I just know he needs you, and there is no time to argue.” There was a strained tremor to his voice. His fingers were twisting the knot of his bandage and he watched her with such desperate intensity that she was inclined to believe him.
It was possible. Her brothers had fallen out badly before William joined the army. Will had sworn that he’d never speak to Edward again. It did not beggar belief that he would return to England and not send word through proper channels.
“Where is he?” she asked. “Take me to him now.”