was finally clear of the confusion brought on by the drug given her, and she reviewed all that had happened in the last few days. Lady Isabella really had confessed to Henry’s murder and the robbery attempt; that had not been a dream or delusion. She’d confessed without a trace of guilt. Charlotte still found it incredible. Clearly, Lady Isabella’s mind was unbalanced. Somehow, she had concealed this, living in that sad, empty house, subsisting on gossip about other people’s misfortunes. Why had no one noticed? Why hadn’t her own son noticed?
Edward—he had gone to her. What would he do? And was it to be left up to him? Didn’t she have an obligation to notify the authorities?
She could clear her name, an eager inner voice pointed out. The Bow Street Runner’s hateful accusation would be proven wrong once and for all. She could have the pleasure of throwing his mistake back in his ferrety face and forcing him to apologize. She enjoyed that idea for a few minutes.
But her brief satisfaction would come at what cost? A murder trial in the family would bring scandal crashing down on all of them. Her own pitiable history with Henry would be dragged into a public courtroom and rehashed for all to hear. More than that, the gossip would spill over onto Alec and Anne and Lizzy and Frances. Perhaps she had no social position to protect, but it would wreck Anne’s debut. Edward would be followed by whispers wherever he went; how he would detest that! She had a notion that trials went on for months; the ton would relish every twist and turn. She could see it so vividly—gentle Anne walking into a glittering ballroom and hearing murmurs fall silent, facing a sea of hard, avid eyes. Charlotte shivered and drew the coverlet higher. She couldn’t let that happen.
No one but Alec knew the Runner had accused her. As far as the world was concerned, Henry Wylde had been killed by footpads. It was old news now, mostly forgotten, and no one had cared very much in the first place, Henry being Henry. Perhaps Lady Isabella’s crimes could be kept secret, though of course something must be done about her… The main thing was—Alec must know the truth. That was all she really cared about, Charlotte realized. She had to forever erase that excruciating moment when he had looked at her with pained suspicion.
Charlotte clutched the bedclothes closer. Alec. She was in his home, but she didn’t feel welcome. They’d been greeted with such reluctance. The servants would be gossiping about it even now. Why had she arrived unheralded in an old farm cart? Where was her luggage? Why was she visiting when all the ladies were away? That in itself was… say unorthodox, to be charitable. What would Alec say when he returned and found her here? When he heard the news she had to give him? Their first encounter since he’d held her in his arms would be fraught with complications. More complications. As if there were not enough already. Charlotte had a craven impulse to flee. Perhaps she and Lucy could sneak out to the stagecoach stop and…
A knock on the door brought Lucy upright. She blinked blearily, then jumped up at a second knock and opened the door. Two maids stood outside, the friendly one who had brought them upstairs, and the one who had made such a fuss about their arrival. The latter gazed avidly into the room. “We’ve brought your things,” said the first cheerily. She carried a small valise. “And some hot water.” The other maid had the can. “I’m to tell you dinner’s in an hour.”
“Has Sir Alexander returned?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” They deposited their burdens. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No,” said Lucy. “That’ll do fine. Thank you, Sally.”
They left. Lucy rubbed her eyes and then bustled about opening the case and pouring hot water into the washbasin. “A good thing we took off your dress,” she said. “It’s not a bit crumpled. Too bad it’s a morning gown, but that can’t be helped. We’ve got your brushes and all, so that’s all right.”
Lucy’s gown was sadly crushed from her nap on the chaise, Charlotte noticed. Her presence was such a comfort in this house. “I haven’t thanked you properly, Lucy, for coming after me. I’m sorry. I believe the drug they gave me was still having an effect.”