intrusion. Would his mother side with him or her? But after a moment, she caught the sound of carriage wheels moving off down the street and sagged with relief.
“You can’t come in,” repeated the woman.
She was dressed like an upper servant, probably Lady Isabella’s dresser, Charlotte thought. She would have waited up for her. “I’m sorry. I am Charlotte Wylde, a… a friend of Lady Isabella’s. Perhaps she has mentioned me? It was rather… an emergency.” She quailed at explaining exactly what kind.
“I don’t care,” the woman said with surprising rudeness. “You have to leave.”
Charlotte was suddenly exhausted. She had to sit down. “If you would send someone for a cab, I will go. But right now, I need…” She tried to walk around the woman, who stepped sideways to block her. “I’m sorry to be a bother,” she added with some annoyance. What was wrong with this woman? “I must sit for a moment.” Evading another sidestep, Charlotte moved to a dark archway and found herself facing a totally empty room. Puzzled, she stepped across the front hall and discovered another—bare floor and walls, no furniture, nothing but some ornate draperies blocking the view from outside.
“What are you doing here?” Lady Isabella stood on the stair landing, her hair down, wearing a lacy nightdress and wrapper.
“You have no furniture.” The words escaped Charlotte before she could stop them. It was just so odd.
Lady Isabella looked past her to the servant. Some silent communication passed between them.
“I beg your pardon for intruding this way, I was…” How did you explain to someone that her son had behaved like a blackguard? Charlotte felt a hand close around her upper arm.
“You look worn out,” said Lady Isabella. “Come upstairs and tell me what’s wrong.”
“Oh, no thank you, I only need a cab…”
“Nonsense.”
The dour servant urged Charlotte up the steps. She was unexpectedly strong, and Charlotte couldn’t shake her off. Above, the corridor was bare, and they passed two empty rooms before entering a luxurious bedchamber. The gown Lady Isabella had been wearing at the opera lay on the bed.
“Do sit down. Perhaps some of the hot milk, Martha?”
Charlotte was pushed into an armchair by the fire. “No… really… I just want to go home.” The servant went to a tray on the bedside table.
“Where is Edward?”
Charlotte turned to Lady Isabella. “He… he had too much champagne, I think. And…”
“Forgot himself? Oh, dear.” She gestured, and the servant handed Charlotte a glass of warm milk.
“I don’t want…”
“My dear, it will do you good. Please, this is all my fault. Have your milk, and then we will get you home.” Mistress and servant gazed at her, clearly not intending to move until she complied. It was all extraordinarily odd, but all Charlotte could think of was her own bedchamber, with Lucy waiting to help her to bed. The idea almost made her weep. She drained the glass. “Send someone out to find a cab, Martha.” Lady Isabella smiled. “It may take a little while. You just rest.”
The dour woman went out. Charlotte put her head back and passionately wished herself elsewhere. Why did Lady Isabella live in an unfurnished house? It made no sense, although it reminded her of… she couldn’t remember. She was so tired. The evening had been a strain, and last night had been… glorious but complicated. She was so worried about… so many things. And then Edward and the run through the dark streets. Her eyes closed. She opened them. It would be impolite to… The world wavered and faded to black.
***
“You lied to me,” Lucy said. Her voice broke; she couldn’t help it. She wanted to be angry, but it near broke her heart to think Ethan had slipped something past her, knowing full well she wouldn’t like it a bit. Here she was, as worried as she’d ever been in her life, and the one she ought to be able to turn to had gone sneaky.
“I didn’t lie,” Ethan began.
“You did the same thing as.” With all the coming and going between the two households, it had been certain that Lucy would learn Tom the coachman had left Sir Alexander at their house, alone with her mistress. Miss Charlotte had been acting right odd ever since then, too, though she denied it. Lucy couldn’t forgive Ethan for hiding the information from her. She’d been avoiding him. But this morning, anxiety had propelled her into a cab to Sir Alexander’s home. It was the Trasks’ day out, and she