Five

“A lady in your position cannot be too careful, Miss Patterson.” Charlotte smiled at the woman seated across from her. She had a theory that it was good business to compliment a client’s foresight and caution. “You were wise to verify the impression Mr. Adams made.”

“I told myself I must be careful.”

“Indeed. But I am happy to inform you that our inquiries produced no reason to doubt either Mr. Adams’s credibility or the security of his financial situation.”

“I do not mind telling you that I am enormously relieved to hear that. I do not know how to thank you.” Honoria Patterson, a pleasantly rounded woman with a pretty face and warm eyes, visibly relaxed her fierce grip on the reticule that rested on her lap.

There was an air of sweet, soft femininity, almost a maternal quality about Honoria, which made her appear a trifle fragile. Charlotte was not deceived. She knew full well that any woman who had kept her spirits strong and optimistic after nearly ten years as a governess was no delicate flower.

Honoria was typical of many of the clients whom Charlotte assisted. She was nearing thirty and had never been married. After struggling to support herself since the age of seventeen, she had come into a small, respectable, and completely unexpected inheritance.

Predictably, a handful of suitors had materialized in the wake of the news of Honoria’s good fortune. She had dismissed most of them without hesitation. A governess learned early to be wary of a gentleman’s intentions. But one, William Adams, a widower in his early thirties with two children, had captivated her interest and, apparently, her heart.

As she had explained to Charlotte, the years she had spent instilling the principles of logic and sound reasoning into her young charges had given her a measure of hard-won wisdom and a healthy sense of caution. A friend who operated an agency for governesses had referred her to Charlotte.

“I’m delighted to have been of service,” Charlotte said. “Especially so in a case such as this where the results of our inquiries are positive.”

“I am so very fond of Mr. Adams.” Honoria blushed. “And the children are delightful. But you know how it is. Ladies of our advanced years must question a man’s intentions. After all, the world considers us well and truly on the shelf.”

On the shelf.

Charlotte sighed. She was already twenty-five. Where had the time gone? she wondered. It seemed only yesterday that she had been desperate to create a career that would allow her to support herself and her sister. She had devoted all of her energy and passion to the task and somehow five years had gone by in the blink of an eye.

She did not regret having passed beyond what Society considered a marriageable age for a lady. Business had improved noticeably, in fact, after she began to look as though she were no longer fresh out of the schoolroom. But she could not help wondering now just what she had missed never having known the thrill of passion.

The sense of wistfulness startled her. She was not lonely. She took great satisfaction in her work. She had her independence. What more could she truly want? Perhaps she had, indeed, been reading too much poetry lately, she thought.

Nevertheless, she did not want Ariel to follow precisely the same path. The business was important and Ariel was keenly interested in it. But Charlotte did not want her sister to sacrifice everything to it, as she had done. There was no longer such a pressing need. They had sufficient income to keep them in comfortable, if not luxurious, circumstances. If her plans to attract clients from the Polite World proved successful, a bit of luxury would even be possible.

She would give a great deal to ensure that Ariel had an opportunity to experience some of the innocent pleasures of young womanhood. Such pleasures should have been part of her inheritance. Those advanced years that Honoria had mentioned came all too quickly.

With the ease of long habit, Charlotte pushed aside the intrusive thoughts. She forced herself to concentrate on her client.

“A sensible, intelligent woman must be cautious in a situation such as this, Miss Patterson,” she said briskly.

“After all, it is not as though I am a beauty,” Honoria said in the practical tone of a woman who has long since accepted the facts of life.

Nor am I, Charlotte thought with a fresh twinge of unease. Last night Baxter’s passion had clearly been induced by the excitement they had shared. She had to be prepared for the possibility that he would no longer find her so alluring now that the stimulating effects of danger had dissipated.

“And what with this recent inheritance from my cousin,” Honoria continued, “well, I’m sure you comprehend why I felt the need to make inquiries into Mr. Adams’s background.”

“I understand.”

“I never expected to marry. Indeed, I had convinced myself that I was quite content with my life now that I am financially independent. But Mr. Adams came along and suddenly I saw other possibilities. We share a great many interests.”

“I’m delighted for you.”

This was not the first time that one of Charlotte’s clients had become excessively talkative after receiving good news. Initially, the ladies who sought out her services tended to be tight-lipped and extremely reticent. They were invariably stiff with tension when they first sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk. Teacups rattled against saucers. Gloved hands fluttered anxiously. Expressions were solemn.

When the news was bad, tears usually flowed. Charlotte kept a pile of linen handkerchiefs in one of her desk drawers for such unhappy occasions.

A favorable report, however, frequently induced a mild euphoria. It made some clients want to chatter endlessly about the recently verified virtues of their suitors.

Generally speaking, Charlotte simply listened and made encouraging noises. Satisfied clients made excellent, very discreet references. She could afford to be generous with her time during the final interview.

But this afternoon, Charlotte had an inexplicable urge to do the talking. “I am happy for you, Miss Patterson. And pleased that I was able to confirm your good opinion of Mr. Adams. But you must realize that there is always some risk for a lady when it comes to marriage.”

Honoria gave her a quizzical look. “Risk?”

“I have done my best to make certain that Mr. Adams is not a drunkard. He is not given to outrageous wagers. He does not frequent brothels. He has a reliable income and he appears to possess a stable, calm temperament.”

Honoria glowed. “All in all, a wonderful gentleman.”

“Yes. But you do realize that I cannot absolutely guarantee that Mr. Adams will remain such a model of masculine perfection after the wedding.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Charlotte leaned forward impulsively. “He could decide to abandon you and his children next year in order to go off in search of adventure in the South Seas. Or he might grow bored with his new life as a husband and take to drinking too much wine. He may suffer a siege of melancholy that will cause him to become extremely unpleasant. There are any number of things that can go wrong in a marriage.”

“Well, yes, I suppose that is true.” Honoria shifted uneasily in her chair. Her gaze became wary. “I realize that there can be no guarantees in a situation such as this.”

“Precisely. Yet you choose to go forth along the path that leads toward marriage.”

Honoria frowned. “You seem a bit agitated of a sudden, Miss Arkendale. Is something wrong?”

“I am merely wondering why you are so set on marrying Mr. Adams. It is not as if there is no alternative.”

“I told you, none of the other gentlemen interested me in the least.”

“That is not what I meant by alternative. Miss Patterson, may I ask you a question that is of a somewhat personal nature?”

Honoria glanced at the door, as if gauging the distance. “What is it you wish to know, Miss Arkendale?”

“Forgive me, but I cannot help wondering why you do not consider the possibility of a discreet liaison with Mr. Adams. Why hazard the dangers of marriage?”

Honoria stared at her. For an instant Charlotte was afraid that she had offended her in an unforgivable fashion. Silently she cursed her impulsiveness. Business was business, after all. She could not afford to go about horrifying her clients.

“Have an affair, do you mean?” Honoria asked with a refreshing candor.

Charlotte flushed. “It would seem to be an obvious solution. Granted, a young lady could not engage in a romantic liaison without bringing scandal down on her head, but a woman of, ah, our mature years has more freedom. So long as she exercises discretion, of course.”

Honoria regarded Charlotte with a thoughtful expression. Then an odd little smile curved her mouth. “Perhaps you have been engaged in your present career a trifle too long, Miss Arkendale.”

“What do you mean?”

“It strikes me that the business of making inquiries into gentlemen’s backgrounds may have given you a rather cynical view of the world and of gentlemen, in particular. Perhaps you have lost sight of the reason why a lady would choose to make such inquiries in the first place.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“An affair may do very well for some people.” Honoria adjusted the strings of her bonnet and got to her feet. “But Mr. Adams and I are both looking for a good deal more.”

“I do not understand.”

“It is difficult to put into words, Miss Arkendale. If you do not intuitively comprehend the answer to your own question, I doubt that I can explain it to you. Suffice it to say that one enters marriage with hope.”

“Hope?”

“And trust. And a vision of the future.” Honoria gave her a pitying glance. “An affair cannot offer any of that, can it? By its very nature it is an extremely limited connection. If you will excuse me, I must be on my way. I thank you again for your services.”

Charlotte jumped to her feet, driven by the questions bubbling forth inside her. She suddenly wanted to know what Honoria Patterson sought in marriage that could possibly make it worth the dreadful risk of finding oneself shackled to a man such as Winterbourne.

There were even worse possibilities, she reminded herself. Possibilities that sprang straight from the heart of a nightmare. What could make it worth the risk of binding oneself to a monster such as the creature who had slithered in the shadows of the hall outside Ariel’s bedchamber five years ago?

Charlotte realized that Honoria had paused at the door. Her expression was one of grave concern.

“Are you feeling ill, Miss Arkendale?”

“No, not at all.” Charlotte drew a deep, steadying breath. What on earth was the matter with her? she wondered. She reached out and braced herself by planting both of her hands flat on her desk. With an act of will she produced what she hoped was a businesslike smile. “My apologies. I shall summon my housekeeper to see you out.”

A sharp knock interrupted Charlotte just as she reached for the velvet bell pull. The door of the study opened.

Mrs. Witty’s majestic form loomed grandly. “Mr. St. Ives is here to see you, ma’am. Says he has an appointment.”

Charlotte’s morbid thoughts and unanswered questions vanished in a heartbeat. Baxter was there. She tried and failed to suppress the little burst of delight that flowered inside her.

“Thank you, Mrs. Witty. Miss Patterson was just leaving. Will you see her out, please?”

Mrs. Witty stood back and looked expectantly at Honoria. “Yes, ma’am.”

Honoria went out into the hall with a cheerful spring in her step that had not been present when she had arrived a short while earlier.

It occurred to Charlotte that she had just been presented with a golden opportunity to conduct another experiment on Baxter.

“Oh, Miss Patterson, a moment if you please.” Charlotte hurried around the corner of her desk and went to the doorway of the study. She peered out into the hall.

Baxter stood there, enveloped in the unshakable aura of limitless calm that Charlotte found both intriguing and disturbing. Others might interpret his self-possessed air as the patience of a naturally staid, rather boring individual, but she knew it was something else entirely. It was a manifestation of his inner strength and self-mastery.

She drew in a little breath at the sight of him. He was dressed in a severely cut dark blue coat that, although a bit wrinkled, nevertheless revealed the powerful line of his shoulders. His plainly tied cravat, conservative breeches, and boots suited him, she thought. Fashion was clearly unimportant to him. He was a man of deeper sensibilities.

His gaze met hers at that moment. His eyes glinted behind the lenses of his spectacles. She had the uncomfortable impression that he knew precisely what she was thinking. She felt the rush of warmth into her cheeks and was thoroughly annoyed. She was a lady of advanced years and far too much a woman of the world to blush, she told herself.

“Was there something else, Miss Arkendale?” Honoria asked politely.

Charlotte took a single step out into the hall. “Before you leave, Miss Patterson, may I present Mr. St. Ives?” She paused as Honoria turned toward Baxter. “He is my man-of-affairs.”

“Mr. St. Ives,” Honoria murmured.

“Miss Patterson.” Baxter inclined his head in a short, brusque manner.

Charlotte watched Honoria’s face very carefully. There was no trace of surprise or curiosity or anything else to indicate that she suspected Baxter of being something other than what he was supposed to be, an ordinary man of business.

Amazing, Charlotte thought. She caught herself just as she was about to shake her head and smiled at Honoria instead. “Mr. St. Ives is of great assistance to me. I do not know what I would do without him.”

Baxter’s eyes glinted. “You flatter me, Miss Arkendale.”

“Not in the least, Mr. St. Ives. You are invaluable.”

“I’m delighted to hear you say so.”

Honoria gave both of them a vague smile. “If you will excuse me, I have a number of calls to make.” She turned and went out the front door without a backward glance.

Charlotte waited until Mrs. Witty had closed the door. Then she stepped back into her study and waved Baxter into her sanctum. “Do come in, Mr. St. Ives. We have much to discuss.”

Baxter walked across the hall to join her. “You do not yet know the half of it, Miss Arkendale.”

She ignored the remark to glance at the housekeeper. “Would you please bring us a fresh tea tray, Mrs. Witty?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Witty went down the hall to the kitchen.

Charlotte closed the door and whirled around to face Baxter. “Miss Patterson did not even hesitate at the introduction. She obviously accepted you as my man-of-affairs without so much as a qualm.”

“I told you that I would have no difficulty playing the role.” His mouth twisted slightly. “You are the only one who has ever questioned my striking ability to masquerade as a potato pudding.”

The grim tone of his voice brought her up short. “What on earth is the matter, sir?”

He went to stand at the window. “Last night after I left you, I did a great deal of thinking.”

“So did I.”

“I doubt that we came to similar conclusions.”

“Mr. St. Ives, I do not understand what this is all about.”

“There are some things I must explain to you.”

“What things?” A coil of unease began to untwist within her. Perhaps he already regretted last night’s brief bout of passion. “Sir, you are behaving in a rather mysterious fashion today. Is something wrong?”

“Bloody hell. We are engaged in a hunt for a murderer. Of course something is wrong. For your information, Charlotte, this sort of venture is not a common occupation for ladies. Nor is it considered a gentleman’s sport, for that matter.”

“I see.” She took refuge in pride. “If you are having second thoughts, you may, of course, resign your position in my service.”

“I fear that I can no longer play the part of your man-of-affairs, regardless of how well suited I am to the role.”

It is finished. So soon. Before I have even gotten to know him. Baxter was going to walk out the door. The intense sense of loss that surged through her alarmed Charlotte. This was ridiculous. She barely knew the man. She must get a grip on her emotions.

“Perhaps you would be good enough to explain, sir?” she said crisply.

“It would be best to begin at the start of this affair, I suppose.” Baxter turned to face her at last. His eyes were unreadable. “It was no coincidence that I applied for the position you offered. I had already tracked down John Marcle with the intention of discovering everything I could about your finances.”

“Good heavens.” Charlotte felt a cold, prickling sensation on her skin. Slowly she sank down into her chair. “Why?”

“My aunt was a close friend of Drusilla Heskett’s. She asked me to make inquiries into the murder. The trail led immediately to you. In fact, it started with you.”

“My God.”

“She believed that you were responsible for Mrs. Heskett’s murder, you see.”

“Bloody hell.” Whatever it was she had braced herself to hear, this was certainly not it. For a moment Charlotte was bereft of speech.

“Yes, I know,” Baxter muttered. “I warned you this would be a little difficult to explain.”

“Let me be sure I have this clear. Your aunt believes that I killed poor Mrs. Heskett? But what could possibly have given her such a notion?”

“The fact that Mrs. Heskett had recently paid you a large sum of money.”

Charlotte was outraged. “But that was for my services. I told you, I made inquiries on Drusilla Heskett’s behalf into the background of some of the gentlemen who wished to marry her.”

Baxter shoved his hand through his hair. “I’m aware of that now. But my aunt did not know it. Apparently Mrs. Heskett honored your desire for confidentiality. She never told my aunt the nature of her business with you. After the murder, Rosalind assumed the worst.”

“I see. What exactly did your aunt make of the fact that Mrs. Heskett had paid me a large sum of money?”

“She assumed that you had blackmailed Drusilla.”

“Blackmail.” Charlotte groaned and dropped her head into her hands. Visions of her hard-won career in ruins due to ghastly rumors that she might be a villainess danced wildly in her brain. “This grows worse by the minute. We have moved from the incredible to the truly bizarre.”

“Indeed.” Baxter walked slowly across the carpet to stand behind the chair in front of the desk.

Charlotte raised her head and watched warily as he gripped the polished mahogany chair. For some reason she found herself transfixed by his big, capable hands.

“Go on, sir. I have the feeling there is more to come.”

“Having decided that you were a blackmailer, it was no great leap for my aunt to arrive at the conclusion that you had also murdered Mrs. Heskett.”

“No, I suppose not. I can see how one false assumption would lead to the next.”

“You and my aunt will no doubt get along famously. The two of you obviously think in the same erratic manner.”

“Carry on, Mr. St. Ives. Finish the business.”

“As I said, logic led me to Marcle, your man-of-affairs.”

“How is that?”

He shrugged. “I reasoned that if blackmail was involved, it made sense to start with the financial end of things.”

Silently she acknowledged the brilliance of that line of reasoning. “How did you discover that I employed John Marcle?”

“It was not difficult. I have my own man-of-affairs.”

She winced. “Yes, of course.”

“I instructed him to consult with my bankers, who made inquiries of your bankers. I not only learned about Marcle, I also discovered that he was searching for someone to replace him.”

“So you applied for the position.” She exhaled slowly. “How bloody clever of you, sir.”

He hesitated and then added in a strangely neutral tone, “I have had some experience in this sort of thing.”

“Which sort of thing? Acting as a man-of-affairs or spying?”

“Both, actually.” He glanced down at his hands, which were clenched on the chair back. When he looked up again, his eyes were bleak. “As far as the business part is concerned, I have managed a sizable fortune for several years.”

“A fortune?” It was to be one shock after another today, she thought, dazed.

“Two, actually. My own and that of my half brother.”

“I see.” She swallowed. “And the spying bit?”

Baxter looked pained. “I prefer not to use the word spy.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Spies do have a rather unpleasant reputation, do they not? An unsavory, disreputable lot, completely lacking in honor.”

“Indeed.” The strong line of his jaw grew even more rigid. “The profession may be a necessary one, but it is not considered honorable.”

Charlotte felt terrible. He had deserved the cruel insult but for some reason she wished that she had not succumbed to the urge to level it at him.

“My apologies,” she said brusquely. “Gentlemen do not engage in spying.”

“No, they do not.” He did not even attempt to defend himself.

“A man of honor, however,” she added very delicately, “might make himself available to the proper authorities for a clandestine mission.”

“I assure you, I did not volunteer,” Baxter said dryly. “My knowledge of chemistry was what caught the interest of the authorities. A highly placed gentleman approached my father and asked if I would be willing to aid in the inquiries. My father came to me and I agreed to look into the matter.”

“Who, exactly, is your father?”

“The fourth Earl of Esherton.” Baxter’s hands flexed on the chair back. “He died two years ago.”

“Esherton.” Charlotte was dumbfounded. “Surely you are not about to tell me that you are the fifth Earl of Esherton? That would really be too much, sir.”

“No. I’m a bastard, Charlotte, not an earl.”

“Well, thank God for that much, at least.”

Baxter looked briefly startled by her reaction. “My half brother, Hamilton, is the current Earl of Esherton.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.”

Baxter’s brows rose above the rims of his eyeglasses. “Are you, indeed?”

“Most definitely. It would have made things ever so much more complicated, you see. The last thing I need is an earl running about the place.” A thought struck her. “What is your aunt’s name?”

“Rosalind, Lady Trengloss.”

“Good lord, another title.” Charlotte frowned. “Trengloss. I believe Drusilla Heskett mentioned her in passing.”

“As I said, Mrs. Heskett was a good friend of my aunt’s.”

Charlotte nodded wearily. “Quite natural that you would look into the matter of the murder on behalf of your aunt. I would have done the same in your place.”

Baxter smiled humorlessly. “Very understanding of you.”

“May I assume that you are telling me all of this because you have concluded that I am not a murdering blackmailer after all?”

“I was never convinced that you were a villainess in the first place.”

“Thank you for that much, at least.”

“But certain issues had been raised. My approach to such matters is to pursue the most logical line of inquiry until I discover evidence to the contrary.”

“It must be the scientist in you.” Charlotte studied the nib of her pen with great attention. “And what proof did you uncover that convinced you I was innocent, Mr. St. Ives?”

“For one thing, you did not seem to know your way around Drusilla Heskett’s house.”

Charlotte looked up sharply. “I beg your pardon?”

“Mrs. Heskett was murdered in her own home. Her bedchamber, to be precise.”

“Yes, I know.”

“When we reached the top of the stairs last night, you hesitated. You did not know which bedchamber was hers until we discovered the one that contained her personal possessions.”

“I see.” Charlotte swallowed. “Very logical.”

“Also, you did not appear to know what you hoped to find in the house. You stumbled across the watercolor sketchbook but other than that, you seemed uncertain about what constituted a clue. You were obviously not there to retrieve specific evidence that you knew might implicate you.”

No doubt she should have been pleased that his powers of logic had brought him to the conclusion that she was innocent of the crimes. But for some reason her spirits were still depressed. What had she expected to hear? That Baxter had taken one look at her and trusted her on sight? Ridiculous.

“So,” she said with what she privately thought was commendable aplomb under the circumstances, “having resolved the issue of my guilt in the matter, you naturally wish to resign your post and go about your own affairs.”

“Not exactly.”

“Perfectly reasonable, under the circumstances. After all, there is no need for you to continue your inquiries in my direction. You may as well—” She broke off as his words penetrated. “What do you mean, not exactly?”

Baxter released his grip on the chair and turned to walk across the room. He halted in front of the bookcase and stood with his back to her. “I wish to continue working with you on this matter, Charlotte.”

Her flagging spirits abruptly rallied. “You do?”

“The problem that brought us together still remains,” he pointed out. “There is still the matter of Mrs. Heskett’s murder to resolve. You and my aunt both want answers.”

“Yes.” She was suddenly feeling much more cheerful. “Yes, we do, indeed, sir. And there is certainly truth in the old saying that two heads are better than one.”

“But there will have to be a small change in our association.”

A frisson of wariness went down her spine. “A change?”

He turned around and clasped his hands behind his back. “I fear that I cannot continue to pass myself off as your man-of-affairs.”

“I admit I had my doubts about that, even after my sister and my housekeeper claimed that there was no cause for concern. But I think Miss Patterson’s reaction to you proves that you will, indeed, be able to continue on in that role quite successfully.”

“The problem,” Baxter said carefully, “is that our inquiries will likely take us into Drusilla Heskett’s circle of acquaintances.”

“Yes, of course. What of it?”

“Mrs. Heskett’s circle of acquaintances overlaps my aunt’s. And people in that circle know me.” His mouth curved coldly. “Those who don’t, know of me. I am Esherton’s bastard, after all. In the Polite World, it will be impossible for me to go about unnoticed.”

“I see.” Charlotte’s mind raced. “We must come up with another excuse for being seen frequently in each other’s company.”

“I spent most of the night considering the problem.” Baxter paused. “I believe that I examined all of the possibilities.”

She gave him an expectant smile. “And?”

“And I have come to the inescapable conclusion that there is really only one socially acceptable reason for the two of us to spend an inordinate amount of time together.”

“I am eager to hear it.”

“An engagement.”

She suddenly could not breathe for a few dazed seconds.

“I beg your pardon?” she finally managed to say very carefully.

“You and I shall announce that we are engaged to be married.” He gave her a wry, fleeting smile. “And in light of that situation, I really must insist that you start calling me Baxter.”