CHAPTER SIX

Colin’s carriage drew up on the corner of Lombard Street beside an imposing building set back a little from the cobbled road behind him.

Large pillars denoted its status from the other ramshackle offices a few streets away. Colin was reassured that his father’s business partner worked in such an establishment and was hopeful that their meeting would assuage all of his fears.

He could not have been more wrong.

Having been led through a quiet corridor, banked on either side by clerks busily working at their desks, he was introduced to a wiry man in his sixties. By all accounts, his father’s business partner was most desirous to answer Colin’s questions on all topics. It was clear, right from the start, that Bevins, for that was his name, had been exceedingly fond of the late duke.

Once they were settled in a small but well-kept study, Bevins explained that he was approaching his sixtieth birthday and had slowed his investment portfolio ahead of retiring with his wife. He insisted, however, that he was at Colin’s disposal, reaching into a large set of shelves at the back of the room and presenting him with several files pertaining to Colin’s father.

The man had records of everything, and Colin was more than eager to examine them.

“And this notation here,” Colin asked some time later, turning the ledger so that Bevins could peer at it over his spectacles. “What might this have meant?”

The man squinted at the words that had been scrawled at the edge of a document that seemed at odds with the others.

“Ah, well, that was the duke’s third-party broker,” Bevins said confidently. “I was not involved with that side of things. Your father was adamant that I should concentrate on our more settled investments as he brought in and speculated on newer, more modern equivalents. I confess I was grateful not to be involved; it all seemed rather speculative.”

Colin allowed his mask to lower before the older man became suspicious. That was not good news. If Bevins had been separate from this ‘third party broker,’ then his father would have had no guidance or second opinion to consider.

As they ran through some more of the paperwork from recent years, this erroneous broker began to be mentioned more and more. Bevins had not seen anything odd about the late duke taking matters into his own hands, and knowing how insistent his father could be, Colin could well imagine how he had slowly shut Bevins out of things if they had started to go badly.

Increasingly, Colin was beginning to suspect that this broker was the reason his father’s behaviour had begun to change.

“You have been most kind, Bevins,” he said at last, after almost two hours in the man’s company. “You have my sincere thanks.”

The old man stood up. “But… did you discover what you were looking for, your Grace? I fear we have not come to the main reason for your visit.”

“Not at all,” Colin said with a weak smile, “I merely felt it would be useful to understand the extent of the work you had done together.”

“Quite right. Although I must say most of this is well in hand and has been ticking along quite nicely for many years. Nothing has changed since your father’s death, I assure you.”

Colin recognized the implication in that statement and placed a reassuring hand on Bevin’s shoulder. “My Lord, you are not to think I do not trust you implicitly. This is quite another matter, I assure you.”

The wrinkles that were ever present in the man’s face smoothed out a little at that, and he nodded with a broad smile as Colin took his leave.

Returning to his carriage, he felt none the wiser about the state of things, only that every new stone he overturned seemed to suggest an entirely new sort of problem.

“Blast it,” he muttered angrily into the confines of the carriage and instructed his coachman to take him to his club.

As he entered one of the rear salons, he noticed Edward seated before a window and made for him through the other chairs and tables. Edward looked up as he arrived and grinned cheerfully as he always did. He summoned a waiter, asking for more tea, and Colin settled opposite his old friend. Usually, Edward’s presence was a calming one, but Colin was too agitated by this point to be able to focus on anything but his father’s reputation.

“Are you alright, old chap?” Edward asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Colin thanked the waiter as a hot cup of tea was placed in front of him and he watched the steam rise into the air before he began to speak.

“I am concerned. Deeply concerned about my father’s practices before his death.” He kept his voice just above a whisper, and Edward leaned in close in order to hear him.

“What practices?” he asked.

“Strange investments. Things out of character. Can I take you up on your offer? I can have the papers brought to your house tomorrow. We could discuss it next week once you’ve had a chance to review them.”

Edward’s frown deepened. It was rare that his old friend looked grave, but now he seemed just as concerned as Colin felt.

“Of course. Whatever you need. Have you eaten?”

Colin considered that and realized he had not eaten anything since he had broken his fast with his mother.

“No. Nothing since this morning.”

Edward tutted under his breath. “Right, we are going to dinner this evening, here at the club. You look terrible. You must look after yourself, my friend, or I shall do it for you.”

Colin gave him a rueful smile, but it quickly faded as he recalled his conversation with Bevins.

“It appears my father employed a third party at the end of his life. Someone who was influencing his decisions and getting him involved in shady schemes that were not usually in his character. If this were to come to light, it could bring ruin not only upon myself but upon others as well. My mother remains entirely unaware of my father’s clandestine dealings. The very thought of divulging this to her fills me with dread.”

In an uncharacteristic show of affection, Edward placed a hand on Colin’s shoulder, and Colin looked up at him in surprise.

“You are going in circles,” Edward said sternly. “We shall get to the bottom of it all, and we shall do so together. Do not trouble yourself further tonight. You need food and brandy, perhaps not in that order.”

Colin chuckled, hopelessly grateful to have such a man to support him.

***

When she returned home from the tea, Charlotte was informed by Waltham, the family butler, that her father had requested that she join him in his study as soon as she was able to.

With a weary look at Sarah, Charlotte removed her hat and gloves and made her way toward her father’s study, feeling deeply unsettled by why he might have summoned her.

Her fears were confirmed when she entered the room and she saw her father pacing before the fire with great agitation. The marquess was a tall man, thickset and imposing. His movements seemed unusually off-balance, and Charlotte wondered if there was more to his mood than she had first thought.

“Charlotte, sit down,” he said abruptly, and she dutifully went to the chair before his desk. The room felt close, and as she tried to inhale more deeply the air was thick and unpleasant at the back of her throat.

Her father stopped pacing, taking up a familiar stance against the fire, his hands behind his back, bushy brows settled over his eyes.

“You know that I have always been proud of how you have conducted yourself up until now,” her father began, his voice low and sincere. “You appreciate, I am sure, that we have returned to London for the sole purpose of finding you a match.”

I could hardly be unaware of it, as it has been all you have spoken about for months.

“I believe there are many men who would be suitable for you. Indeed, I have been impressed by the gumption of some who have approached me directly. Given how long you have been absent, and the necessity for us to remain in the country for such a protracted period, you have clearly made a good first impression.”

Charlotte’s lips thinned as her fingers clutched at her skirts to disguise her anger. She hated that she was being made into a piece of meat for sale. Every time she entered a ballroom, people either saw her as an invalid’s carer or as a spinster who would be lucky to win any favour, having missed the last three seasons.

“Papa, I know how important finding a match is. But we are nearing the end of the season as it is—”

“It is not yet July! There is time until the majority will leave for the winter. You must do your best in that time.”

“I am aware of that, Father, and you know I will do all I can. But must we rush this? I am just out of mourning and—”

“Will you stop obsessing over your period of mourning, girl? You were in mourning for ten months together; that is long enough. Your mother would not wish you to become a wallflower, and if she were here, she would say so.”

“I know what Mama would say. She would declare that this is proceeding with undue haste.”

Her father’s throat bulged at that and Charlotte wished she could bite back the words, but to no avail.

“Your mother is gone. She would wish for you to marry, Charlotte; that is the end of things.”

A silence fell between them as a sharp needling feeling began in Charlotte’s chest. She hated this, and she hated her father for forcing her to rejoin the world of the ton.

“Papa,” Charlotte said finally, “I am not disagreeing that I need to make a good match. I have never said so. But society is a place one must get accustomed to. I have been here only a few days, and I am not expecting to find a match immediately.”

“Lord Kilby is a good match. He has shown you some attention.”

Charlotte gaped at him, her face growing hot at his presumption after a single meeting.

“Papa, Lord Kilby is perfectly pleasant—”

“He is an earl, and he is very well-liked. Happy manners, good breeding. He is everything you could want from a prospect. What is your hesitation?”

Charlotte could only splutter in response. Everything felt as though it had been decided for her when she had only had the chance to glimpse the society that she had expected to be part of for months, not days.

“What is your haste, Papa? I do not know him. You are being unfair.”

“Stop being insolent, I will not stand for it.”

Charlotte said nothing more. Her father was in an unreasonable mood and would not be convinced; she could see that. His shoulders were tight, his jaw working rapidly, and there was a vein in his forehead that was pulsing unpleasantly with every word.

Charlotte could feel the closeness of the room increasing, the walls bending around her as though to implode, trapping her inside a tiny space forever, never to be free again. She longed for the gardens in their country estate, to watch the rose heads bob in the sunshine—to have some peace.

Since they had come to London, it had been a mad whirl of events and new acquaintances. She had always known that that would be the case, but it felt worse somehow because there was no end in sight. The only person she had truly enjoyed spending time with since she had come to town was Sarah and the only man she had met who even remotely interested her was the Duke of Lindenbrook.

Charlotte’s thoughts slowed as she remembered their time in the gardens. Perhaps remote was not quite the word. She had been thinking of him for much of the day— is that normal for a casual acquaintance?

“Be sensible, as I know you are,” her father continued, attempting civility in his every word. “Things will turn out well. You have done admirably so far; be sure that this continues.” Charlotte nodded as he walked around to the other side of his desk and took a seat. It was as much of a dismissal as she ever received from him. “The Earl of Kenthurst will call on you tomorrow and take you to Hyde Park. I expect you to receive him. You should be grateful for such a connection so early in your return.”

She stood up, brushed down her skirts, and left the room, using all her strength not to slam the door closed behind her.

Sarah was outside, pretending to look at a painting beside the study door, but had clearly been eavesdropping. At Charlotte’s expression, she came to her and took her hand, leading her into the salon.

“What did he say?” she asked.

“What I expected him to say, but it did not make it any easier to hear.”

“He has not decided for you, though?” Sarah asked when Charlotte had relayed their brief discussion of Lord Kilby.

“No. He has not, thankfully. But once Father gets an idea into his head, he will not let it go. I expect he made it all too plain to Lord Kilby that his advances would be welcome. I wish I had found an excuse not to dance with him.”

“It would not have been wise to refuse him, dearest. You may be able to make your feelings known in other ways.”

“I cannot be rude to him.”

“Coldness is not rudeness. You are not bound to him; it is just a visit.”

Charlotte nodded, thankful for Sarah’s steadiness and calm in such a hopeless situation.

“Papa speaks to me as though my only duty in life is to marry well. As though I do not have a thought in my head that is my own.”

Sarah fell silent as they sat staring out at the London Street below, horses clopping past as men and women shouted to one another while they crossed the street.

London was always moving, and Charlotte longed for a moment of stillness.

When she returned to her room, she got out her journal and lost herself in verse for several hours, trying to forget what her father had told her. She wasn’t sure what it was about Lord Kilby that she objected to so violently. She did not know the man. Yet as soon as she had met him, something had felt strange, as though she were looking at a caricature of him instead of who he truly was.

He didn’t seem genuine, she thought suddenly, that was it. Everything he said felt like a speech he had practised at length for another audience.

When the Duke of Lindenbrook spoke, he said what was on his mind—open and sincere. He was the only man she felt had been honest with her in the past days together—a rare kind of authenticity that seemed to echo in his eyes as much as in his words, grounding her in a world where truth often felt like a fragile, fleeting thing.