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Chapter 17

CHAPTER

a

17

C harlotte trudged down the street to the Cronenworth town house. Her journey to London had been long and slow, but she'd arrived. She was weary and more despondent than she'd ever been. Her heart was broken, her spirits crushed, her dreams dashed. It was nigh-on impossible to put one foot in front of the other.

She'd debarked at a coaching inn on the outskirts of the city, and she could have hired a cab to convey her to her destination, but she hadn't been eager to waste even that paltry amount of money. She'd been walking for miles and her hand was blistered from carrying her satchel. Her shoes had rubbed blisters on her heels too. She was limping slightly and it increased the perception that she was about to collapse.

There was no telling what she'd encounter once she strolled in. Her stepmother, Georgina, had been a widow for years. She might have remarried to a repugnant dolt who matched her in avarice and disposition. Or Theo might have wed Arthur. She might be Arthur's wife! Either situation would be galling and exhausting.

When Charlotte had left to teach school, she'd sworn she wouldn't return until they were rid of Georgina and Arthur. She was no closer to bringing it to fruition than she'd been the day she'd departed for Mrs. Pemberton's.

Her kin would be shocked to have her stagger in, and she couldn't bear to envision the drama her appearance would stir. Theo would be glad, and Arthur would be cordial and hospitable, but Charlotte and Georgina fought like cats and dogs. She'd remind Charlotte every second that she wasn't welcome and shouldn't tarry. Charlotte would use the woman's horrid presence as her impetus to find a job as quickly as she could.

She rounded the final corner and breathed a sigh of relief. No matter how awful the next few minutes proved to be, she was home. Her trip was over. Yet as she hurried toward their house, she was incredibly confused. It had been shuttered. Boards had been nailed over the windows and there was a chain on the door to prevent any entrance. A ‘For Sale' sign was nailed to the wall.

For a moment, she was dizzy with dismay. Was she so bewildered that she was at the wrong address? She glanced about to check her location and there was no mistake. She was standing at the correct residence, the one Arthur had purchased after he'd sold Peachtree.

She went over and tried to peer through the boards, but she couldn't see inside. She rattled the chain, listening to it thud against the wood as she dropped it back into place. Then she eased away to glare at the upper floors. The building was three stories high, with an attic for the servants. She yearned for Theo to be up there, for her to look down and notice Charlotte, but there was the worst sense of tragedy permeating the whole property.

What did the dire condition indicate? Was Theo all right? What if she wasn't? The prospect had Charlotte's pulse racing with dread. It definitely made her feel guilty for staying away. On the last occasion that she'd spoken to Theo, they'd quarreled. Would those bitter parting words wind up being their last words?

She was at a complete loss as to how she should proceed. There were several Cronenworth relatives in London and she despised them all. When her father had died, nary a one had intervened to assist them or serve as a bulwark to tamp down Georgina's excesses. They'd abandoned her and Theo to Georgina's cruel manipulations.

She supposed she'd have to beg shelter from one of them until she could figure out a plan. Surely, they'd know what had occurred. Wouldn't they? Or maybe it had been so embarrassingly hideous that they wouldn't explain.

A carriage pulled up down the block, and when their widowed neighbor climbed out, Charlotte rushed over to waylay her. There had been gossip that she was notorious, so Charlotte had never been introduced to her. Evidently, she'd been an actress who'd wed a nobleman's son, and it had triggered a scandal in elevated circles.

Charlotte had her mother's scandal to weigh her down, so she didn't judge and hadn't paid much attention to the lurid tales. She'd never learned the woman's surname, but her first name was Antoinnette, which Charlotte remembered because it sounded so pretty.

Antoinnette was about Charlotte's same age of twenty-three, or perhaps a few years older, and she was tall and voluptuous, with gorgeous auburn hair and merry green eyes. She dressed like a stylish princess, so she turned heads when she sauntered by. If she had ensnared some fellow into an illicit marriage, Charlotte wouldn't be surprised.

Charlotte hastened up and said, "Excuse me, but may I ask you a question?"

Antoinette's smile was friendly. "Certainly. What did you need?"

Charlotte could have declared that she was a Cronenworth, but it would have necessitated extensive clarification as to where she'd been and why she was unaware that a calamity had transpired, so she pretended to be a casual acquaintance.

"I intended to call on Mrs. Cronenworth," she said, "but it seems something has happened. Was there a fire? Was it a death? Can you share any news with me?"

Antoinnette leaned in, as if they were chums whispering secrets. "I hope I won't distress you, but Mrs. Cronenworth and her son, Arthur, have been arrested."

Charlotte blanched. "Whatever for?"

"I'm not exactly clear on the details. It's been very hush-hush. There are rumors that it was some type of fraud. With their company?"

"Oh, my lord. Where are they?"

Antoinette's brows rose. "They're locked away in Newgate Prison!"

Charlotte's knees buckled and she could barely keep from collapsing in a stunned heap. "Newgate? Are you serious? I can't believe it."

Antoinette's expression grew sympathetic. "This has to be an appalling blow for you and I hate that I'm the one to blab about it. Please don't think I'm gloating over their troubles. It's just that the entire neighborhood has been agog."

"I don't blame you for being astonished. What about the Cronenworth daughter, Theodora? Has there been any information about her? She wasn't arrested too, was she?"

"No. It was just Mrs. Cronenworth and her son. Apparently, Theodora has fled London, but her destination remains a mystery. Once the house was closed, the staff was terminated, so our pipeline of chatter ended."

"My goodness," Charlotte murmured. "This is too much to take in."

Antoinette waved toward her door. "You've had a terrible shock. Would you like to come in and sit down? We could have a pot of tea while you regroup."

"That is very kind, but I should investigate this. Do you imagine I'd be allowed to visit Arthur at Newgate?"

"I have no idea. People can drop off money and supplies, but I couldn't guess if visits are permitted or how one would be scheduled." Antoinette frowned. "Should you stop by there? It's quite a foul place. Have you a brawny male footman who could go with you?"

It was painfully obvious that Charlotte was alone and had no servant—brawny or otherwise. Her reduced circumstances were humiliating, and she yearned to confess her plight, but she and Antoinette were strangers, and she would never debase herself with candor.

"I'll be fine," Charlotte insisted. "Thank you for the small amount you've imparted. I'm grateful for it."

She started off and Antoinnette said, "I will worry about you as you trek around the city hunting for answers. Be careful."

"I'm grateful for that too. It will be lovely to know that someone is concerned."

With that sad comment hurled out to the cruel universe, Charlotte continued on, the blisters on her palms and heels crying out for mercy.

v

Arthur Cronenworth relaxed on a chair in his cell. The space was tiny and dank, with no window to provide a view of the sky and just a narrow, lumpy cot to sleep on. He wasn't complaining though.

At the beginning of his incarceration, he'd been lodged in the common area with the murderers and rapists. The poorest of the poor had been kept there too, and they were so desperate that they'd slit your throat to steal a button off your coat.

The spot had been scary and dangerous, and he'd been a nervous wreck until his stepsister, Theo, had forced her husband, Lord Thornhill, to arrange for an upgrade in Arthur's situation. A person could pay various bribes and be moved to a private room, could have clothes and blankets delivered. Meals too, so he didn't have to eat the facility's gruel.

Lord Thornhill hadn't been inclined to be generous, and he was only aiding Arthur—and his mother too—because Theo hadn't wanted them to suffer as they waited for their trials. Thornhill had advised, if it had been up to him, Arthur would still be rotting in the common area, so he'd probably have been dead by now, slain by a villain who liked his boots.

He was sharing his cell with another prisoner, and the fellow was an embezzler too, so he and Arthur had similar histories. The man's mother doted on him, so she'd furnished them with a rug for the floor and extra quilts for their cots. It wasn't the Garden of Eden, but Arthur's condition was a thousand-percent better than it had been a few weeks earlier.

He'd just been apprised that he had a visitor! And he was on pins and needles, anxious to discover who it would be.

His stepfather, Harold, had had a Will, but his mother had burned it, so they'd presumed they were safe in their perfidy. Then the dastardly lawyer, Boswell Coswell, had shown up with a copy of it, proving Arthur was a thief, so Arthur had been arrested. But before Arthur had been brought low by Coswell and Thornhill, he'd been a popular dandy and man-about-town.

He'd had memberships at the best brothels and gambling clubs, and he'd reveled with the most toplofty rogues of the ton. He'd dressed at the height of fashion and had had a beautiful mistress, his dear Nell Parsons, who was a fetching opera dancer. She'd gazed at him as if he'd hung the moon, and of all his recent calamities, his loss of Nell was the most crushing.

He'd spoiled her outrageously, but the boons he'd bestowed had been purchased with funds that hadn't belonged to him. Harold had left his estate to Charlotte and Theo, but he'd left Arthur and Georgina miniscule cash bequests. With their inheritances being so small, there had been one sole route to save themselves: Georgina had destroyed the Will and pretended there hadn't been one.

Then she'd drafted a fake memorandum that claimed Harold had given Arthur HH Imports and they'd spent like rich fools. Arthur had no head for business though, so he'd run the company into the ground. He had a gambling habit too and it had helped to ruin them.

As Coswell and Thornhill had swept in with court orders and seized everything in sight, Arthur's world had imploded. His crimes and sins had been publicly bandied, and he'd searched for allies among his cadre of supposed chums, but none of them had stood by him or offered support. Even Nell had abandoned him and that was the most hideous blow of all.

In the depressing period he'd passed at Newgate, no one but Thornhill had stopped by. Thornhill's conversations were completely unsatisfying, and Arthur wished the rude oaf would stay away, but at the same juncture, Thornhill was the only person who bothered.

Arthur couldn't bear to have the meetings cease, despite how Thornhill scolded and chastised. Thornhill was rumored to have killed a thousand natives when he'd served in the army in India, and he frequently threatened to kill Arthur too—for his being so awful to Theo—so Arthur was terrified of him.

Thornhill was a handsome, dashing earl who resembled a hero in an ancient fable. In comparison, Arthur—who'd once been so proud of his magnificent wardrobe and exquisite tastes—was filthy, unwashed, often hungry, and he stunk. There was no bathing at the prison.

Who was about to arrive? The entire kingdom had deserted him, so it could be anybody.

When his guest walked in, he was so delighted that tears sprang to his eyes.

"Charlotte!" he said. "Am I glad to see you! How did you learn where I was?"

"You're a mess, Arthur. What happened to you?"

"It's a long story."

He rose, intending to hug her, but she held out a palm to warn him away.

"I went by the town house," she said, "but it's been shuttered and it's for sale. A neighbor told me you'd been arrested. Georgina too. What have you done?"

His cheeks heated. Since his duplicity had been uncovered, he hadn't had to confront his stepsiblings over his treachery. Charlotte had been away, teaching at her school, and Thornhill had whisked Theo off to the country before Arthur could confer with her and plead his case.

Thornhill wasn't permitting Theo to voice an opinion about Arthur's fate, so after he and his mother were convicted, they would be transported to the penal colonies in Australia. It was a mortifying comeuppance and he couldn't believe he'd fallen so far from his prior high perch.

He hadn't meant to hurt Charlotte or Theo. He liked them both and he'd even been willing to wed Theo. He'd just never had any money of his own, and when Georgina had implemented her scheme to glom onto the estate assets, he'd joined in her folly without pausing to consider the consequences.

He sank down on his cot, and he waved to the chair, suggesting she sit too, but she looked at it and said, "No, thank you. I'll stand. Tell me why you're here, and I'd rather not tarry, so be quick about it."

He sighed with regret, not for the felonies he'd perpetrated, but for the fact that he'd been caught. "Mother and I are charged with fraud, theft, and many other crimes. She is even accused of attempted murder."

Charlotte gasped. "Who was she trying to kill?"

"Ah ... Theo?"

Charlotte's gasp became a squeal of alarm. "Talk fast, Arthur. Explain yourself—and your mother!"

"Well, it seems your father had a Will after all, and we hid it from you. Theo found out about it and she was about to expose us."

"Is she all right?"

"Yes, she's fine—last I heard."

"What was she about to reveal that was so damning?"

"Harold left everything to you and her, while Mother and I simply received tiny cash gifts, so we had to fix the predicament."

"By stealing from us?"

"I guess that's an accurate description of what occurred."

Charlotte bristled. "Keep going."

"The estate was to be held in a trust managed by our cousin, Benedict, until the two of you were married. Then it was to be given to your husbands."

"Benedict died years ago," Charlotte said, "so who was managing it in his stead?"

"Mother. She tricked him into signing over his authority."

Charlotte teemed with such rage that he was surprised she didn't march over and pummel him. "When you and Georgina were spending so lavishly," she seethed, "when you constantly told Theo and me that there were no bequests for us, that was a lie. You were frittering away our money."

"Yes, and I enjoyed it too."

He'd blurted it out without thinking and it sounded extremely offensive. He was so adept at inventing justifications that, when he was loafing by himself in his cell, his nefarious deeds didn't seem so bad. But as he stared into her shocked face, he was a bit mortified.

The truth became clearer, as she worked it out. "It's why Georgina was so intent on having you wed Theo, isn't it? If she was your wife, the assets would have been yours, and she couldn't have complained about your squandering them."

"Half of it would have been mine. The other half would have been your husband's."

She spat out a harsh laugh. "You know, Arthur, I never liked you."

"I realize that."

"Where is my sister?"

"At Thornhill."

"Where on God's green earth is Thornhill?"

"It's Jackson Bennett's property in the country. It's out in the Ralston area."

Charlotte tsked with exasperation. "You could be spewing riddles. I have no idea what you're telling me."

"It's simple really. We had a neighbor move in across the street. Jackson Bennett? He met Theo and grew very fond of her. Then a dastardly lawyer barged in. Mr. Coswell? For some reason, he had a copy of Harold's Will. Coswell and Bennett conspired against Mother and me and they had us arrested for embezzlement."

"Good, but why is Theo at Thornhill with Mr. Bennett?"

"They're married, but he's not Mr. Bennett. He's Lord Thornhill."

Charlotte squealed again, this time with astonishment. "Theo is married? To an aristocrat?"

"Yes, and he's a famous fellow. You might have read about him in the newspapers."

"I haven't."

"His title of earl was recently bestowed by the King. He was a soldier in the army and it was for valorous conduct in the line of duty."

Charlotte shook her head in disbelief. "Theo has shackled herself to an earl? Seriously?"

"It's bizarre, isn't it?" She turned to depart and his panic flared. "You're not leaving, are you?"

"Yes. I wanted to find out what had happened to our house and to Theo. You've provided the information, so there's no need for us to continue conversing."

"I never have visitors. How have you been? Won't you stay and chat?"

"No. I don't like you, remember? I've never liked you and I most especially don't like you now."

"Will you at least stop by and say hello to Mother? She's very despondent."

Charlotte choked out a cruel snicker. "You joking, right?"

"I suppose it was a ridiculous request," he grumbled. "Will you travel to Thornhill to see Theo?"

"I imagine I will."

"Can you deliver a message from me? Can you ask her to rein in Lord Thornhill? He's being such a beast to us and I'm certain Theo could convince him to show us some mercy."

She stared him down, her glare righteous and reproachful. "Do you deserve any mercy?"

"No, probably not."

"Are you sorry? Even a little bit?"

"I'm sorry I got caught," he said. He'd meant it to be funny, but it landed between them like a heavy anvil.

"What fate has Lord Thornhill engineered for you?" Charlotte inquired. "Might I hope you'll be hanged?"

"I've been told it will be transportation to the penal colonies in Australia."

"That conclusion will make me very happy."

She strolled out and he leapt up and called, "Charlotte! Don't go. Please!"

But she didn't reply and didn't slow down. The guard whisked her away and Arthur eased down on the cot and listened as her strides faded down the hall.

v

Win was standing with Antoinette outside her London home, and as he lamented the fact that she was his sister-in-law, he ordered himself to quit being an ass. She wasn't the sort of woman he'd ever assumed his brother would pick to be his bride, but that horse had left the barn.

For once, they'd managed to talk without it being too exhausting. Apparently, they were coming to terms with the reality that they were related by marriage. Neither of them was glad about it, but short of her marrying someone else—which wasn't likely—he was stuck with her.

Holden's nuptials had stirred such upheaval, and Win wondered what his brother's opinion of Antoinette had been at the end. Had he still been delighted about his decision? Had she been worth it? Or had he died suffering regrets?

Well, Win would never be able to ask him. He was dead and Win had vowed to be kinder to his widow.

Whenever he was in the city, he checked on her. She seemed to be fine, but she never thought she was. He paid her bills, paid her servants, and gave her an allowance, but she spent more than he supplied. She had no notion of economy and she presumed, since she was a Wainwright, she should have an unlimited income. He couldn't persuade her to cut back or be more sensible, so he figured they'd always be at odds.

He wasn't sure why he was in town. After Charlotte had fled Dartmouth, he'd been trapped at the manor with Agatha and Jasmine. He'd questioned Agatha about Jasmine's unexpected arrival, and she'd baldly admitted that she'd summoned Jasmine to the country to chase Charlotte away.

It was an infuriating confession, and he'd been too enraged to deal with it in a rational manner, so he'd fled Dartmouth too.

Jasmine had butted her nose into his private business in a way that was maddening. He hadn't been eager to scold her or fight about it, and he still planned to wed her, but at the moment, he was very irked. She was still at Dartmouth, no doubt celebrating with his mother over how they'd wrecked his affair, and the prospect was galling.

They'd been preening and gloating, and he'd been choking on their condescension, so he'd raced away to escape their bile. He'd intended to revel at his various clubs, but gambling bored him and his favorite brothels held no appeal. With his illicit liaison just concluding, he wasn't yet keen to engage in mischief with tarts.

The longer he tarried, the more evident it had become that he was hoping to bump into Charlotte. London was a massive metropolis, so the chances were slim that they'd cross paths, but he'd been praying for it anyway.

He didn't know where her home was located, and he could have investigated to discover where it was, but so far, he hadn't bothered. He ought to simply slither away before he made an even bigger fool of himself.

Even if he ran into her, what would he say? He wasn't about to cry off from his Society wedding and marry her instead. He was wallowing in a rut he'd dug for himself, and he was too stubborn, and too governed by convention, to move in a direction that was different from what had been so carefully laid down.

Antoinnette had walked him out and they were next to his carriage. She was a beautiful woman, who dressed at the height of fashion, so she was constantly attired in stunning gowns that Win bought for her. He tried not to be incensed about it. After all, she was the widow of an affluent gentleman and Win couldn't let her stagger around, looking like a pauper.

"Thank you for stopping by, Winston," she said and she grinned. "We actually chatted without quarreling."

"It was a small miracle."

"Perhaps we're maturing and we will quit acting like children."

"Or perhaps we're growing more accustomed to one another."

She smirked at that. "I've always been accustomed to you, but I recognize that I can take some getting used to."

He wouldn't touch that comment with a ten-foot pole. "I had Jasmine put your name on the guest list for the wedding. You should receive an invitation shortly. Promise you'll come."

"I wouldn't miss it."

It had been a concession he'd negotiated with Jasmine and Agatha. With Jasmine's father too. The trio had been insistent that Antoinnette not be included, so he'd overruled them. He wasn't about to march down the aisle, having refused to permit Holden's wife to sit in the front pew.

If his brother watched the ceremony from Heaven or Hell, or wherever he'd ended up, it would have been an unforgiveable slight that would have produced ripples of outrage in the netherworld. Win already felt cursed by Holden. He wouldn't deliberately make it worse by taunting Holden in the afterlife.

Win gazed at a house down the street. It was boarded up and a ‘For Sale' sign hung on the door. The residence he'd purchased for Antoinnette was in a thriving, posh area. Her neighbors were wealthy and successful, so they weren't generally the type of people to experience tragedy or trouble.

He gestured to it and said, "What happened there? Have you heard?"

"It's been quite the scandal and the whole block is tittering about it. My servants especially have been in a dither."

"Who lived there?"

"The Cronenworth family? Arthur and Georgina?"

On being apprised of who it was, he was surprised he didn't drop to the ground in a dead faint. "Arthur Cronenworth? Is that who you mean?"

"Yes. They owned a shipping company called HH Imports, but they were arrested for fraud and embezzlement. If it belonged to them though, I'm not sure how they could have been embezzling their own funds, so I'm not certain on the details. But they're in jail! At Newgate!"

"Oh, my goodness."

"Have you met Jackson Bennett, Lord Thornhill? There were articles about him in the newspapers last year—for his valor when he was in the army in India? The King raised him up as a reward."

"I've read about him, but we haven't been introduced."

"He lived on our street for a bit and he's involved somehow in unraveling the situation. He had the Cronenworths prosecuted."

"Arthur had two stepsisters," Win said. "Is there any information about them? They're not in jail too, are they?"

"No. The older one, Theodora, has fled the city. We think she's with Lord Thornhill, but we can't verify that story. And the younger one, Charlotte? She was here the other day. She pretended she was a casual acquaintance of the family, and I let her pretend, but I knew who she was."

His spirits plunged to his toes. "What did she want?"

"She claimed she simply intended to visit them, but it was clear she was unaware of what had transpired. She was very shocked to find the house locked up."

"I can imagine," he murmured, then he admitted when he shouldn't have, "Charlotte is a dear friend of mine."

Antoinnette understood that he wouldn't be friends with a female like Charlotte, and it landed him in Holden's same dicey territory as he'd lusted after Antoinnette, but she was gracious enough not to point it out.

She merely said, "She's very pretty. I can definitely comprehend why you'd have noticed her."

They both left it at that.

"She's estranged from her relatives," Win said, "so she's alone with no support, which worries me. After you spoke with her, where was she headed?"

"I counselled against it, but she was off to Newgate to confer with her stepbrother, Arthur. She was anxious to learn more about what had occurred."

"Gad, that's a horrendous notion." He blew out a heavy breath. "Did she mention her plans after that?"

"No, and I didn't suppose I should pry."

Win was frozen in his spot. What were the odds that, in all of London, Antoinnette would be living next to Charlotte? It indicated that he would eventually discover where her residence was located, but she wouldn't be there. Was Fate toying with him?

Where would she be now? He couldn't guess, but it was futile to lurk in town, futile to mope over her disappearance or her dire predicament. She'd picked her path and he'd picked his. If she suffered problems, it wasn't his responsibility to solve them.

The facts were these: He was marrying Jasmine and Charlotte had no desire to be his mistress. She'd scurried away from Dartmouth without a goodbye and he'd allowed her to depart without argument. A complete separation was for the best. Wasn't it?

He yanked his focus from the house and shifted it to Antoinnette. He forced a smile and said, "It was lovely to see you. I'm glad we talked like rational adults."

"It was very refreshing, wasn't it?"

"Keep an eye out for your wedding invitation. I'll expect you to be at the church and at the breakfast afterward."

She smiled too, looking glamorous and mysterious. "I can't wait and I'm honored to be included."

He nodded, wishing he could be happier about it, but there was too much water under the bridge, and he didn't think he'd ever be truly fond of her. He climbed in his coach, and as they rolled away, he didn't glance out. If she tarried to watch him leave, he had no idea.

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