Page 87 of Why Do Earls Fall in Love?
“I have an idea or two about how to handle your father,” Stoneacre spoke up. “I think that together, we can manage to convince him to shut down the operation. But let us deal with the situation before us, first.”
“Actually, Charlotte,” Chester interrupted. “It might not be a bad idea for you to make more sketches of Hurley. Whiddon can leave them with the refugees he contacts, with a warning that he is not and has never worked with the man on this matter. He can also share the true statement that he is the one believed to have possession of the bulk of the stolen items.” He gave a bitter laugh. “And if they take care of him for us, so much the better.”
A debate erupted then about such a possibility and which outcome would be best. Whiddon didn’t care who apprehended Hurley, as long as he got the chance to question him about the whereabouts of the jewels. He noticed, however, that Charlotte didn’t offer an opinion. She looked distracted, in fact.
When the discussion wound down, she looked suddenly to Stoneacre. “My lord, in your work with Half Moon House and your wife’s crusades, have you met many pawnbrokers? Or better yet, any of the more invisible fences that deal in stolen goods?”
“Indeed,” Stoneacre answered with a smile. “In both my public and my private work, I’ve made a great many questionable acquaintances.”
Whiddon immediately saw what she was getting at. “Yes,” he said. “Charlotte is right. Hurley might try to sell off the jewelry, if he cannot find the owners.”
“It might be a good idea to leave a list of the pieces with those men Lord Stoneacre trusts to report back to us, should they show up, or be whispered about.”
“A very good idea, Lady Whiddon.” Stoneacre nodded. “I know of a couple of good candidates.”
They wound to a close soon after and everyone stood and stretched and talked in low voices as they prepared to tackle their assigned tasks. Whiddon paused to bid Charlotte goodbye before he set off.
“Thank you for including me,” she said quietly.
“Thank you for being so helpful.”
“I’ll start making new sketches right away.”
He nodded and kissed her softly. Watching her head lightly up the stairs, listening to the friends behind him, who had all dropped everything at a moment’s notice to come at his call, he grew contemplative.
It was the same battle he’d been fighting yesterday. But now he knew his real foe. He had a team behind him, beyond poor, faithful Chester. They had a plan.
But most important of all, now he had something truly worth fighting for.
* * *
The followingdays were busy and tense. Even so, Charlotte felt happier than she ever had before. Whiddon was in and out at all hours, but he kept her updated, shared the group’s latest breakthroughs, founderings, thoughts and theories and every night, no matter how late he made it to bed, they came together in glorious passion.
She’d had no idea how much she’d had to learn about marital relations, but Whiddon set about treating her to a sensual buffet and she eagerly followed his lead. Neither of them slept much, but they both bore smiles and light hearts in the mornings.
She finished sketching several more images of Hurley for the searchers to use in their pursuits. She spent a great deal of time with Elizabeth and Margie as the girl began to teach the maid about the basics of fashion and the duties of a lady’s maid. They read guides about the removal of stains and the care of difficult fabrics. They asked the seamstresses to teach her about buttons and repairs. They pored over fashion magazines, discussing hems and flounces and trims, and the differences between day gowns, carriage gowns, evening wear and everything in between. They lingered in the windows of Charlotte’s room to watch the ladies go by. Long afternoons were spent discussing fashionable hairstyles and how to achieve them, and several times Charlotte found herself seated at the vanity while Margie practiced ringlets and braids and Elizabeth hovered and gave instruction.
“You look undeniably charming with cropped hair,” Charlotte told her sister-in-law during one of these sessions. One of the new, household kittens slept in her lap while the other worried the ragged end of a ribbon in the corner. The staff had decided to name them One and The Same, as they were nearly impossible to tell apart. “You will have to grow it out, though, I think. We will want as few similarities as possible between Eli and Elizabeth.”
“You are right, I know.” Elizabeth toyed with her short curls. “I felt so light and free when first I cut it, but I admit, all of this talk of fashion is making me miss my ribbons, skirts and furbelows.”
“It’s just as well. As soon as Hurley is found, we’ll need to find a way to retire Eli and bring Elizabeth home.”
Charlotte also recruited the other two women into helping her set up her studio. The boxes of supplies that Whiddon had ordered arrived and she thoroughly enjoyed unpacking them and exclaiming over each new treasure. She took Elizabeth and Margie up to the attics for a good rummage, where they claimed a long table, several sets of shelves and some comfortably worn but perfectly serviceable chairs.
She was alone in the studio one afternoon, arranging pigments and primer ingredients, and thinking about the portrait of Aunt Bernadine she would like to paint. Charlotte had never seen a portrait of her aunt in her uncle’s house. It was high time one was done. She would paint her near the cabinet which housed her collection of ancient coins. She would put her in a blue frock to match her eyes and—
She paused when the door opened and Whiddon poked his head inside. “Charlotte,” he said softly. “May I bring someone in to speak with you?”
She turned with a smile. “Of course.”
He opened the door and ushered in a frail, older lady. Her hair was white, her clothes scrupulously clean but frayed, and the smile on her face was knowing. “Ah.” She breathed in the smell of linseed oil and canvas and smiled up at Whiddon. “You have married a realartiste, my lord. Very wise of you.”
Mystified, Charlotte set down her jars of pigment and went to meet them.
“Lady Whiddon, may I present Madame Marie Louise Calas?”
“How do you do? Please, come and sit, won’t you?” She indicated the corner where she’d set up the comfortably shabby chairs and a small table. “I will send for tea.”
