A pattern had emerged through the night that was now very familiar. In the beginning, Kilby would approach his father with a series of new opportunities. His father would hand over the money for Kilby to arrange everything and wait for the returns. When they did not arrive, he queried it with Kilby, who would make some excuse for the delay.
When the delays became unreasonable, his father confronted him, and Kilby exposed the truth—that the late duke’s money had been used for nefarious schemes. Kilby threatened to expose him, and, after a time, demanded money for the privilege of his silence.
One whiff of impropriety might have ruined his father, and Colin could now see the mounting desperation in the late duke’s correspondence towards the end of his life.
As Kilby made threats, his father paid him off, no doubt thinking it would be a single payment. But Lord Kilby had thendemanded more and more over a number of months until the duke must have known he was in too deep to retract anything.
Colin’s own feelings for his father were difficult to define.
He had been a harsh and unforgiving man who had treated his only son ruthlessly for the majority of his adult life. Their relationship had been tumultuous and unpleasant, but he was still his father. Colin was determined that he would make Kilby pay for what he had done.
He spent another half hour tidying his desk and placing aside all the documents he did not need to refer to again. In the end, the study looked fairly serviceable, and his loyal butler brought him a tray of coffee first thing, which helped to revive him.
He pulled his inkwell forward and glanced up at the storm clouds gathering outside his window. There would be grave ramifications for what he was about to do, but all he knew for sure was that he would claim the moral victory. He could not allow Kilby to go unpunished, whatever consequences that might mean for many who knew him.
He began to write a series of notes, each carefully worded, inviting key members of society to an urgent meeting at his club later that day. Many of them had been mentioned or referenced in his father’s correspondence, and he wanted to ensure that everyone who might have been involved knew the truth.
He hesitated as he came to Lord Richard Wentworth’s name. What he was about to reveal would have profound implications, not just on Lord Wentworth’s life but also on his daughter’s. The thought of Lady Wentworth’s beautiful face was a comforting one at that moment, however. Colin knew in his heart that even if a future with her was impossible for himself, he could save her from a life with a liar and a fraud.
With that, he sealed the letters and stood, stretching his back, which was aching damnably, and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror above the fireplace.
The man staring back at him looked exhausted, his eyes red-rimmed, his skin pale. Yet the expression on his face was one of determination. He looked up at his father’s portrait, hoping that after today, it might be easier to look upon it, knowing everything was settled.
For the first time, Colin felt the burdens weighing him down lift from his shoulders, knowing that he now had the power to take control of his fate.
***
Across town, Charlotte sat on the window seat, looking down at the bustling London streets below. She had been sitting there for many minutes watching the world go by, but felt compelled to move as a stiffness formed in her legs.
She slipped her feet from the edge of the seat and stood. She did not feel hungry at all but descended the stairs to the breakfast, nonetheless, hoping that she might at least feel better for some food.
But as she reached the hallway, she heard an urgent voice coming from the parlour.
She slowed her steps, quieting them so as not to be detected, and listened keenly to see who it was. She recognized her father’s voice and tiptoed down the remaining stairs, walking as close to the door as she dared. The voices were low, but she heard snatches of their conversation.
“The investments have been discussed…I am aware of the fact… he is a long-standing acquaintance…what do you mean? You have an obligation, sir…”
In contrast to her father’s low and earnest voice, Charlotte was shocked to hear Lord Kilby alongside it. Kilby’s voice washigh pitched, the tone unmistakably placatory, as though he were reassuring her father about something, but Charlotte could not guess what.
Not wishing to be caught eavesdropping, she walked to the door and entered the room without further ado. Their conversation ceased abruptly, and Charlotte stood still, her hand on the door handle, waiting for one of them to speak.
Lord Kilby smiled, bowing to her stiffly, the gesture forced and unnatural in the silent room. His eyes darted nervously to her father and back.
“Good morning, Lady Wentworth; you are a vision as always.”
Charlotte managed a smile in return. “Thank you, my Lord, this is an unexpected pleasure.”
What on earth is Lord Kilby doing here so early in the morning? It is almost two hours until visiting time.
Charlotte opened her mouth to ask that very question, but before she was able to, a footman appeared at her elbow, slightly out of breath, with a letter in his hand.
“Lord Wentworth, an urgent message has been delivered for you.”
Her father approached, taking the letter and opening it on the spot. Charlotte’s eyes remained on Lord Kilby for a short time, noting the way the man was staring at the letter, shifting his weight incessantly.
Her father’s face morphed from surprise to concern in an instant as his eyes moved over the paper. He folded the note, putting it in his inside pocket, and laid a gentle hand on Charlotte’s shoulder in an uncharacteristic show of affection.
“Lord Kilby, I believe you said you would need to be on your way?” her father barked.
