As they entered the bakery, Henry noted that Sir Roger did not follow but loitered nearby, his eyes never straying far from Charlotte. It was enough to set Henry’s nerves on edge, and he glared at the man through the glass until Leonard had finally made his way down the road and out of sight.
They lingered in the shop for a while, Charlotte selecting a few sweet rolls while Henry purchased a loaf of fresh currant bread. They did not speak of Leonard, but he could not help but notice the tension in the way Charlotte moved. The encounter had badly shaken her.
The ladies finally completed their purchases, and they departed the shops, making their way back up the road. Henry was relieved to see no sign of Sir Roger. He hung back from the other ladies, waiting until they were a good distance away before glancing at Charlotte, who remained by his side, her eyes downcast.
“Are you all right, Charlotte?” he asked.
She hesitated. “I… I am not certain. It was quite a shock to see Sir Roger here.”
Henry frowned. “What possible reason could he have to be in town? I have never heard of him having acquaintances in this area before.”
Charlotte’s lips pressed together. “I do not know.”
Neither did Henry. But as he walked beside her, a cold unease settled in his chest. He had a dreadful suspicion that Charlotte was the very reason Sir Roger was here. Which meant he was planning something. Henry was afraid to wonder what.
CHAPTER 17
Henry barely waitedfor the ladies as he stormed back to the estate, his boots crunching against the gravel of Arundel Park’s drive. The others—including Charlotte and the rest of her party—chattered as they followed at a more leisurely pace, but Henry had little energy for further conversation. His mind was a tangle of worries, one thread leading to another until he could barely make sense of them all.
William. He should tell him about Leonard’s arrival and his so-called apology to Charlotte. He hesitated outside the entrance, wondering whether to go and find his friend straight away, but decided he had better clear his head first. He needed to think.
He muttered an excuse about a pressing matter that required his attention and took his leave before anyone could protest. He strode through the grand entrance and down the hall to his office, where he closed the heavy door behind him with a sigh of relief. The momentary silence felt like a balm, but it did little to calm his racing thoughts.
Sir Roger. The very name set his nerves alight. He had to speak with William, to confide in his old friend and seek counsel on the matter, but first, he needed a moment of solitude. Hepoured himself a generous measure of brandy and took a sip, letting the warmth spread through him and soothe the edge of his nerves.
It was then that he saw the letter on his desk.
Unsealed. Unaddressed.
His stomach sank. Not another threat.
Frowning, he set his glass down and mentally prepared himself for whatever was inside. With trembling fingers, he unfolded the paper. The words leapt out at him:
Be at the secluded alcove of the grotto at 4:30?p.m., or suffer the consequences of your secret being made public.
Henry’s pulse quickened, and the room seemed to grow colder. Another note that was meant to blackmail him; no doubt a payout would be demanded in exchange for silence about the secret he guarded so closely.
One of them, anyway.
The blackmailer must be bold to leave such a note so carelessly upon his desk as if certain he would obey.
All thoughts of speaking with William vanished. Henry began to pace, the letter still in hand. He had suspected from the start that whoever was behind the first note sought to leverage his secret for financial gain or, worse, power over him.
What if the mysterious letter writer truly did know the secret of his birth?
His insides chilled at the thought. But surely that was impossible. No one could know. Unless his mother had said something she oughtn’t.
But no, she would never. By doing so, she’d suffer under the weight of the scandal almost as much as he would. Perhaps he could ask for her opinion on who it might be, but if this was simply a ploy for money, he did not wish to risk distressing her unnecessarily.
He would see what the villain wanted first.
The minutes dragged until, finally, it was time. Henry donned what he hoped was a neutral expression and made his way to the gardens, keeping a careful eye on his surroundings, watching for observers who may be watching where he was going, looking for a reaction. But the house and gardens were quiet. Following afternoon tea, most of his guests had retired to their rooms or the drawing room.
The grotto where he was to meet the messenger lay at the farthest end of the grounds, secluded by hedges and old oaks. A perfect place for a clandestine meeting.
But before he could reach it, he caught sight of a young woman strolling through the flower garden, alone and unchaperoned. It was a different young lady to the one he had seen in the corridor before the appearance of the first note. His heart lurched. Could there be more than one person in on this scheme?
This did not feel like something a lady would do. Unless it was a spectacularly ruthless ploy to force him into marriage?
