Partnering money and power.A dance that had involved a dizzying array of steps and spins.
“In every strata of Society, there is a price to pay for admission to its highest circle.” Charlotte shrugged. “So, how is it that Sheffield and Wrexford are friends? Sheffield seems a fribble, and my sense is, the earl is not.”
“I believe they formed a bond during their years at Oxford.” Jeremy paused again to give her question careful thought. “My impression of Sheffield is that he has a sharp mind, but he has no way to put his intellect to practical use. And boredom often begets cynicism.”
God forbid that a gentleman sully his lily-white hands in business or a profession other than the military, the government, or the church. Charlotte didn’t envy the aristocracy. The cage might be gilded, and filled with sumptuous pleasures and glittering amusements.
But it was still a cage.
“You’ve been incredibly helpful. I . . .” She couldn’t think of any words that might lessen the hurt of their earlier exchange. Choices, choices. Hers had been made a long time ago.
“I ought to be going,” finished Charlotte softly. “I’ve a drawing to finish by this evening.”
Jeremy rose, and knowing better than to offer her an escort home, he held out the unopened box of pastries. “Please take this. The lads are fond of apple tarts.”
She accepted it with a nod of thanks.
“I may not like your decision, Charley.” The knuckles of his gloved hand brushed against her cheek. “But that doesn’t change our friendship, or our current arrangement. I am here for you whenever you need my help.”
“I’m grateful—truly grateful, Jem.” Charlotte wished she could banish the demons lurking deep within the recesses of her being. But they had always been there. In that the two of them were kindred spirits. But Jeremy had always been by far the wiser in how to deal with his inner devils.
“If it makes you uncomfortable,” she went on, “I will not ask again for information about the foibles of your peers.”
He forced a smile. “And miss the point of your quill puncturing the pompous, puffed-up arrogance of Polite Society?” His expression turned serious. “You keep them honest, Charley. I applaud your courage, even though it terrifies me.”
It terrifies me as well.
Touching the brim of his hat in salute, Jeremy turned without further words and crossed to the open iron gate.
Charlotte stared down at the tips of her half boots, unwilling to watch him disappear into the shadows of the side street. She sat for several more minutes, curling the fringe of her shawl around her fingers so tightly that the pain brought tears to her eyes.
Pain is good. It reminds us that we are alive.
She opened the box and took a small bite of a tart, savoring the thick grains of crystallized sugar flecked with spicy cinnamon. So, too, did the small moments of sweetness.
She was strong. She would not let the darkness consume her.
* * *
Wrexford paused in the corridor to consider his options.
Which were virtually nil. Although he was a member of the Royal Institution, he had no official authority to ignore the Runner’s orders, and given the circumstances, it would not be wise to test just how far he could push the man.
“Bloody bad timing,” he muttered.
“I take it you saw something you wished to examine more closely,” murmured Tyler.
“Yes. But Griffin’s ham-fisted handling of things will likely destroy it.”
“Perhaps I can help.” His valet darted a look at the group of porters emerging from the stairwell with their buckets and brooms. “I can switch coats and hats with one of these fellows, and Griffin may not notice me in the commotion.”
“It may work,” said the earl. “There are several half-burned papers atop the charred books. Try to find a way to smuggle them out. It won’t be easy—they are damnably fragile and it’s key not to have them—”
“Lord Wrexford!” A slender man of medium height shouldered his way past the porters. “I didn’t realize you were here in the building.” He heaved an out-of-breath sigh as he hurried to join them. “Good Lord, what a hideous business.”
“Indeed it is, Lowell,” agreed the earl. Lord Declan Lowell, younger son of the Marquess of Carnsworth, served as superintendent of the building. A skilled administrator, as well as a man interested in science—Wrexford couldn’t recall his specific field of focus—he had been asked by the Royal Institution’s head to handle the logistics of the public lectures and research laboratories.
At the present moment he didn’t envy him the job.
