“You needn’t stay,” he said. “I’ve got a thundering headache, and I’d like to rest.”
Mrs. Martin glanced over her shoulder. “Her ladyship asked ye to come down to the drawin’ room, miss. The men have come in, and they’re waitin’ on ye for tea.”
“Please go, Charlie,” her brother said, his voice now holding a pleading note. “I don’t need Mamma coming up here and ringing a peal over the both of us.”
Clearly, she wasn’t going to get anything more from him tonight. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
When he didn’t reply, she left and closed the door, frustration nipping at her heels. Another evening of tea and fraught conversation lay ahead, when all she wanted to do was mull things over. Should she confront Sir Leslie directly? Doing so could make things worse for Johnny.
If her brother continued to insist that he’d simply taken a tumble, she couldn’t go around accusing Sir Leslie of assaulting him. And had it been intended to be a violent attack, or had the bastard simply lost his temper and given her poor brother a shove? Although injury was all too likely, the embankment wasn’t steep enough to kill someone, unless one was very lucky—or unlucky, if on the receiving end of things.
Charlie took the staircase down to the first floor and stopped at the bottom, resting a hand on the polished banister. Everything was such a muddle, and she hadn’t a clue what to do next. The problems were piling up, with no ready solution in sight.
Talk to Kade.
She closed her eyes, fighting desperately against the desire to seek him out. What right did she have to pull him further into this mess? Yes, he’d offered to help her search for the brooch, but this situation? Johnny would be furious if she breathed a word to anyone.
“Ahem,” said a sweet little voice.
Charlie opened her eyes to see Tira standing a few feet away.
“How are you, Tira?” she replied, dredging up a smile.
“I’m fine. I was just in the drawing room, saying good night.” She shook her head. “Everyone was arguing, so I think most of them didn’t even notice I was there.”
“That was rude of them. What were they arguing about?”
“You, mostly,” the girl candidly replied. “And your brooch. And Johnny’s accident. And the curse on your family.”
Charlie couldn’t help smiling. “There really isn’t a curse.”
“I know. That was mostly your sister who said that. Then Grandda called her a jinglebrains . . .” She twirled a hand. “Not to her face, but everyone heard it. So Melissa started crying, and then Lord Kinloch and Grandda started yelling at each other. And then Mr. Campbell started yelling, too. He said that he should be able to court you anyway, even without the blasted brooch.”
“Oh, dear.”
Tira gave her a sympathetic grimace. “That’s when Grandda told him that he was a booby and a descendent of traitors, and that he should be thrown into Loch Leven as his just deserts. Everybody started yelling then, except my mother. She never yells. But people were starting to use bad language, so Mamma thought it best that I leave.”
Charlie rubbed her forehead, unsure whether she should burst into laughter or make her escape. “Very wise of your mother.”
“Mamma is very smart. She was trying hard to get everyone to calm down.” The little girl glanced down the hall, in the direction of the drawing room. “They’re still arguing, though.”
Sure enough, Charlie could hear muffled but decidedly agitated voices filtering their way toward them.
“I wouldn’t go in there, if I were you,” Tira added.
Charlie laughed. “I agree with you. In fact, I think a little stroll in the garden might be just the thing. Would you care to join me?”
“Thank you, but I’m on my way to the library. I found a very good book yesterday, and Mamma said I could read for a half hour before I go to bed.”
“Then I’ll wish you a good night.” She bent down and gave the little girl a hug. “Thank you for the warning.”
Tira flashed an enchanting little grin. “You’re welcome. Good night, Miss Charlie.”
She skipped off in the direction of the library, while Charlie made her way down the central staircase to the ground floor.
A footman stationed by the front door bobbed his head. “Good evenin’, Miss Charlotte. Can I get ye anythin’?”
“Good evening, Hamish. I don’t suppose you have a spare family hanging about, do you? I’m thinking of replacing mine.”
