Perry blinked, the reality of the danger he was in colliding with the loud ringing in his ears. He had been shot. There was no time to contemplate what had just occurred.
The horse leaped into the air with a terrified squeal.
Darkness crept into his field of vision as he dropped to clutch Mercury’s neck for dear life. This was how he was going to die. Shot in the road like a common thief. His limbs turned as weak as jelly as the horse bolted. With his face buried in his horse’s neck, he hadn’t the energy to guide the animal, even if he could calm him.
Warm blood oozed from his wound, dripping almost unseen onto the horse’s glossy black coat. His blood. With a shuddering inhale, Perry prayed someone would find him.
It would be most dreadful to die without anyone knowing where he was.
For a moment, he welcomed death, knowing she would be waiting for him on the other side.
Chapter Four
Charlotte sat with her porcelain cup resting on her lips as she sipped her hot tea, admiring Aurelia through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the morning room as she played in the garden with the nursemaid, Ann. She looked forward to this part of her day; her moment of peace, watching her daughter laugh and skip in the garden, leading her nurse on a merry chase, talking incessantly about each flower and insect they stumbled upon. Their morning lessons were over, and Aurelia could stretch her legs and enjoy the magical wonder their garden provided most seasons of the year. She jumped at the sound of the door knocking behind her. Her cup clattered as she nervously placed it back on the delicately painted floral saucer. Charlotte’s days followed a repetitive pattern that rarely changed. She could not imagine why on this day a servant would come to disturb her moment of peace.
Teatime was sacred.
Her eyes followed the butler as he strode with great urgency into the room. “What is it, Hutchins?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but we have a visitor, ma’am,” he replied, his voice rough. The gray-haired man twisted his handsnervously, something the stoic butler had never done. He seemed fretful.
Charlotte frowned, taken aback. “Who could possibly be visiting us unannounced? Is it Mama or Papa? I received no letters indicating we would be welcoming a guest.”
A visitor would be a happy distraction.
She was becoming a touch morose of late.
“I’m not sure who it is, Miss Charlotte. Perhaps you would help us identify him. We do not recognize him as being local, though he is well-dressed. The man is injured and requires immediate attention. What room should we put him in?”
Charlotte gasped, a hand clutching at her chest. She was the lady of the house, in a sense, though she avoided being seen. If word of her good health traveled back to London, it would reveal that some deception had been afoot these many years. Part of her understanding with her parents had been to keep out of sight, thus maintaining the illusion that she was still suffering from an illness. Too unwell to take part in thebeau monde. To be seen glowing with health outside the close boundaries of the estate was forbidden. It was too dangerous. The last thing she wanted to do was harm her family, who had sheltered her all this time.
Any appearance from her would revive the gossip and create a scandal the likes of which London had not seen in a long time. Questions would arise, and suspicions would be aroused. Those were the conditions of her being allowed to remain with her child. No one must discover the truth about her prolonged absence. Charlotte’s gaze darted about the morning room as she considered her next actions. After fretting with her skirts, she stood, with new determination strengthening her spine.
“Bring me to him. I will let you know if I recognize him,” she ordered, then followed apprehensively behind Hutchins, her racing heart revealing the turmoil that lay within her breast. What if they were discovered? It would have been impossible to keepAurelia from society forever, but for now, they were happy in their little bubble of isolation. Nothing must interfere with that.
“What happened to him, Hutchins? Must we fetch a doctor?” she asked, her shorter legs working to keep up with her long-legged butler’s uncommonly fast speed.
“Our guest is unconscious. I believe he is gravely injured, ma’am. We will care for him as you see fit. You and Miss Aurelia shall be protected,” the butler said, holding her gaze.
She gave a small smile at his attempt to ease her worries. Her beloved servants at Fermoy had always worked tirelessly to keep her secret safe. Hutchins protected her as a father would shelter his child. They never treated Aurelia differently, despite the circumstances of her birth. They completely ignored that Charlotte was a fallen woman. Gratitude flooded her body as the cloak of Hutchins’s protection wrapped itself around her.
She searched for signs of her lady’s maid, Aamina. In times of crisis, she always turned to the one who had single-handedly supported her since they were both young women. Aamina’s parents died of fever when she was a little girl in her home country of India. Charlotte’s father brought her back from his travels with the East India Company. Having been friends with Aamina’s father before he passed, Baron Percy had not the heart to leave her behind—an orphan alone. The young girl was only a few years older than Charlotte and became her closest companion. As soon as she was old enough to work, Aamina trained to be a lady’s maid in the Townsend household. Her loyalty and friendship were a treasured gift, especially when her life took an unexpected detour.
Charlotte entered the marble-clad foyer, where two footmen were holding onto a man with his head bowed low. The man was tall and clearly a heavy burden for the footmen carrying him. Her heart dropped to her stomach as a fledgling suspicion rose in her mind. He was smartly dressed in a charcoal gray waistcoat, tanpantaloons, and tall boots in a rich mahogany color. A man of wealth. The quality of his clothing spoke of his being from one of the local wealthier families.
A dark stain ran down the front of his shirt.
Blood.
It could only be blood.
“We believe he’s been shot, ma’am,” Bexley, the footman, said, panting from his exertion.
Charlotte walked up to the mysterious stranger and placed her fingers on his chin, lifting his head carefully to catch a glimpse of his face. He released a shuddered breath, and she stepped back. Though his eyes remained closed, her heart beat a sickening pace in her chest.
Inhaling sharply, Charlotte reached a hand out to steady herself against the wall. Though altered by a rather unkempt beard and unusually long, wavy hair curling around his face, she would recognize that face anywhere.
He was the man who had sealed her fate.
