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Charles Baxter’s eyes scrunched tight. “And how on earth could you know that, Lady Stanton?”
Charlotte opened her lips to prove her words. At that moment, however, she was overcome with tremendous fear. The letter, the one that had informed her she would “pay” if she told Charles Baxter anything: it remained at the forefront of her mind, overwhelming her, a consistent reminder that she had to be incredibly safe.
Charlotte couldn’t speak. Her eyes connected with his, seemingly attempting to translate everything. Still, without words, Charles was left in the dark.
“Very well,” Charles Baxter said. His words simmered with scorn. “I suppose I should make my way, then. There’s a great deal to do in this business. I can’t very well remain out here on the street, waiting for some sort of evidence you cannot prove you have.”
Just like that, Charles Baxter sauntered away from her and disappeared from sight, round the yonder corner. Charlotte gaped after him, enraged with both herself and him. For the first time, she had a hunch that Charles Baxter would close the case if given the chance. What had happened with Jeffrey’s brother could very well occur once more.
At that moment, Jeffrey burst out of the brasserie. His eyes were enormous, red from all the smoke within. Charlotte and Jeffrey rushed towards the alley and hovered in the shadows. Jeffrey’s hands gripped her shoulders.
“Are you quite all right, darling? You look terribly pale,” he said.
Charlotte shook her head violently. “I’m fine. Tell me. Did you learn anything?”
“Apparently, he really was going to see the mystic,” Jeffrey affirmed. “Although it seems that several people were. Perhaps Brooks was the only one amongst them that the mystic found to be gullible enough for …” He trailed off. “Although that means, of course, that my brother was just the same.”
Charlotte heaved a sigh. “It isn’t up to us to say what happened exactly, only to prove that the mystic was the cause behind their deaths. I don’t wish to cast blame on them, only to bring their killer to justice.”
“I feel the same,” Jeffrey affirmed.
They studied one another for a long moment. Charlotte bit hard on her lower lip. Through everything, and despite it all, she couldn’t resist the feeling that they’d really made a good team.
“I suppose I’d better get back to Margorie and Louisa,” she whispered. “I don’t want them to suspect anything. I think the truth could endanger them.”
“Yes. Of course.”
Again, the air sizzled between them.
“It seems that we’re inching ever more towards the truth,” Charlotte breathed finally. “I cannot wait until it’s finished.”
“Perhaps we can even find a way towards a normal existence,” Jeffrey said.
“As though that would suit either of us,” Charlotte said, offering an ironic laugh.
She then lifted herself ever-so-slightly and dropped a kiss on his cheek. In a split-second, she gripped her skirts and fled, rushing through the centre of town and back towards the fabric store. Her heart raced, beating so quickly she felt it might burst. When she appeared before the fabric store, both Margorie and Louisa appeared in the doorway. They both burst into laughter at the sight of Charlotte.
“What’s happened to you?” Louisa asked. Her eyes glittered with humour. “You look as though you’ve just been exercising.”
Charlotte blinked, unsure of what to say.
“Have you lost all concept of words, Charlotte?” Margorie asked teasingly.
“Perhaps she’s mute,” Louisa said.
They arrived before her and grinned broadly. Charlotte shook, overwhelmed. Had she really just kissed that marvellous, arrogant, brave, strong man? Was it possible that she could continue to kiss him, perhaps the remaining days of her life? What had he meant about a “normal existence”?
Marriage. Children. A big estate, all their own.
“We’ve lost her again,” Louisa said. “Perhaps her daydreaming has got the better of her.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Let’s return, shall we? It seems as though there’s a wedding dress to be made.”
“It very much does,” Margorie offered, beaming. She brought a bit of the gorgeous yellow fabric from the interior of her bag and said, “I can’t imagine a better option for my gown.”
Charlotte beamed all the way back to the estate with her hands clasped in her lap and her eyes on the horizon. Both Louisa and Margorie chattered, seemingly not noticing Charlotte’s wayward gaze and lost thoughts. It felt as though they all existed on separate journeys, charging towards their futures alongside one another—each becoming the sort of women they’d always dreamed of.
