He sprang back and reached for the abandoned glass of brandy that sat upon his desk. “Hell, I need as much money as I can get if I’m to stop Charlotte from bleeding me dry.” He winced as he took a large gulp.
“That’s part of the reason why I came to see you,” Emily told him a bit skittishly. She was constantly wary of the threat any mention of Charlotte might have on their happiness.
Francis raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Oh?”
“If I’m not mistaken, you were looking for a way to permanently rid yourself of her.”
“Well, yes, but if murder is what’s on your mind,” he said, noticing the conspiratorial gleam in her eyes, “then I’m sorry to tell you that I shan’t resort to such extreme measures—not that I haven’t considered it, mind you.”
“Honestly, Francis,” she chastised. “You have far too vivid an imagination for your own good. Do I look like a murderess to you?”
He regarded her momentarily, her black hair knotted at the nape of her neck, her milky complexion, and her bright green eyes. He had no trouble at all visualizing her with a carving knife in one of those delicate hands of hers.
She didn’t miss the slight shiver that raked his spine. “Good grief!” she exclaimed, clearly exasperated that his mind would entertain such a preposterous idea. “Intelligent people don’t resort to such base actions. They come up with a plan instead, and that’s precisely what I’ve done. Are you willing to hear it?”
It was impossible for Francis to hide his surprise. It moved him that Emily had gone to the trouble to find a way in which to save him from Charlotte’s clutches. It was as if a small spark of hope came to life in the bleak recesses of his mind. “More than willing—please continue, Emily. You have my full attention.”
“Right,” she said with a determined look upon her face. “It means that we won’t be able to tell anyone that you and I are married, not even my sisters. My plan will depend entirely upon Charlotte never discovering that we’ve been wed, so I really hope that you’re right in your evaluation of your staff.” She fixed him with a quizzical stare. If he had any doubts about his employees’ ability to keep a secret, now was the time to voice it.
“I believe their loyalty lies with me and that I can trust them not to reveal anything that might jeopardize us.”
“Very well, then,” she said, emptying her glass and setting it down. “Then here’s what we must do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
They returned to London three days later, confident that they had a bulletproof plan by which to remove Charlotte from their lives forever. It was true that it depended on some degree of luck, but they hoped that Francis’s connections with the ton would serve them well.
Beatrice shoved her way past Parker as the aging butler opened the door. Without a second thought to how she must look—rushing down the steps toward Emily, skirts trailing behind her—she flung her arms around her sister’s neck in a fierce hug. “Thank God you’re safe,” she murmured against Emily’s ear. Then, with some remnant of decorum, she peeled herself away from her sister, brushing her hands over Emily’s Spencer in hopes of straightening the ruffled garment. “I’m sorry, but I was so terribly worried about you.”
“That’s quite all right,” Emily smiled, taking her sister by the arm and leading her toward the house. “I would have been quite disappointed with a lesser display of affection.”
“That’s precisely what I thought,” Beatrice grinned with a hint of smugness.
“I’m the one who ought to apologize, Bea,” Emily stated as she gave her sister a sidelong glance. “It was incredibly stupid of me to run to Edward. It was very fortunate that Francis came along when he did. I believe our dear relation had set his mind on forcing me to capitulate to his desire to wed me.”
“Come now,” Beatrice chuckled. “Surely you exaggerate.”
“I’m afraid not,” Francis told her. “Your sister’s virtue was in serious jeopardy.”
Thunderous clouds of anger filled Beatrice’s otherwise tranquil eyes. Emily flinched; she’d never before witnessed such abhorrent animosity in her sister before now. “One day, I’ll have the bastard’s head on a plate,” she fumed. “The amount of grief he’s caused this family is more than I’m willing to endure.”
“Calm yourself, Bea. I’m all right now. Come, let’s go inside and have some tea.” Emily shot a nervous glance at Francis as she urged her sister toward the door. Nothing good would come of Beatrice making a public spectacle of herself out in the street. The thought that that was precisely what might happen was greatly unsettling. Beatrice had always been so calm, a pillar of strength that her younger sisters had clung to in the wake of tragedy. But even she was threatening to unravel before Emily’s very eyes.
And then the storm had passed as quickly as it had come and Emily was left with nothing but uncertainty.
“Yes, let’s have some tea,” Beatrice was saying. “And we’ll tell you the good news.”
Emily’s eyes drifted toward Claire, who stood waiting in the doorway. “Good news?”
“Yes—very good, in fact.” It was clear that Beatrice was bursting to tell them whatever it was. Her eyes sparkled with the knowledge that she held a secret that was sure to delight everyone. Claire looked equally excited as she hopped from foot to foot, impatience clear upon her face as she waited for Emily to remove her hat and gloves.
Once seated in the parlor, Beatrice fought the urge to spill the news as she went about pouring tea for everybody. Emily eyed her sisters carefully with the odd glance in Francis’s direction. He and Jonathan looked equally unmoved—how could they appear so indifferent when it was clear that her sisters looked as though they might tell them they’d discovered a way of traveling to the moon?
“Well?” Emily asked, unwilling to contain her curiosity for a moment longer.
“Shall I tell them?” Beatrice asked Claire.
“Yes, yes, all right,” Claire replied, her voice bubbling enthusiastically.
“No, no, it wouldn’t be right; you tell them, Claire.” Beatrice sounded equally giddy.
“Oh, but I couldn’t possibly, Bea. I think you should do it.”
Emily’s eyes darted from sister to sister as though she were watching a game of tennis. The animated behavior suited Claire’s personality, but Emily was stunned to see her older sister acting like a young schoolgirl. “Whatever is the matter with the two of you?” she asked, suppressing the urge to laugh that rose in her own throat—the scene was simply too comical for words. “You look like snickering girls who’ve just discovered the existence of boys for the very first time. Now get a hold of yourselves.”
The fact that Francis raised an eyebrow wasn’t lost on Emily. She knew the reason behind it the minute it happened and couldn’t help but bite down on her own lip. She was the one that was usually prone to laughing at her own private jokes, yet here she was, acting like an old matron, beseeching her sisters to be serious. It must be rather an odd tableau for any spectator familiar enough with their personalities.
“All right, Claire will tell you,” Beatrice remarked, folding her hands in her lap and looking expectantly at her youngest sister.
“No, I really think that you ought to do it, Bea,” Claire replied.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Emily gasped in exasperation, her patience beginning to wear thin. “Out with it!”
“There’s no need to be so blunt with us,” Claire muttered. Emily let out a sigh that did little to hide her annoyance, then took a sip of tea to smooth away her agitation, and sank back against her chair. She would just have to wait for one of them to say whatever it was that needed saying.
A tense silence spread throughout the room. Francis and Jonathan had wisely decided not to add to the conversation. They each sat in complete silence, watching the scene before them. Claire began nervously fidgeting with her dress, twisting the fabric that covered her lap between her fingers. Beatrice finally gathered her wits and spoke up. “Lord Camden paid us a visit this morning,” she said, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “He has made an offer for Claire.”
Emily was out of her chair quicker than a hound chasing a rabbit. She threw her arms about Claire in a tight hug. “That’s wonderful news, indeed,” she said. She pulled away slightly so as to see her sister’s face. “This is what you want, I take it?”
“What gave me away?” Claire asked in a teasing voice.
Emily just laughed, embracing her sister yet again. “I’m very happy for you. I remember you dancing with him at Kate and Adrian’s engagement party—you must have made quite an impression.”
“It appears that he is quite besotted with our Claire.” Beatrice picked up a strawberry tart and took a small bite from it. “He has agreed to marry her posthaste—on her birthday, nonetheless.”
“But that’s only three weeks away,” Emily gasped. “We can’t possibly arrange for a decent wedding in so little time.”
“Don’t you see that we must?” Claire said as she reached for Emily’s hand. “If we don’t, then all we have, little as it may be, reverts back to Edward. We mustn’t let that happen.”
Realization suddenly dawned on Emily. An offer had been made—a very good offer, it seemed—yet she couldn’t allow her sister to sacrifice her life as she had intended to do—especially when it was completely unnecessary. “Do you love him, Claire?” she finally asked.
“I . . .” a look of uncertainty flickered behind Claire’s eyes. “I like him a lot,” she finally said. “And I’m confident that I shall grow to love him.”
Emily winced. This was not what she wished for her youngest sister. She wanted her to love the man she planned to marry just as much as she loved Francis. “I think perhaps you’re rushing into this because of circumstance, Claire.”
It was a statement that was brutally honest and had Claire’s eyes flaring in an instant. She rounded on her sister with a mean look in her eyes. “Do I not look happy to you, Emily?” she asked from between clenched teeth. “I am overjoyed—to be fortunate enough that a gentleman such as Lord Camden—a viscount, no less—is willing to marry me in spite of how little I shall be bringing into such a marriage—it is fortuitous, indeed. I have nothing but my parents’ name, my looks, and my virtue to commend me. There is no dowry, and yet he is willing to have me anyway.”
Emily’s eyes stung at her sister’s statement. The truth in it only made it so much more difficult to accept. “But you . . .”
“Just because you lost the chance to marry Adrian doesn’t give you the right to thwart my hopes of happiness.”
Emily sank her head, her eyes trying to focus on the intricate design of the carpet. How she longed to tell her sisters that she herself was happily married, that Claire needn’t marry out of obligation. She longed to throw Claire’s words back in her face, declaring her everlasting love for Francis, but how could she? Not without jeopardizing Francis’s hope for a happy future. There was too much at stake. Besides, three weeks might be enough time for them to hatch their plan against Charlotte. Or perhaps Claire might come to love Lord Camden just a little by then.