Page 38 of Unforeseen Affairs (The Sedleys #6)

Charlotte stared at the banner hanging high above her on the facade of the theater. It was bright and clean, newly hung.

The Astounding Thaddeus Taggart Bass , it read in large, flourishing script. And then below that, in smaller block text, Engagements twice daily .

She studied the depiction of him on the banner, with his too-long hair and risible mustache. His arm was extended toward a cloud with something obscured behind it. Something astounding, she supposed. Though perhaps not to her, for she’d seen his entire act before.

All of it complete duffery.

“Right.” Colin’s cheerfulness interrupted her musings as he appeared at her side. “We’ll be in style tonight; the only tickets left were for the private box.”

Charlotte raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m well aware that we’re wringing wet,” he said in a rush, embarrassed. “But the shops should be open for another hour or so, if you—”

“It’s not that,” she interrupted, turning back to study the banner. “Only I loathe the thought of lining that man’s pockets.”

She could feel his eyes on her, and with them that curl of desire, that tightening against the ache low in her…

She shook off the thought, keeping her breath steady even as her lashes fluttered. Tonight they would be together again, in the same bed.

There were so many things she wished to experience with him. But she would soon have to return to her family. And if they discovered what she’d been about, that Sir Colin Gearing had not left her side for several days, nor for the nights in between…

He would marry her. He’d said as much when they’d taken shelter from the thunderstorm. She knew he would do it even if for no other reason than sheer, overwhelming guilt.

Charlotte did not know how she felt about that. She did not wish to be anyone’s obligation.

But he’d also vowed to do anything for her, had pledged himself to her like a knight of old. Now her entire person warmed at the memory—not quite the taut, anxious heat of anticipation, but something happy and light. Safe and secure.

“Why does he bother you so? One might simply turn away, and forget his existence altogether.”

“That’s true,” she admitted, happy to speak of anything other than their potentially intertwined futures.

“Is your admiration for Mrs. Stone so great that you will stop at nothing to exact this…” She could hear him scratch his night whiskers, he was so close. “This revenge?”

“No.”

So close she’d been this morning. So close to seeing her mother. If only Mrs. Stone would teach her, or would reach out on her behalf, perhaps Charlotte’s mind could finally be put at ease.

“Then what could it be? Please, Charlotte.” His voice dropped. “Allow us to be honest with one another. At least in this,” he pleaded.

“And what about you?”

“What?”

She turned and pinned him with a scathing glare. “Is your esteem for this Abdon so great, your friendship so treasured, that you would forfeit all propriety and place your trust in me? Me , Sir Colin? An actress’s bastard, and a Sedley to boot?”

Even though her voice was steady, Charlotte was taken aback by her own words.

When had she ever before breathed a single word of self-doubt?

There was truth in what she said, though.

People pitied her. People thought her strange.

Women would dab at their eyes as they regarded her, whispering of her misfortune behind their handkerchiefs.

Men stared, wide-eyed and terrified that they, too, might one day sire some unfortunate hanger-on—if they had not, to their knowledge, already done so—or otherwise made a show of shaking their heads sadly as they tutted.

Such a shame , that . Bloody good actress, too. A Sedley bastard, eh? Would expect there’s more of them—you know their lot. Mad and degenerate, careless in all their affairs. Knew that fool’s behavior would catch up with him in the end, the roué.

Hiding away in attics and odd corners had silenced them all to her ears, for their voices could not reach her in such places.

Searching through dusty trunks and bundles of lost correspondence, she’d found companionship with the shameful Sedleys from the past. All of them long dead, silent in their graves. They made for far better company.

Perhaps belatedly, she realized she no longer wanted to have to hide from strangers’ gossip. Unfortunately, her current desire for Colin, and what it could do to her reputation, was quite at odds with that wish.

Unless you were to marry him , a tiny voice pointed out.

Colin was watching her, his calm, steady eyes trained upon her with a kindness she was not sure she deserved.

“I gave Beaky my word, that’s true,” he finally responded, sounding less like a determined brother in arms and more like a world-weary veteran who’d already seen too much. “But I would trust you implicitly, besides.”

His gaze softened, and his head dipped.

“I do trust you, you know,” he said quietly. “In all things. In fact, I am here almost entirely for you.”

She frowned. “How do you mean?”

“Before we left London, I spoke with Beaky. He’s used me terribly, I’ve now realized.

Our friendship has run its course, and I told him as much.

I also told him that, while he might benefit from its outcome, I am continuing with this undertaking not for him and Miss Pearce, but for another young lady altogether. ”

“Oh?” An unseen hand gripped her heart and tightened around it.

“Yes,” he murmured, a wider smile breaking out across those wonderful lips. “Only for her would I allow such a degenerate as Mr. Bass to occupy so much of my mind. And there are so many other things I would do only for her, if only she would allow it.”

Something stung at her eyes. With a flutter of uncertainty, Charlotte reached into her small reticule and fished out her handkerchief, then turned away so he might not see as she dabbed it lightly at one corner of her eye.

It seemed that giving her affection to another had come with a bevy of unconsidered consequences; mawkishness, Charlotte decided, was the worst of them.

“But although I am only too pleased to help you, I cannot help but feel sad at the demise of that friendship,” Colin sighed behind her. “The loss of someone from before… well. From when I was young. It feels… almost as if I’ve lost a piece of myself in the process.”

He paused.

Charlotte turned back to him. She wanted to reach out, to touch his cheek or pull him into an embrace. The urge came upon her so suddenly she found it almost alarming.

“We came up as midshipmen together, you know. Like brothers we were.”

Like the brother he’d lost.

She was struck by a pang of hurt, recalling Mrs. Gearing’s stricken face at that first spirit circle. It seemed so long ago, but now the memory pained her in a way she’d never have expected.

The stream of pedestrians that had split around the two of them on the pavement now began to close in, jostling them as they crowded about in their rush home for supper or toward their evening work.

But still Charlotte and Colin stood there, close before but somehow closer now, unbothered by the churn of Mancunians bustling around them.

Charlotte extended her hand to Colin.

His face flushed slightly as he regarded it. He took it, then looked away as if it were too much to bear.

For the slightest moment she felt her heart might crack, that she’d presumed too much.

But then he tightened his grip on her, squeezing her hand as if holding on for dear life.

Perhaps this was what ought to be, what Mrs. Stone had seen when the three of them were in the back room of The Black Candle.

Perhaps, as unexpected and unlikely a romance between them was, perhaps it just might—

All at once, an unsettling feeling washed over her. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

“What?” Colin tugged her closer, concern evident in his voice. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. Something… ominous.” She looked back up to the banner advertising Mr. Bass’s show. “I can’t quite place it.”

She looked back to Colin, who stared at her, eyes wide. As if this time she’d truly seen a ghost and he truly believed the tale.

“Hush,” he soothed, drawing her against his side in a quiet, dignified way. As a husband might do with a wife. “We’re tired and draggle-tailed. Everything will seem sunnier once we’ve tidied up.”

Charlotte accepted his affection and platitudes. Still, she could not help but scan the crowd with trepidation, sensing a very ill omen indeed.

Seeing nothing she could recognize as alarming, she was about to lean into Colin and allow him to lead her to their hotel, when suddenly her breath caught.

A sour-faced, sinister-looking man, standing just outside the channel of pedestrians working their way up and down the street, glared straight at them. It took Charlotte a moment, but she recognized him.

“Mr. Trenwith,” she breathed, as one might hiss a curse.

“What?”

She glanced at Colin, who appeared confused.

“Mr. Trenwith, the assistant—Mr. Bass’s assistant! He’s—”

But when she turned back, the man had disappeared.

“His assistant?”

She could hear the frown in his voice as she turned her head this way and that, trying to locate the short, ill-tempered soul whom Mr. Bass had blamed for his own deception at Mrs. Kitson’s spirit circle. But he had disappeared into the crowd, through some trickery of his own.

“Former assistant,” she clarified.

“What in the blazes could he want? And why would he be here in Manchester, outside this theater? Has Mr. Bass recanted, and chosen to retain his services, do you think?”

“Perhaps it is as I said, and the entire episode was a planned contingency between them,” Charlotte replied, still searching the crowd with fading hope.

It was no use. Mr. Trenwith was well and gone, his purpose unknown.

Colin tightened his grip on her arm.