Shaking her head, she licked her lips, trying to express the confusion that raged in her heart and mind. Her mouth opened, and the only word that tumbled out was, “How?”
Stepping forward, Frederick took the seat opposite her, his eyes momentarily darting to Sebastian, who stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. Frederick swallowed then and met her eyes, drawing in a deep breath as though needing to fortify himself. “I killed men, too,” he began, his tone dark, full of regret and disbelief. “Brothers and fathers, sons and husbands. I did it in the name of my country, and somehow that is to absolve me of my responsibility.” Lips pressed into a thin line, he shook his head. “I don’t think it does, and yet, I have to live with it.”
“But,” Charlotte began, “he was your brother. I …”
“And you were my friend,” Frederick said, his eyes holding hers, willing her to believe him. “You are my friend. I have come here today to offer you my help. Better late than never.”
His help? Charlotte frowned. How could he look at her with anything but disgust and repulsion?
“I wish to help you and Victoria,” Frederick continued, his gaze briefly shifting to her husband.
At the mention of his sister, Sebastian’s hands tightened on her shoulders, and Charlotte drew in a deep breath. Could this truly be happening?
“Northfield needs to be stopped,” Frederick said, and anger sparked in his eyes. “He killed Kenneth just as much as Leopold.”
Shaking her head, Charlotte stared at her childhood friend, and tears came to her eyes as she saw his unwavering willingness to protect her. “I missed you.” The words left her lips before she’d consciously decided to share them.
A soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and Frederick nodded. “I missed you, too. I apologise for not seeing your distress. I should have acted sooner. If I had, then …” He shrugged. “All I can do is try to set things right now.”
Biting her lip, Charlotte averted her gaze. “There’s only one way,” she mumbled, trying to find the right words to convince Frederick of her rightful course.
“Yes, there is,” her friend replied, his voice strong and adamant.
Lifting her eyes to his, Charlotte found him shaking his head.
“You will not sacrifice yourself,” he ordered. “I will not allow it.”
Charlotte opened her mouth in protest. “But−"
“That is not who you are,” Frederick insisted.
Touched, Charlotte smiled at him. She had forgotten what it was like to have others to call upon. “But he is a peer,” she said nonetheless, knowing that her way was the only one open to them. “No one can touch him. People owing money go to debtor’s prison, but the law does not seek to punish those who destroy lives the way Northfield did and still does.”
Taking a deep breath, Charlotte glanced at her husband, his face stony as he stood behind her. Then his gaze shifted to her, and he took a deep breath. “We will think of something,” he assured her, his voice gentle, almost soothing. “We will. Believe me.”
“Actually,” Frederick said, rising from his seat, a broad grin on his face, “Oliver already has.”
Chapter Forty-Six – A Rather Unconventional Punishment
“Whose house is this?” Charlotte asked from the driver’s seat of the carriage, glancing up at the looming townhouse wrapped in silence as the moon glistened overhead, casting an eerie light on the deserted street.
Standing hidden beside the carriage’s front wheel, her husband cleared his throat, and even in the dark of night, Charlotte could see the disapproving frown that came to his features. “His mistress lives here,” he finally said, disgust tinging his voice as he glanced past her toward the closed front door.
“I see,” Charlotte mumbled, her gloved fingers running over the rough leather of the reins in her hand. Wrapped in a black cloak, a large hat pulled deep into her face, she sat, waiting in the dark, her left foot restlessly tapping against the footrest.
Behind her, inside the carriage, Frederick Lancaster, Marquess of Elmridge, and Oliver Cromwell, Earl of Cullingwood−Kenneth's childhood friends as well as her own−lay in wait while her husband stood by her side, unwilling to leave her alone−just in case. After all, at first, he had straight-out refused her request to accompany them, deeming it far too dangerous. However, Frederick had understood her need to see this through to the end and had gently urged his late brother’s friend to give his permission.
“How much longer?” Charlotte whispered, her nerves strained beyond comprehension.
Her husband scoffed. “How am I to know?”
Drawing in a deep breath, Charlotte forced her restless foot to still. It would be a long night, and the last thing any of them needed was for her to give away their plan before it could be executed.
“Where did Oliver find the carriage?” she enquired before she could stop herself.
Beside her, his head bobbing up next to her knee, Sebastian grinned. “Do you regret that you came? Would you rather I take you home?”
“Nonsense!” Charlotte hissed, annoyed with herself for not listening more closely when Oliver had shared the details of his plan with them the day before. Back then, her nerves had been far too rattled once she’d understood what he had in mind. Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought that her old friends would assist her in such a determined way, their eyes looking at her as though nothing had happened.
Upon seeing Oliver for the first time in years, Charlotte had been shocked speechless when he had bowed to her, his usual good-natured smile on his lips as well as a touch of mischief in his eyes. Then he had winked at her as he had countless times before, and she had nearly fainted.
“With Oliver, one never knows,” her husband whispered beside her. “As far as I remember even as a young boy, he was usually the one up to no good.” He coughed quietly, a hint of disapproval in his tone. “I didn’t ask,” he finally admitted, and Charlotte wondered what secrets lay hidden behind her old friend’s good-natured smile.
Maybe it would be best for her not to ask him to explain.
Beside her, her husband sucked in a sharp breath. “There,” he whispered, and Charlotte turned her head toward the townhouse, her heart hammering in her chest.
Slowly, the door slid open.
Before she could see anything though, Charlotte jerked her head back to the front, praying that Northfield hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. Beside her, she heard her husband’s soft knock on the side of the carriage, informing those within that the moment of truth had finally come.
As the muscles in her body tensed to the point of breaking, Charlotte caught movement out of the corner of her eye as Northfield walked down the front stoop toward his waiting carriage. Praying that he wouldn’t speak to her or notice the freshly painted coat-of-arms on the side of the carriage that resembled his own to a fault−how had Oliver done this?−Charlotte held her breath.
“Home, Wilson,” Northfield’s commanding voice spoke as though to no one of importance.
Freezing in shock, Charlotte barely managed to nod her head in acknowledgement before he climbed up the lowered step and vanished inside the carriage through the open door.
All had been done exactly as always, and Northfield had been none the wiser.
At least until Charlotte heard the muffled sounds of a struggle from inside the carriage.
Instantly, her husband rushed around, obscured the freshly painted coat-of-arms with black paint and peeked inside.
“Go!” Oliver’s voice called out, pulling the door closed.
Then her husband swung himself up onto the driver’s seat beside her, grabbed the reins from her numb fingers and urged the horses down the deserted street.
Slightly annoyed with his attitude, and yet utterly grateful for it, Charlotte clung to her seat as her husband guided the carriage skilfully through the night. Slowly, the streets grew narrower and darker as they left behind the well-lit neighbourhoods of the upp
er class. Salty sea air touched her nostrils as the wind swept over her face, and she remembered where they were headed.
When the docks came in sight, a cold shiver went down Charlotte’s back and she instinctively grabbed her husband’s arm, drawing herself closer to him.
Pulling the carriage to a stop in front of a large ship, docked in the farthest corner of the port, its gangplank lowered, he looked down at her and the corners of his lips curved up into a smile. Then he pulled her closer, his hand settling on hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Moon over your wife later,” Oliver chided, a chuckle in his voice, as he looked up at them from beside the carriage. “There’s work to be done. The fellow is heavier than he looks. Give us a hand, will you?”
Jumping down from the driver’s seat, Sebastian assisted Charlotte down before he turned toward the interior of the carriage, a grimace of disgust on his face. “Why don’t we just toss him in the water?”
“Because that is not the plan,” Oliver chided, clicking his tongue, as he stepped out of the carriage, holding Northfield’s feet.
Even seeing him unconscious made Charlotte shudder, and her hands clenched into the fabric of her thick cloak. This was it! She kept thinking. Finally, he was getting what he deserved.
As Frederick came into view, his arms wrapped around Northfield’s chest, Charlotte noticed the absence of the man’s fine clothing. Instead, he wore worn breeches, a stained shirt, a most likely moth-infested overcoat and scuffed boots. He looked every bit the penniless wastrel!
“This yer man,” a rough voice spoke out from behind, and Charlotte spun around. A sailor−or rather a captain, judging from the hat he’d donned−stood a few steps from the gangplank leading up to the large vessel docked behind them.
“What gave him away?” Oliver chuckled, handing Northfield’s lower half over to Sebastian and then strode toward the captain. “Are we clear?” he asked, his watchful eyes meeting the captain’s.
“Aye, we’re clear.”
A pleased smile on his face, Oliver nodded, then withdrew a small purse from inside his overcoat and handed it to the captain. “A one-way trip. No returns.”
“Returns cost extra,” the captain grinned, revealing teeth that shone yellow in the dim light on the docks. Opening the string on the purse, he began to count and his grin grew wider. Then he gestured toward two sailors waiting on deck.
Upon their captain’s signal, they hurried down the gangplank and took hold of Northfield, carrying him aboard without a word.
The moment the man who had haunted her life for the past four years vanished from their view, Charlotte’s knees buckled and she sank down until strong arms caught her. Looking up, she found her husband’s concerned face hovering above her as he pulled her against his chest, holding her tight. “It’s over now,” he whispered into her hair, then placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “It’s over.”
Closing her eyes, Charlotte buried her face in his coat, clinging to him like the lifeline he had been for her almost from the very moment they’d met. Never in her life had she felt safer … or more loved. But could he forgive her?
“Do you think he’ll like the land down under?” Frederick asked, a hint of gratification in his otherwise serious voice.
“I rather doubt it,” Oliver answered, another chuckle leaving his lips. “Although Captain Reed is a gentleman of the finest breed,” he mocked, “the conditions under deck are rather harsh and far from what the dear baron is used to. In addition, I suppose he’ll object to convicts for company.” Then he shrugged, his gaze shifting to Charlotte and a reassuring smile came to his face. “Fortunately for us, he won’t have a say in the matter … in any matter, ever again.”
Returning his smile, Charlotte nodded, grateful beyond her wildest dreams. Never would she have dared to contemplate such an outcome. Never had she believed that Northfield, untouchable by the law, would ever live to see his deeds punished … even if it was a rather unconventional punishment.
And yet, it seemed fitting beyond reproach.
The man who had committed countless atrocities in his pursuit of wealth and reputation was now doomed to live the life of a convict, far from home, in a place that would teach him that his precious title mattered very little when it came to the raw nature of survival.
Charlotte could only hope that he would learn from the experience.
Deep down, however, she doubted that he would.
However, that wasn’t her problem.
It was his …
… and she couldn’t care less.
***
Leaving the docks−as well as Northfield−behind, Sebastian noticed the way Charlotte sat slumped in her seat. While Oliver had taken over the reins, the rest of them had retreated inside the carriage, relieved to be on their way home, most of the events of that night finally behind them.
Later, Oliver would get rid of the counterfeit carriage and then return to the tavern where Northfield's driver was currently celebrating his unexpected wins in a gambling hall the night before with women and liquor. Come morning, he would wake on the shores of the Thames, his master's carriage sunk to its bottom, with no recollection of how he or the carriage had gotten there.
“Are you all right?” Sebastian whispered to his wife, aware of Frederick’s gaze resting on Charlotte, his brows drawn down in concern.
At his voice, Charlotte’s head snapped up and she blinked, momentarily confused. Then she nodded. “Yes, I’m fine.” For a moment, she kept nodding her head as though she couldn’t stop herself, as though she needed to remind herself that it was true.
Regretting the earlier harshness of his tone, Sebastian gritted his teeth, inhaling deeply through his nose, and met Frederick’s gaze.
His dark eyes seemed clouded even in the dim interior of the carriage. However, instead of the edge of pain and loathing Sebastian would have expected to find within them, they seemed to glow with compassion as well as a sadness that Frederick understood in a way Sebastian couldn’t fathom. And for the millionth time since seeking Frederick’s counsel, Sebastian wondered what it was that seemed to connect his late friend’s brother to his wife … despite the circumstances.
Was it simply the edge of death from which they had both retreated?
Did they see the world differently now after the darkness they’d lived through?
Had they gained a greater understanding of heart and mind that eluded him?
A jolt of jealousy coursed through him, and Sebastian cringed involuntarily. Would he ever be able to understand his wife as well as Frederick?
Beside him, his wife inhaled deeply, and her shoulders drew back, straightening her spine. Her eyes moved upward from the darkness of the carriage’s floor and came to rest on Frederick. Again, she drew in a deep breath and then opened her mouth.
Only no sound came out.
Swallowing, she licked her lips, her eyes unwavering, and once more she opened her mouth to speak.
“I know,” Frederick said, nodding his head in understanding before she had even uttered a single word. His eyes held hers, and he drew in a deep breath as though needing to steady himself.
“I’m sorry,” Charlotte whispered, her voice breaking as a sob tore from her throat. Tears streamed down her face, and her hands clenched, her fingers digging into the fabric of her skirt. “I …” At a loss, she merely nodded her head.
“I know,” Frederick said once more, not even the slightest hint of doubt on his face about what she was saying.
“I wish …”
“Me, too,” he whispered, a sad smile tugging on his lips. “With all my heart.”
Another sob tore from Charlotte’s throat, and Sebastian tensed.
Although his heart urged him to comfort her, his mind still objected to such a show of mercy. After what she had done, did she deserve comfort? The rational side of him demanded.
His heart, however, only saw her misery, her honest regret, and knew without a doubt that she could not
be counted among the evil-doers of the world. She’d made a mistake. An awful, grave mistake.
But she had not been herself at the time.
Should he not forgive her when even Frederick had? Was it not his duty as her husband?
Looking up, he met Frederick’s gaze, which was fixing him with an intense stare as he was trying to communicate with him in the same way he seemed to be able to so effortlessly with Charlotte. His brows rose as his gaze shifted to Sebastian’s wife before it returned to him, urgency resting in their clouded depths. Then he nodded his head.
Taking a deep breath, Sebastian lifted his arm as though a puppeteer was controlling him and placed it around his wife’s shoulders, pulling her closer.
Sebastian wasn’t certain what he’d expected. But she turned to him then, burying her face against his shoulder, her fingers digging into his coat as she pressed herself against him, her tears wetting his shirt.
A soft smile came to Frederick’s face then, and he nodded in approval before leaning back in his seat, his jaw relaxed where before it had been marked by concern.
Feeling Charlotte’s soft body moulded to his own, her frame shaking as the pain of the past streamed down her face, Sebastian knew that it was only a matter of time before his heart would overrule his mind.
Closing his eyes, he felt relief wash over him as the future he had dreamed of slowly came back within his reach. He had thought hope was lost, and yet, all that had happened had merely brought them closer together. If this hadn’t been able to break them apart for good, then nothing ever would.
And that thought comforted him more than anything he had ever known.
The carriage drew to a halt then, and he heard Oliver jump to the ground a moment before the door was flung open, revealing the man’s smiling face. “My lady, my lord,” he grinned, looking from Charlotte to Sebastian, “may I escort you outside?”
Offering Oliver a half-smile, Sebastian gently disentangled himself from his wife and stepped out of the carriage. Then he held out his hand to help her down. The moment her feet came to rest on the pavement beside him, she snuggled back into his arms.