“Or make one smile? In your case, that might be the same thing.”
He looked at her and did smile, and though it wasn’t very sincere, was even a little goofy, it helped.
Whew! She’d done it! Well, her comment wasn’t incredibly witty, but it was something. After all, Mr. Mallery wasn’t a blind date. Not really. He was an actor. She didn’t have to give herself a headache trying to figure out if her date was uninterested and so she should skip dessert, or if there would be an exchange of numbers, a walk to the door, a goodnight kiss, an expectation of an invitation in. No worrying here. Her obligations had been thoroughly outlined by Mrs. Wattlesbrook: be Mrs. Charlotte Cordial, live by the house rules, and at the end of two weeks, go home.
Still, her mind would rather solve a problem than contemplate the way Mr. Mallery was looking at her, so she said, “Colonel, will you read some of that little book now?”
“Very well,” he said, pulling it from his breast pocket. “I have perused the first few pages. It is a book of accounts kept by one Mrs. Kerchief, the housekeeper. She jotted down lists for shopping, laundry, and such, with the occasional note to herself. Here is the first mention of Mary Francis”:
Hired a scullery maid today, as Nell has got herself in trouble by the looks of things and headed home in the night. Mary seems young enough for hard work, and desperate too. Simon told me no one in town would take her in, as she was an initiate in the cursed abbey, but I say if she is willing to work I do not care where she lived before. Superstitious lot.
He flipped a few pages, then read again, this time his tone bending toward the ominous.
Coal is running low. Seem to be burning more these past weeks, ever since Mary arrived. Simon said she brings the cold. Nonsense. Still, she sleeps in the room next to mine on the second floor, and many nights I hear noises what I never heard before. Wakes me up. It does make a body curious.
Colonel Andrews shut the book and put it away. “That is enough for now, I think. I despise rushing headlong into a mystery. Much more satisfying to dip in a toe, test the waters, ease in slowly before we start to swim.”
“Or drown,” Eddie added.
“The second floor,” Miss Gardenside whispered.
“You think there’s something still there?” asked Miss Charming.
“It might be worth investigating.” Colonel Andrews looked at her significantly. “Mary Francis may have left a clue behind to tell the truth of the deaths.”
A clue. Charlotte’s shoulders vibrated with an exhale.
“This is fun,” she whispered.
Mr. Mallery asked, “Because it feels dangerous?”
“It’s better than sewing samplers.”
“Ah, but perhaps one day the ability to sew a sampler could save your life.”
She squinted at him. “In what possible scenario?”
“Well …” He paused. “If there was …” He smiled. “I have not the faintest idea.”
“Let me know if you figure it out, and on that day I’ll show you the most magnificent grouping of red and purple grapes on a field of white that you have ever dreamed of.”
“I long for that day,” he said.
When they finished lunch, Mr. Mallery helped Charlotte into the phaeton. By her hand. She was relieved—sort of. It’d been a long time since a man had picked her up. Or touched her much at all, to be honest.
And now Mr. Mallery in his top hat was driving her home to the manor house and its mystery on the second floor.
He won’t ask for a goodnight kiss, she reminded herself. Or a passionless tumble with the understanding there would be no follow-up date. That’s not Regency appropriate. And there’s no question of long-term compatibility, because we have two weeks to play and then that’s that. So, relax.
She realized they were going home a different route, the carriage no longer following them.
“This is a longer road, but I do not like the other,” said Mr. Mallery. “Too much …”
Traffic, she thought. “So you’re not kidnapping me and carrying me off to your secret lair?”
“Not today, Mrs. Cordial.” He glanced at her then back at the road. “Would you like to take a turn driving?”
“Me? I don’t know how.”