Page 84 of Unmasking the Diamond
Martha’s eyes narrowed as she studied Charlotte anew. “Then why are you dressed like a maid?”
Charlotte’s lips curved faintly. “Because I thought you would be more comfortable speaking to me if I appeared as one of your own. I am not here to deceive you, only to uncover the truth about Lady Matthew.”
“Why?” Martha asked, her voice carrying a note of wary curiosity. “Why should her fate matter so much to you?”
Charlotte rose, the chair scraping softly across the stone floor. “Because too many women vanish in silence,” she said, her voice trembling with restrained passion. “Because I refuse to let Lady Matthew be forgotten as if she were nothing more than yesterday’s rubbish.”
Martha studied her for a long moment. Then her expression softened, and she gave a decisive nod. “Very well. I’ll do it. And when this is done, I would like to come work for you, regardless. I’ve grown weary of Lord Matthew’s wandering eyes.”
“Then it is settled. I will speak to my housekeeper as soon as I return home.”
Martha gathered the coins, slipping them quickly into her apron pocket. “I’ll fetch the letter now and bring it to you. Give me an hour.”
Charlotte’s heart swelled with gratitude. “Be careful, Martha. If anyone suspects you, deny everything.”
Martha managed a small smile. “Don’t worry, Miss Winslow. Servants learn to keep secrets better than anyone.” She rose, smoothing her skirts, but paused in the doorway to glance back. “By the way,” she continued, “you are not a very convincing maid. Your skin is far too fair, and your hands—well, they’ve never known a day’s true labor.”
And with that, Martha departed from the kitchen and Charlotte staring after her—heart pounding, half-exhilarated, half-terrified of what she had just set in motion.
“Miss?” Mary’s soft voice broke through her thoughts. The maid crossed to the kitchen door, her expression a blend of concern and urgency. “Shall we return home now?”
Charlotte released a slow breath, forcing composure back into her voice. “Yes,” she said. “I think that would be wise.”
The coach jerked to a stop in front of Charlotte’s townhouse, and before the footman could so much as reach for the handle, Luca was already out the door. His boots struck the cobblestones with more impatience than grace. He didn’t bother to adjust his coat as he strode up the short flight of steps and rapped smartly on the front door, his knuckles hitting the wood with more force than intended.
The butler opened it with his usual stoic expression, offering a shallow bow. “My lord.” He stepped aside to allow entry.
Luca inclined his head in acknowledgment but barely heard the greeting. His attention was drawn immediately to the staircase where Charlotte was descending, one hand gliding along the polished banister. The late afternoon light from the tall windows struck her golden hair—arranged elegantly atop her head save for two curls that framed her face—and made her gown shimmer like sunlight caught in silk.
He had seen her countless times, but somehow she always managed to steal his breath in a new way.
When her eyes met his, he bowed slightly. “Miss Winslow.”
A flicker of humor danced across her lips. “My lord.” Her voice was cool as ever, but her gaze softened just enough to betray amusement.
As soon as she reached the marble floor, he crossed the distance between them. “You look lovely.”
A faint blush warmed her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “What do you want?” she asked, though her tone lacked the sharpness it once might have carried.
“I merely wanted to see you,” he said, half-teasing, half-true.
“Liar.”
He chuckled under his breath. “Fair enough. I wanted to speak with you, but I was hoping we could do so in private.”
She tilted her head slightly, considering him. “We could take a turn in the gardens.”
“That sounds perfect.” He offered his arm.
Her gloved fingers rested lightly on his sleeve, but he could feel her warmth through the fabric. They walked in silence through the corridor and out the back doors, the scent of roses greeting them as they stepped into the sunlight. Gravel crunched beneath their feet, and the gentle rustle of leaves filled the space between them.
Only when they reached a quiet corner of the gardens did she withdraw her hand and turn to face him, her eyes bright with excitement. “I have the most extraordinary news.”
The eagerness in her voice sent his pulse quickening. “What is it?”
She reached into the folds of her gown and withdrew a folded piece of paper, her smile triumphant. “This is a letter from The Chelmsford Asylum to Lord Matthew.”
Luca’s heart jolted. “May I see it?”
