The quiet in the hall was unanimous. The crowd of people hung on the boy’s every sordid word.
“And last,” Edmund said, “there was a noise like the very Devil groaning. Like this: Grrrrraaa—”
“Grrrrrraaaagh.”
“That’s it!” Edmund bounced on Piers’s chest. “See? It was him.”
“Edmund, that wasn’t Lord Granville just now,” Delia said. “That noise came from the closet.”
“The closet?”
Everyone in the hall went silent.
A series of distressingly familiar noises emanated from behind the closet door.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Piers tried to look at the bright side. Judging by the frantic rhythm, at least this time the lovers were well under way.
Thump.
“Oh!”
Thump.
“Urnph.”
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
And one last:
“Grrrraaaaaagh.”
After the noises mercifully ended, Edmund leapt to his feet, leaving Piers free to disentangle himself.
Fists at the ready, the boy started to charge toward the closet door.
Piers caught him by the back of his coat. “You don’t want to do that.”
“Let me go!” he said, punching the air.
“Miss Delia,” Piers said in a low voice, “please take your brother upstairs to the nursery. Now.”
“Yes,” Charlotte agreed, grabbing Delia’s free hand. “Let’s all leave the hall, as a matter of fact. And be quick about it.”
“But the murderer!” Edmund cried.
It was too late.
The closet door opened, and out tumbled a pair of red-faced, panting lovers with their hair mussed and clothing askew.
Charlotte tried to cover Edmund’s view, but he dodged her hand. His eyes widened to saucers in his round, boyish face.
“Father?” he asked in a small voice. “Wh-what were you doing to Mama?”
Minutes later, Charlotte sat in the empty salon, staring blankly at her folded hands as they waited for Sir Vernon and Lady Parkhurst to make themselves presentable.
“I’ve just realized something,” she said to Piers. “We are never, ever going to be able to tell our children how we met.”
“We’ll come up with a convincing story,” he replied. “I’ve some experience with that.”
“I suppose you do.” She looked up at the ceiling. “At least now Delia believes that I didn’t betray her. She’ll start speaking to me again.”
She was looking forward to a good, long laugh about this with her best friend. Over generous glasses of sherry, ideally. There was so much to tell.
“Poor thing,” she said. “She’s probably upstairs talking to Edmund about peaches and aubergines.”
Piers tilted his head. “What is all this about aubergines, anyway?”
Before Charlotte could explain, Sir Vernon and Lady Parkhurst entered the salon, closing the door behind them.
Piers rose from the settee, waiting for Lady Parkhurst to settle into a chair before retaking his own seat. Ever the gentleman, even on an occasion so wildly bizarre as this one.
“We first met at a masquerade,” Lady Parkhurst began. “I suppose it started then.”
Sir Vernon broke in, gregarious as always. “I’m a sporting man. I can’t help it. I live for the hunt, a good chase.”
“And I enjoy being pursued.”
“Gets the blood pounding.”
His wife briefly closed her eyes. “So we . . . play roles. Over the years, they’ve grown more elaborate. Vernon gives me a purse full of money, and I use it to create a new identity. New name. New gowns. Wigs, jewels, even servants. I write him a letter in the character’s voice, telling him when and where to find me, and then . . .”
“And then you enjoy each other’s company,” Piers finished.
Thank you, Charlotte silently replied. Beyond that, she had no desire for details.
Lady Parkhurst went on, “Sometimes it’s gentleman and lightskirt, or travelers stranded at an inn. Lovers having a secret affair . . .”
“Butler and chambermaid,” Charlotte supplied.
“That, too.”
“So it was you who brought the breakfast tray to my room that morning,” Charlotte said. “You were wearing a maid’s costume and a wig.”
“Yes,” Lady Parkhurst confessed. “And I’m so sorry about the monkshood, dear. It was an accident, and it wasn’t my fault.” She slid a cutting glance at her husband. “The ‘butler’ did it. He mistook the flower for an iris.”
“What do I know about flowers? It was purple and pretty.”
“It could have killed her, Vernon.”
“But it didn’t, now did it?” Sir Vernon gestured at Charlotte. “Look at her. She’s well enough now.”
Charlotte squeezed Piers’s hand. She could sense him struggling not to unleash a tirade.
“It’s true,” she said. “I am fully recovered. And I always assumed it was an honest mistake.”
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth that first night?” Piers directed his question at Sir Vernon.
“I would have gladly done so, Granville—in private, away from Edmund’s ears. But you leapt so quickly to offer for the girl, I didn’t have a chance. I thought perhaps there was something between you. After all, you were hiding behind the drapes together.”
Charlotte exchanged a look with Piers. “That’s true, we were.”
“And you weren’t mistaken, Sir Vernon.” Piers held her gaze. “There was something between us from the start.”
Lady Parkhurst gave a relieved sigh. “I’m so glad it’s all worked for the best. Can we hope for your forgiveness?”
“Yes, of course.” Charlotte rose and went to Lady Parkhurst, kissing her on the cheek. “You even have my thanks.”
And, she admitted to herself, no small amount of her admiration.
It was heartening to see a couple so clearly in love—and lust—after many years of marriage. She found it sweet, that they were still finding ways to surprise one another. It gave her hope for her own marriage to Piers. Whether they married tomorrow or years from now—settling down didn’t have to mean being settled.
As for Edmund’s shock . . .