Without another word, Matthew turned around and left the room. After plodding down the stairs, he passed the others, Eli piping up that both of them had tried to talk her out of it, but she’d threatened to break in and do it with or without help before Nathaniel thwacked the kid.
Ignoring their following spat, Matthew went straight into his office and closed the door. Burying his nose deep into his ledger, he tried to focus on his accounts, but couldn’t stop thinking about what was happening upstairs. Conflicted over the whole thing, especially how he’d reacted when he thought she was up there making love to Eli—with all that squealing and giggling—he groaned.
The golden girl, the one he’d danced with and kissed only the morning before had gone to Charleston and chosen nice wallpaper just for him. Granted, Matthew didn’t know much about decorating, but he did know such things had to be special ordered. She’d organized everything at least a week ago, before he’d kissed her. That’s where she’d been when she disappeared. And the little vixen had brought his kin reluctantly on board. No wonder Nathaniel had been dragging his ass all day; his brother was supposed to keep him away so Charlotte could finish the surprise—the surprise he’d gone and ruined in a temper.
Knowing he should talk to her, he stood from his chair and opened the office door. Nathaniel and Eli were sitting at the counter, each eating a slice of pie. Paying them no mind, Matthew moved towards the stairs.
“She’s already gone, Matthew.” Though his mouth was full, Nathaniel’s words were clear. “But she left you something. I’ll keep it if you don’t want it.”
Brows low, Matthew found a half-eaten pie and three small boxes, one with his name scribbled on top. It was bursting with cookies.
Eli explained, “Charlie made the cookies, Ruth made the pie.”
Picking up what looked like a snickerdoodle, Matthew took a cautious bite. The scowl fell right off his face. They were his mama’s recipe, and damn good.
“You’re as shocked as we were,” Nathaniel chuckled, reaching to snag a cookie from Matthew’s box, only to have his hand slapped away. “Especially considering that woman could hardly fry an egg or toast bread.”
Chapter 12
Leaving Monroe for a few days could not have come at a better time. Charlie had blundered badly with Matthew, clearly overstepping his boundaries, and was unsure how to go about fixing the broken fence. Chicago would give her an opportunity to get her head on straight. Besides, a few days of being spoiled at the luxurious Drake Hotel would be a wonderful distraction.
After a long soak in the claw foot tub and a lazy afternoon nap, she sat at the dressing table, fluffing her hair into what the magazines claimed was the height of Chicago style. By the time she strolled through the gilded lobby, her satin gown set aglow by the Drake’s crystal chandeliers, Charlie actually felt… pretty.
No. She felt glamorous. A real sophisticated woman.
It was surreal to be in her city, to be in such a fine dress, to be Charlotte Elliot and not Blackbird.
The Radcliffe contingent was already there, early, no doubt, due to Martha’s need to always be a step ahead.
It was striking to see her, the wife of Beaumont Radcliffe elegantly attired in velvet, the shade of blue con
trasting beautifully with mahogany hair. Standing next to the tuxedoed lynchpin, Martha seemed grand—a queen surrounded by her court.
When the woman’s eyes passed right over Charlie, Beau leaned down to his wife and teased, “She’s right in front of ya, toots.”
“It’s been a long time, Martha,” Charlie stammered, easing closer, mesmerized by every unchanged detail of a face she knew by heart—Martha’s high cheekbones, arched brows, and warm chocolate eyes exactly as she remembered.
Martha’s jaw practically hit the floor. Eyes bugging out of her skull, the older woman looked over what had once been a skinny, bruised up child and exclaimed, “Dear God! I would never have recognized you in a million years!” She took Charlie’s hands and spread them wide so she might look her over. “And you have breasts.”
Beaumont coughed to cover his laugh, his men snickering behind him.
“Umm, yeah,” Charlie managed, blushing scarlet.
Martha wasn’t the only one taking notice. Swaggering nearer, Tommy pitched in. “You look very beautiful, Lottie.”
Before Charlie could offer an off-putting reply, Martha linked their arms, chatting brightly as she tugged Charlie toward the ballroom.
The best tables were reserved, boasting a grand view of the big band assembled onstage. Beaumont’s goons settled in, but the Radcliffes and their guest dined separately, Charlie disappointed when Tommy slipped into the plush booth right next to her.
“So, Lottie,” Beaumont popped open a bottle of champagne, “You’re Martha’s niece should anyone ask.”
“Aww, shucks.” Charlie batted her eyelashes and took the proffered glass. “You made me family.”
The infamous wicked grin she knew so well curved up Beau’s mouth. “I did, kid. It should help keep you out of trouble.”
“Doubtful.” The corner of Charlie’s lips twitched. “You must want something.”
“I don’t remember you being so mouthy as a kid,” Tommy interjected, leaning back against the soft cushion, his arm draped across the top of Charlie’s seat.