The butler turned and called out, “That it is, my lady.”
“For now,” Thornton added, not bothering to turn. “Your settee, the Persian rug and some of the chairs weren’t quite as fortunate.”
She stared awkwardly at that broad back. “I am indebted to you, Thornton. Thank you.”
He glanced at her from over his shoulder, those green eyes meeting her gaze for a long, searing moment. “What happened?”
Heat splashed her entire body, realizing they were facing each other in sudden stillness for the first time since… “I don’t know.”
“Mother?” Charles skidded to a halt beside her. He shook he
r, his face ablaze with emotion. “What the hell were you thinking running back into a flame-ridden house?”
She assuredly squeezed his arms. “Cease yelling. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”
Releasing her with a breath, Charles glanced toward the obscure parlor and staggered. “Jesus bloody Christ.” He scrubbed his hair, mussing his dark tonic hair. “What…how did the fire even start?”
Mr. Beagle, the footman, rounded them, gesturing in exasperation toward the parlor. “The butler caught a young woman rifling through the writing desk. She attempted to flee and knocked over one of the lamps. We’ve detained her up in the garret. She had the audacity to insist that Lord Kent himself had stolen something and that she was merely looking to retrieve it.”
Magdalene jerked toward Charles. “What?”
He gaped. “Mother, I didn’t—” He eyed her, edging back. “I just… I—” He winced and averted his dark gaze, falling into a silence he usually retreated to when overwhelmed.
She lowered her chin, sensing something wasn’t quite right. Moving toward him, she touched his arm and asked in a tone she hoped would assure him that she wasn’t angry. Yet. “Charles? What are you not telling me?”
He pushed her arm away. “I would rather we not…” He swiped his face. “You would never understand.”
She? Not understand?
All but a breath ago she had considered her relationship with him to be unbreakable. He was the only child out of four to have survived birth and had been her greatest comfort through the black woes of a twelve-year marriage to his father. Charles had been the only reason she had survived.
Despite fleeing with him into the night on many occasions, only to be dragged back by her husband again and again and again, that little hand would lovingly touch her bruised face and whisper with childlike staid assurance, “Mama, maybe tomorrow he won’t be angry.” That promise had miraculously come true when Adam had been found dead in the water closet one morning, his trousers still slung around his booted feet. His heart had stopped in the middle of his business.
It was a morbid victory and a well-deserved ending.
Despite desperately trying to erase everything that her poor Charles had endured during the first twelve years of his life by introducing to him every known happiness a child deserved, and consistently showing him love and support, this was what it had all amounted to. Him thinking she wouldn’t understand.
Magdalene pushed out a breath, trying to fight the tears burning her eyes. “Charles. Whatever this is, surely you know that you can always—”
“No. Not this.” He shook his head and kept shaking it, his gaze withdrawn. He eyed the small crowd surrounding them and stalked back toward the ballroom, disappearing from sight.
The servants lingered, right along with Thornton.
All of them no doubt thought the worst of Charles.
She couldn’t bear it. London whispered enough about him.
Setting her chin, she coolly announced to the servants, “Ensure that no one is hurt and that the carriages commence lining up for all the guests. Have them use the side entrance, as opposed to this one. We will address the parlor later. Now go.”
The servants bobbed in respect of the command, grabbed up all the buckets and disbanded one by one.
She turned to the butler just as he was veering away. Knowing she had no choice but to face what Charles clearly didn’t want to, she demanded, “Where is this woman in question? Is she still up in the garret?”
The butler’s tufts of gray brows flickered. “That she is, my lady.” Digging into his soot-covered vest pocket, he produced a brass key and held it up. “Shall I—”
“No.” Magdalene took the garret key. “I will do it. Go.”
The butler inclined his head and departed.