Chapter 28

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Miss Sophrina Beaumonte

Clevendon Place

June 11, 1828

            My darling Sophie,

You wouldn't believe where I find myself now. What you, in your current ladylike garb surrounded by London's most pompous and elite, have missed in the life of England's most unlikely of stable hands.


Charlie hesitated, her hand hovering over the piece of parchment as she debated what to write to her dearest friend. Or, more accurately, how much to confide.

Charlie's head peered out from the loft above the stables, her contraband stashed before her for all to see - a roll of parchment, a pot of ink, a quill.

The earl's writing implements that only moments ago had resided within his study and were now firmly within Charlie's grasp.

Charlie still couldn't quite believe she had gotten away with it. But a desperate woman was known to take drastic action. Especially when said desperate woman was in need of a confidante.

A friend.

Lud, but that had been utterly terrifying.

Breaking into the earl's residence was not for the faint of heart. Neither was coming upon Greyson's friend, Lord Thorne, on the way out.

She shook her head, her shortened hair long enough that a strand wisped into her mouth. She dragged the offending piece of hair away, her head thunking back against the wooden slat.

Viscount Thorne was here.

The gentleman who Charlie had met and who she feared was the most capable of seeing through her disguise. It had taken insurmountable effort on Charlie's part to play the dutiful stable hand, all the while keeping the earl's stolen items within the folds of her shirt.

She would have succeeded too if it wasn't for the bloody stable master.

Williams had found her not five minutes after she had absconded from the earl's study, her breath rushed from the quick motions of sidestepping various bustling servants. Not to mention navigating the earl's maze of hallways and corridors. It had been a sprig of good luck that Charlie had found the earl's study at all.

The earl's unoccupied study.

Did the man not take security seriously? If even the stable hand could sneak from the kitchens (and perhaps steal a tart or two. Or three, Charlie thought, wryly) and find Greyson's study, nicking his belongings along the way, then surely others could do the same.

Although perhaps others knew enough not to challenge the earl.

Charlie shrugged, knowing it didn't matter one way or the other.

The true test had been hiding her damned implements while Williams stood hovering about her, questioning her competence in front of Lord Thorne. As if she were some green lad - or lady, in this case - who had never ridden a horse, let alone taken care of one. Charlie had made a point of staring at Sir Rupert who was grazing in a open paddock and then glancing back to Williams, incredulous. She didn't care that her role could be compromised. Her innate sense of pride demanded showcasing her ability, her horsemanship.

Defending it.

Charlie wasn't like other women.

Had never been.

So why the devil in her own male disguise did Williams treat her with so much blasted care? It was enough that Charlie almost wanted to unveil herself.

Lord Vincent had almost been upon them when Williams had demanded Charlie's assistance with Thorne's mount. Thorne's head had been tilted back, eyeing the damage to the stables. He had passed the reins of his horse to Charlie, his feet already carrying him away.

Charlie had breathed a sigh of relief until Williams had begun mothering her.

"Hold a little tighter, but not that tight, lad."

Followed by...

"Be careful putting this one into a stall as well. You do know how to brush one with such a fine mane?"

Charlie hadn't taken kindly to it. Quite frankly, Charlie thought now, cringing slightly as she drew her legs up to her chest, the parchment crinkling beneath her, she had snapped.

"I know what the devil I am doing, Williams. Cease!"

Thorne had halted, his head peering over his shoulder curiously as he had stared at Charlie open mouthed. His hair glinted bright gold in the light of the sun, his skin clear and slightly pale in contrast to Greyson's. He was leanly formed, she noted. A little less muscular than the earl, but taller, with brown eyes that glinted amber.

"Watch yer tongue, lad. 'Is lordship said to look after ye -"

Charlie had snorted. "The devil you say! The earl slowed me down when dealing with those ruffians, coming about as if I needed the likes of him to save me-" Charlie choked, exaggerating the sound as if the idea were the most preposterous thing ever.

Which it was.

But in her anger, she had quite forgotten Thorne was looking on curiously, his eyes narrowed.

"And now this. I'm perfectly capable of seeing to one's mount. That's what the earl hired me for, isn't it?"

"Lad -" Williams had begun, glancing over her shoulder at the lord, but Charlie - as she was wont to, she was realizing - had broken in once more, eyebrows lowered mutinously.

"Perhaps you should care further for the earl, seeing as he has so much trouble keeping his own affairs in order."

Laughter had broken behind Charlie and she twisted on her heels, face flaming, as she met Thorne's amused brown eyes. He looked the epitome of a gentleman of leisure - his smile wide and playful.

Charlie couldn't stop the scowl that marred her brow.

What was so bloody funny?

Thorne's brows had raised, a smile lingering as, with one last look around the stables, he turned on his heel, shaking his head as if in bafflement.

Williams had sighed, leaving her to her duties, as he grumbled about "impertinent lads."

Charlie sighed, watching splotches of ink dribble from the nub of the quill and back into the ink pot. It seemed she could only distract herself for so long from her task.

She bit her lower lip, the parchment heavy in her lap.

Charlie cursed herself for a fool. The events of the last week had surely worn her down so completely - the thieves, the fire, the earl - that she was seeing things that weren't there. Charlie could almost hear the call of the asylum in her near future.

For surely that is where she would end up, Charlie thought, blowing out her breath.

She had resorted to breaking and entering into the earl's residence.

And for what?

Charlie should have figured that last night's imaginings were simply that. Imaginings. However, as Charlie had shifted in her borrowed bed, sweat plastering her shirt to her skin, her mind was plagued by a distinct feeling of wrongness. As if she were missing an important piece of the puzzle.

As if urging Charlie that her uncle might be innocent.

Innocent!

Charlie twirled the quill in her hand absently.

Mayhap it was all Greyson's talk of arson.

Conspiracy.

That evening of her uncle's ball felt a lifetime ago, but in reality, it had only been about a week since she had left. It came back to her, fresh on her eyelids as she closed her eyes.

Her uncle had looked so...panicked.

At the time, Charlie had chalked his pale features, his pauses, as nothing more than his conscience deciding to peer its head from its shell for the first time in a dozen years. A sudden sense of guilt on his part.

And yet...

He took my words for his own purposes, Henry had said.

I never meant for that to happen...

I will not allow your remonstrations, Niece, if you refuse to heed my explanations...

Charlie huffed, her uncle's words circling in her mind. She was loathe to believe them. Nay, Charlie had no reason to.

Shifting, Charlie rubbed her back on the slat behind her. Her skin itched as if something burrowed at the surface just waiting to be unveiled.

It was in Henry's disheveled attire. His usual impeccable image ruffled. His shirt untucked and wrinkled. His hair a mess of askewed chestnut strands.

And his mutterings...

Charlie's palm came up to her cheek as if she could still feel the sting of his slap.

You know nothing of what I have had to do...

Out of time...I must do something...

Charlie would have negated that too if it wasn't for what - for whom, Charlie thought - she and Sophie had run into earlier that evening. The mysterious gentlemen garbed in all black who had ghosted through the halls, his heavy tread rounding the corner as he left her uncle's study.

They might be cohorts, Charlie thought now, drawing whorls and curlicues in the corner of her letter to Sophie.

But what if...

What if Henry had been pressured into something? What if he was telling the truth in that she didn't understand, she didn't fully know what was happening?

And how did one overlook that mysterious person coming from Henry's study? Why would a man Henry worked with - conspired with - sneak from her uncle's study? For whatever other purpose would a man lurk in places where he had no business being?

Even Charlie's own intentions had been rather...nefarious?

But what did any of it mean, Charlie asked, setting up a steady rhythm as her head thudded lightly on the board behind her.

How did it pertain to her?

And what was Charlie to make of the happenings not only to her, but Greyson as well? It seemed like too many coincidences. What were the chances that Charlie would experience her own set of troubles at the same time that she was seeking refuge - unwilling or not - with the earl - only for him to come upon his own?

Arson wasn't a light act by any means.

And if Charlie was correct - that her uncle wasn't the true enemy she thought him - then why had Henry not brought her into his confidence? Why had he not made an attempt to find her in either course?

Charlie's head hurt with all the possibilities.

You know nothing of what has happened, her uncle had said that night. What happenings? And why not?

It had led her to her current course.

To find a confidante. The logical choice - hell, her only choice, Charlie thought, rolling her eyes - was Sophie.

Perhaps she could shed some light on Charlie's precarious thoughts. Tell Charlie once and for all that Charlie had, in fact, lost her marbles in their entirety and that her notions were patently ridiculous.

To keep with their plan.

But Charlie didn't know what that was anymore. It had all crumbled into dust when she had come upon the earl.

Charlie swallowed, before dipping the quill once more, and putting the ink to paper.

I feel quite...different, truth be told.

And isn't it quite ironic that the man I dressed with my tart, ended up throttling and then absconded over a balcony from, would be the one to come upon me not miles from London? Is that fate, Soph? That I should find myself within the company - and protection - of the Earl of Claymore?


Charlie bit the end of the quill, wondering what he was doing now. If he had noticed his missing items. Perhaps while she had been dreaming of the earl, her thoughts inevitably leading back to a night ago when she had been secluded within his arms, Greyson had been conversing with his Georgie.

Had she been quite forgotten?

But why wouldn't she? Charlie asked herself. She was nothing more to him than a lad in his employ.

But Charlie wondered how would he feel to know he had been harboring a woman all this time.

There was something rather satisfying about pulling the wool over this man's eyes.

Especially one such as him. One that Charlie had kissed? One who had his hands on her person? A man Charlie wished would make an appearance within the stables, press her into the wall like he had before, his hardness locked into the soft, wetness between her thighs?

Charlie sighed, knowing her chances of anything happening were quite slim, indeed, once her disguise was revealed.

Once she had left him.

Shaking off her thoughts, Charlie put quill to parchment, her earlier musings finally making an appearance.

You will think I have gone mad, but Sophie, I don't know if my uncle would have truly sunk to the level he had. I know, I know. You are wishing to shake me silly, aren't you? But what if I asked you this? Wouldn't Henry have known of my inheritance beforehand? What is the probability that my own guardian wouldn't have known of it? And furthermore, why bandy about with my fate at the last minute? Why not show a care before? Why? Why? Why?

My uncle is a thinking man, and it doesn't add up.

Does it?

And yesterday, dear Sophie, you would hardly believe who I thought I saw...


Charlie shivered, not able to shake off the feeling that more was at play. That she was in danger. That Greyson was.

But perhaps not. Perhaps the stress of the entire wretched situation thus far has gone to my head. And the earl. Oh, Soph. There's talk of arson. The earl had come from his journey only to find his stables on fire. Half of his legacy is now burned to rubble. They even found evidence that it might have been designed to happen.

And I feel quite horrid that the earl had gotten mixed up with me again after the slight confrontation I had with a horse thief. But pray, do not worry, Soph! After all, I learned from the best. Though, I might have mistaken the earl for the thieves. It was how I came to be his stable hand, actually. I might have or might not - okay, I am most assuredly guilty - have hit him over the head with a shard. He threatened to call for a constable if I did not agree. Why, the devil said so! Right to the proprietor who came to see what had happened. After the fact, I might add.


Charlie growled beneath her breath, feeling as if her mind was paddling from one idea to the next. But damnation, if the man didn't get under her skin!

For Heaven's sakes, Sophie, how was I to know it was the earl who had come upon me? I'm seeing a pattern with this gentleman, Soph. He's determined to save me, it seems.

I have gotten off on a tangent, however. Asylum, I tell you. That's where I am surely headed as I am sure you will agree after reading my correspondence. After all, what lady in her right mind - with the evidence I have and with an uncle such as mine - would try to uncover some secret reason behind his actions. Nevertheless, don't be afraid for me, Sophie. I am quite content for the moment with no one the wiser. I simply wish you were here to advise me (bloodthirsty though you can be).

I hope to be back in London within the week. Then we can begin planning for the future.

With love,

Charlie

P.S. I do hope you are behaving yourself in regards to Lord Berkeley. Without me between you, I shudder to think of all the societal blunders the Duke has pointed out. As well as the ones you have caused on purpose for that very reason! I have a feeling the gentlemen of our acquaintance don't mean to be such deuced muttonheads.


Charlie sighed, folding the letter before she could question the merits of sending it. Sealing it, Charlie glanced about her surprised to see that the noonday meal must have been over for quite some time.

Gathering the earl's secreted supply, Charlie descended the rickety ladder, landing on the balls of her feet. She needed to hurry if she had any hopes of the letter being sent in the evening post. Not to mention, she had to return her items before the earl noticed.

It wouldn't do to be caught so.

Biting her lip in indecision, Charlie debated her next course. Greyson's study had been organized; no papers out of place or unnecessary clutter. Her contraband currently hidden in the folds of her shirt had been laid out quite particularly atop his wide, dark brown desk.

Charlie's nose wrinkled, knowing with her dastardly luck, the earl would make use of his study by night's fall. There was no doubt in her mind that an earl such as he would notice in a thrice something minutely out of order, let alone missing entirely.

Charlie opened the kitchens door, surprised to see Martha nowhere in sight. She sent up a silent prayer of gratitude as she let herself once more into the hallways of the residence proper.

She had to leave her letter first.

Charlie looked left and right, the high ceilings decorated in cream and gold paintings of cherubs watching overhead. A few plants were strategically placed along the gold filigreed paper walls. No sound or sight issued from either direction. Charlie scampered as quietly as possible, deciding her boots were the first thing she would discard when she returned to London as herself.

The damned things.

The entryway was quiet, and Charlie saw the platter with other items for the coming post. Charlie placed the letter with the others, turning on her heel and heading in the other direction. Perhaps she should just set the tools somewhere about. It wouldn't do to be caught in the earl's study. Nor would it do for the items to be caught outside of it either.

Nodding, Charlie turned down the left corridor, skidding over the marble floors. The earl's study door was slightly ajar and Charlie entered slowly. Everything was in its proper place, and her breath stuttered from her chest.

Quite good luck, indeed!

Charlie moved to the desk, laying the instruments exactly as she had found them.

Feeling better, Charlie turned towards the door.

That was when she heard voices.

The deep rumble of the earl settled in her ears, and Charlie panicked.

Shite!

Her head swung back and forth, the shortened strands of her hair whipping her cheeks. A large chest stood on the left side of the room, and Charlie ran for it. It was oblong, holding various male accoutrements - an umbrella and a few walking canes, a great coat. It was big enough that Charlie could stand inside it and the double doors clattered quietly behind her even as the door to the outer room opened.

Charlie held her breath as the earl's voice sounded.

"Send him in, Reeves."

A slam told Charlie that the earl had closed his study door. Enclosing them together.

Damnation!

Charlie wondered how long she would have to bide her time before she could make her escape. How long she would have to be quiet for.

Her stomach rumbled then, and her bladder chose that moment to demand attention.

Charlie groaned internally, her head tilted onto her shoulders.

This situation could not get any worse.

That was before the door opened and a voice intoned. "My lord. The Marquess of Crowley here to see you."

That was when Charlie knew for sure.

Fate was cruel, indeed.

***A/N***

Ahhhh, thank you all so much!!! I can't believe In the Devil's Stables is #6 in Historical Fiction! I couldn't have done it without you all reading. I'm so glad you have found Charlie and Greyson's story to your liking! Charlie has been a character in my head for YEARS, and I'm happy to finally give her the story she has been clamoring me for.

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