He’d be furious with her and her intentions.
The very last thing he would want was for her to take Henry to Hollythorne House and away from Silas’s influence.
She gathered her wits about her, refusing to give voice to the doubts buzzing in her mind.
Roland could control her no more.
After retrieving the key from the desk’s top drawer, she moved to the pastoral painting nestled in between two stationary oak bookcases. She swung the heavy, framed canvas outward, like a door, to reveal a strongbox built into the wall, then unlocked the strongbox to reveal yet another set of boxes and papers. She squinted to see in the faint light and sorted through the items until she found what she sought—a small mahogany chest with the name Grey carved into the top. There, inside, was the iron key to Hollythorne House. Satisfied, she pulled the key from the box, tucked it in her reticule, and lifted the entire mahogany chest from the strongbox, leaving everything else inside undisturbed.
With the chest in her arms, she hurried back through the main corridor and toward the servants’ area, where their belongings were stacked and Sutcliffe was waiting with Henry in her arms. Charlotte placed the mahogany box with the other trunks and spied the carriage outside the window. Fresh energy flowed through her, and she motioned for a footman at the corridor’s end to draw near. She removed the letter from her pocket and extended it toward him as he approached. “Please, will you have this delivered to Silas Prior at Gatham House this morning?”
The footman frowned at the missive. “Of course. But Mr. Prior is outside. Would you prefer me to deliver it to him directly now?”
All her excitement, every ounce of nervous anticipation, morphed to a sickening sense of dread. She stepped back to the window and angled herself to see farther. Sure enough, Silas Prior stood atop the cobbles, clad in mourning black from head to toe, making his white cravat ostentatiously bright in the budding morning light.
She did not have time to contemplate why he was here. They were ready to depart, and she would not be swayed. There was no choice but to meet this resolutely—to have her say with Silas and then be free of him.
After instructing Sutcliffe to remain indoors with Henry, she stepped out into the dense fog. A sharp wind blew in from the north, promising rain, yet the sight before her rivaled any storm the weather could bring. For there, just before the carriage, stood not only Silas but the famed William Walstead, whom she’d seen in person on occasion when he visited Roland, accompanied by two more men on horseback.
She stiffened and straightened her shoulders at the oppressive sight.
The cape of Silas’s black greatcoat billowed as he approached her, and after he removed his tall beaver hat, the wind tousled his white-blond hair. “I suppose you’ve an acceptable reason for failing to mention your plans, such as they are, to me.”
She pressed her lips together, refusing to wince at the harshness of his tone. “’Tis best to leave quickly and quietly, all things considered.”
“‘All things considered’? Do you mean with your husband not yet in the grave and questions swirling around the entire family?”
She steeled herself before responding. “This decision is a personal one. I do not require your permission.”
“Everything that happens regarding Henry is under my purview.” Each word was shot like an arrow to its target. “I’ve made it abundantly clear. Henry needs to be here, in Leeds. His future is here.”
She flicked her gaze to Mr. Walstead and the two shadowy men on horseback, whose presence grew more intimidating with every passing second. She could not falter—not with these men watching her. “There is plenty of time for responsibilities later. For now, it is best for us to leave.”
He scoffed sharply. “Need I remind you? Hundreds of people in our employ need confidence that our legacy will remain strong. ’Tis not enough for them to know Henry will one day take charge. They must see it happening. It’s the only way.”
Charlotte was hardly surprised by his arrogance or assumptions. She lifted her chin. Never would she have believed herself strong enough to stand up to a man like Silas Prior. And yet the events of the past twenty-four hours had challenged her in ways she never thought possible. “And I am Henry’s mother, his guardian. And I think differently.”
His face reddened, making his clear eyes wilder. Brighter. “I’m sure you’ve considered the ramifications. Your annual stipend is small for a house of that size and the lifestyle you are accustomed to. And I’m told Hollythorne House is in a devilish state. What of staff? Of servants? You are many things, Charlotte, but you’re not selfish. Or stupid.”
She refused to be affected by his harsh tone or to engage in a fruitless tit for tat. Instead, she lifted her gaze to Mr. Walstead and the two men on horseback. Something else was going on. “Why are these men here?”
“I cannot control your actions, as foolish as they are, but I can state my concern for the isolated nature of Hollythorne House. You may not consider the risk associated with a ploy such as this, but I will. Henry is a wealthy boy. An alarming number of people would not think twice about kidnapping him for ransom. Have you factored that into your plan? How do you protect yourself in the middle of nowhere? With no servants? No guards?”
Her throat tightened. Yes, she had thought of it. The moors, and their silent isolation, could be frightening at times.
That was what he was attempting to do—scare her.
And it was working.
Days could transpire before a single soul would venture past Hollythorne House. She could scream at the top of her lungs, and no one would hear it.
Silas continued. “If you, in your stubbornness, refuse to listen to reason and insist upon relocating to Hollythorne House, then go. I cannot stop you. But as executor of Henry’s trust, I must insist that guards escort you, at least until we understand how the business and Roland’s legacy will unfold.”
She drew a sharp breath as the current reality sharpened into focus.
These horsemen in their heavy coats and bright blue armbands—they were to go with her.
“The security detail will be funded from the trust, and I’ve instructed Mr. Walstead to engage a reasonable number of servants who have been investigated for safety. These men are set to escort you immediately and to remain until such time as we feel comfortable that Henry is not in peril. The servants will arrive in the next day or so.”
She returned her attention to the two dark men on horseback.
Walstead’s Watchmen.
She knew their reputation. Dangerous men who undertook dangerous tasks. The reports of their exploits tripped on the tongues of ladies, gentlemen, and servants alike.
Their presence would be like prison walls to her.
But if their presence would permit her to escape Wolden House and exchange one cage for another of her choosing, then she should accept it.
And the truth was, she did need help—she did need protection.
She hardened her gaze and considered his words. If she agreed to his stipulation, then he would gain a measure of control over her. And over Henry. He’d undoubtedly be apprised of her every move. But Silas did have a point. Hollythorne House was positioned on an isolated stretch of road, one known for its history of highwaymen and robberies.
But what were her options? To throw a fit and leave in a huff? Unprotected? And with Silas even angrier with her?