The Gilded Cage

Charlotte sighed and offered a polite smile to the Duke. He continued his one-sided conversation about the joys of hunting and Charlotte wondered for the tenth time this week how few women would pay him any mind if he weren’t the Duke of Eastridge. He was short and stout, with thinning blond hair, and his teeth were not as white as one would hope for in a husband. At least his nose was very straight, despite being laced with broken capillaries denoting frequent drinking.

Charlotte fiddled with the sapphire bracelet on her wrist as she looked up at the Duke from under her dark eyelashes. It had been too easy to secure his interest in her over the course of the last few weeks. Her flattered, virginal blushing, and the obvious wealth she flaunted carelessly had piqued his interest the first time he saw her. It helped, of course, that he had a reputation for roving hands, which made her competition scarce. Not to mention the recent and rather suspicious death of his third wife only a few months ago.

“Then the Viscount said he only buys horses from Francis for that very reason!” The duke paused expectantly, and Charlotte choked down what would have been a window-rattling sigh. Instead, she forced the fluttery giggle that always made his eyes warmer. There was little she could imagine that was more tedious than this drawn out courtship that had been going on for the last three weeks. Batting her eyelashes when they danced and pretending to be surprised when he was a little too familiar after his fourth brandy was not her preferred way to spend an evening.

It will all be worth it, she reminded herself. This will all be worth it in the end.

It was true, of course, and she knew it, but having to laugh mindlessly at him while they waited for tea made it hard for her not to clench her fists in the fabric of her sky blue silk dress. At least they were sitting instead of dancing like last night. Her feet were sore from how often the duke had trodden on her feet. If he had not been born a duke, no one would ever bother with him.

But, of course, he had been born a duke, and Charlotte knew she should be flattered and grateful for his attention, which she had put so much effort into attracting since her arrival in the dreadful rural village of Eastham. The Duke was currently in the market for a fourth wife, his first having died in childbirth and the subsequent two having rather mysteriously died after brief, childless marriages. At forty-five, the Duke was keen to secure an heir, and Charlotte, a mysterious and wealthy orphan under the protection of her absent and wealthy uncle, was a very sensible choice, she knew. It felt anything but sensible to sit here and simper under his roving eye, however. She wanted to bolt every time his gaze drifted down to her almost-but-not-quite-too-revealing neckline. It’s all part of the game. It’ll be over soon. Pennington will be very pleased once this is all sorted.

“Oh, I do so love your hunting stories,” she said when the Duke paused for breath. “Tell me another, won’t you? I am dreadfully sorry the tea is taking so long.” His blue eyes lit up, as she knew they would. They had done their research before arriving here and letting the duke regale her with hunting stories was the quickest way to his heart. She had Liam to thank for that invaluable piece of information. He really was the most wonderful butler.

Except that he was taking so long with this damned tea that Charlotte might pull her hair out if she had to listen to one more story about shooting pheasants. Just as she considered ringing the bell again, there was a polite rap on the door and Liam himself stepped inside.

The Duke turned a disdainful eye to the man, whose dark curls were perhaps slightly too attractive for a butler. The streaks of grey near his temples and the short beard he had grown made him look old enough to be respectable, however, and so the Duke paid him little heed, to Charlotte’s relief. Liam was, technically, her uncle’s butler, according to their scheme, and the fact that he was handsome was no fault of her own.

“I’m sorry, Miss Charlotte, but the tea service has been delayed.” Liam kept his back straight when he spoke and Charlotte had to repress a smile, as she always did, when he acted this formally. He looked ridiculous in his starched white shirt and black coat. He only ever dressed like a butler when they had company, which, for the past few weeks, had been the exact minimum amount required to alleviate any suspicion that might arise from a young woman arriving in town with no one but a slightly too handsome butler for a chaperone. My uncle is traveling in the Great Western Desert and he thought I would be better off in the country. They had agreed on that cover story on the way here and Charlotte had recited it with a sweet smile every time she was introduced to someone new. Of course, her “uncle” Pennington was sitting in the Raven’s headquarters in Tyburn at this very moment, likely preparing for a much more enjoyable evening than she was.

“That is regrettable indeed, Turner.” Charlotte inhaled sharply through her nose and cast him a pointed look. Liam almost raised an eyebrow at her in a way that did not fit his current station before deciding better of it. Despite herself, Charlotte found some joy in the power imbalance of their public relationship on this journey. Watching Liam school his face into cool disinterest when men looked at her too long was always flattering.

“The pastries will be ready as soon as possible. My apologies to you both.” And then he was out of the room.

“I requested strawberry cream puffs.” Charlotte fluttered her fan over her face to accentuate the green of her eyes. “Because they’re your favorite.”

“I’m flattered that you remembered, my dear.” The Duke reached for her hand and Charlotte bit the inside of her cheek as she let him take it. Just a little while longer and everything will be arranged. Then this ridiculous facade can end.

“Oh, I remember everything about you.” Forced blush, eyes dropped virginally to the ground, hand withdrawn with a look of regret, just as she’d been trained. It was her natural ability in this cat-and-mouse game that made her such an asset to Pennington. She had been one of his Ravens since she was ten, and she was still the only girl. She always bristled slightly that they all still thought of her as a girl, even though she was twenty-three now.

“My dear, that’s why I’ve come here this afternoon. I would very much like to get to know you better.”

“Oh, Your Grace, there is nothing I would like more.” Aside from Liam arriving with those damned cream puffs.

The Duke rose from the respectable distance of his armchair and seated himself beside her on the cream-colored sofa, embroidered with pink roses. It was ridiculous, of course, for them to be having this conversation here, in the sunny and charming front room of this rented house, when she knew the truth about him. The thick green carpet and floral wallpaper, pink peonies with swirls of green leaves, in no way matched what she knew of the Duke and his less than ethical business practices, or the death of his two most recent wives.

“You are exquisite, Miss Charlotte. I’ve never met such a charming woman.”

“Oh, Your Grace, you flatter me.” She raised a delicate hand to her chest to draw his attention lower. Of course, she was charming. She had spent more than half of her life training to be irresistibly charming, thanks to Pennington, who had saved her from a much worse fate in the brothels of Wrexmire. This is better, Charlotte reminded herself. Being a Raven is much better than working in a brothel. And it’s only six more years before my debts are paid. Just before the Duke’s stale breath could come wafting over her face again, there was another rap on the door.

“I regret to inform you, my lady, but there has been a problem with the cream setting. Perhaps because of the unseasonably warm weather.” Liam kept his eyes fixed on the wall over her head, just as a butler should, but Charlotte knew from the slight twitch in his jaw that he was well aware of how close the Duke was to her.

“Oh?” Charlotte kept her voice light. “Did I not suggest yesterday that this might be an issue?”

“Yes, m'lady, you did.”

“And did I not offer a more sensible alternative?”

“You did, but-” They had known each other for so many years that Charlotte could read him like a book. He did not approve at all of what was about to happen. Not that it mattered. The wheels had already been set in motion and they were expected back in Tyburn in a few days, anyway.

“Then I have nothing further to say to you. You are dismissed.” Charlotte almost laughed at the brief glance he darted at her: something between annoyance and jealousy. Liam gave her a curt nod as he left, even though Charlotte could tell that his mouth was full of plenty of things he wanted to say to her about this situation. He had done something similar in Snaresbrook only last winter, so he had very little room to complain about what he knew was about to happen.

“My deepest apologies, Your Grace.” Charlotte fluttered her eyelashes at the Duke, who had not spared a glance for the butler.

“Oh, my dear, think nothing of it.” He took her hand, the left, thankfully, and Charlotte forced a flattered little exhale as she let him. “I am happy for any excuse to spend more time with you.”

“As am I.” More fluttering, and a calculated glance upward, with a tilt of her head that accentuated the length of her smooth neck. The Duke’s eyes darkened, and he leaned closer, licking his lips. This is too easy.

The Duke didn’t see it coming when Charlotte slipped the dagger from the folds of her skirt and plunged it into his heart. He clawed at the blade, his mouth opening and closing like a fish that had been pulled onto shore and was gasping for water that would never come.

“How?” His words were nothing more than a wheeze. Charlotte rolled her eyes. She had stolen his dagger, complete with family crest on the hilt, from his house four nights ago at a ball he was hosting, and he had not noticed its absence until now. Thirteen years of training with the Ravens had given her a broad range of skills, and she knew that using his own knife to stab him would make the story of self-defense much more believable. She was still smiling when the Duke grabbed her shoulder with one bloody hand, his eyes pleading now.

“You should have expected this when you poisoned your third wife. She was Richard Pennington’s second cousin, and he always takes good care of his family. Now, if you don’t mind, you’re spoiling my dress.” He was also ruining the sofa, but that didn't bother Charlotte one bit. The embroidered roses were hideous, even before they were covered in blood.

Charlotte got to her feet to ring the bell as the Duke fell to the floor and ruined the moss green carpet as well, the life gone from his eyes now.

“Charlotte!” Liam was at her side in an instant, running his hands through his hair in annoyance. He really was too handsome to be a respectable butler, especially now that he had rubbed some of the chalk off of his temples and the grey had disappeared. It was obvious without the grey that he was only a few years older than she was. They would have to speak to Pennington about coming up with a better cover in the future if they had to undertake any similar commissions. “Why didn’t you wait? I could have gotten the foxglove to set in the cream by tomorrow.”

“Yes, but then I would have had to spend one more night being pawed by this buffoon, and I wasn’t in the mood.” Charlotte put her hands on her hips. “Aren’t you even going to ask if I’m all right?”

Liam turned a frown on her.

“I know that you’re all right. You’re Pennington’s favorite assassin for a reason. You’ve gotten out of far worse than this with barely a scratch.”

“You could at least ask. Or does Pennington’s third favorite assassin not care about the safety of pretty women who outrank him?” Charlotte turned her most kissable pout towards him, and Liam cocked an eyebrow.

“Do not try your feminine wiles on me, Charlotte. I’ve had the same training you have, if you recall.”

“Yes, I know.” Liam was always grouchy when his new ideas for administering poisons were in the planning stages. “Poisoning him would have been easier, but now that we’ve taken the more direct route, you know what you need to do. Are you sure you don’t want to kiss me first?”

“Charlie, you can’t be serious.” Liam groaned and his shoulders slumped. This was the Liam she was used to, not the starched up butler facade. They were both orphans and had been recruited to the Ravens at a very young age, Liam even younger than herself, and she had known him for most of her life. It had only been in the few months that their partnership had evolved into something more.

“You should hurry. We want the scene to look fresh when the police arrive.”

“You are the most impulsive, stubborn, ridiculous--”

“Are you going to kiss me first or not? We have to hurry.” Charlotte smirked at him. “You’ll need to get at least one good one on my face for this story to be believable.”

“Yes, I know.” Liam rolled his eyes as he stepped over the blood and put one arm around her waist. “I hated this just as much when you did it in Dedham, you know.”

“I know, but I’m so tired of being in this awful town, and I couldn’t wait two more days for you to finish fiddling with your potions and poisons. My way is much faster.”

“But messier.” Liam tilted his head down and kissed her on the mouth, hard and fast. “And Pennington would have preferred poison, since that’s what the Duke did to his cousin.”

“Pennington always forgives me.” Charlotte shrugged and kissed him back, running her hands over his shoulders before taking half a step back. “Go on, then. A few quick ones and then we can call the watchmen. I’ll faint halfway through making my statement and we can leave this awful little village by tomorrow afternoon, because of the stress on my poor feminine brain.”

“Fine, but next time, let’s stick with poisoning.”

“If you can ever get the foxglove to stop curdling the cream, I would be happy to use poison, but you’ve been struggling with that recipe for ages.” Although they had both been trained with any number of weapons, Liam had a strong natural inclination for poisons, and incorporating them into pastries was his current obsession. “You know, we could go back to putting poison in wine like normal people.”

“I am an artist, Charlotte, not a petty criminal. That’s why Pennington pays us so well, is it not?” Liam cocked an eyebrow at her, then kissed her one more time before slapping her across the face with his open palm. Charlotte’s eyes smarted, but she kept her back straight.

“You’ll have to do better than that. A black eye or split lip will be far more persuasive to the watchmen.”

“Do you have a preference?”

“No, you choose.”

“You know what I’m going to pick.”

Charlotte kept her eyes open until the exact second before Liam’s fist connected with her eyebrow. He was clever, she smiled to herself, and his place among Pennington’s favorite Ravens was well deserved. The blood that was trickling down her face would go a long way towards showcasing her innocence, so she took care to let it drip instead of wiping it away. “I can take care of the rest. You go reapply the chalk to your hair. You look too young again.” Charlotte tried to wink, but it hurt, so she settled for a smile instead as she tore at the shoulder of her gown. Everyone knew the Duke was handsy, and a poor, defenseless girl, alone and without the protection of her wealthy and eccentric uncle, would be a sympathetic sight indeed. Especially since she “accidentally” charmed the head of the watchmen just last week by complimenting how wonderfully safe he kept the village. She would, of course, remind him of this conversation through her tears when he arrived.

“Soon.” Liam said over his shoulder as he left the room. “We’re so close, Charlotte.”

He was right and Charlotte felt warm inside at the thought. With what Pennington was going to pay them for this job, she’d be able to spend the next month luxuriating in her townhouse where not a single piece of furniture was decorated with something as tawdry as peonies or roses. And, according to their calculations, in six more years, they would be out from under his thumb, free to live a life without Richard Pennington sending them to do anymore of his dirty work.