Fortune Favors the Wicked Read Online Free PDF Page B

become acquainted with this likely eccentric.
    â€œI recall everything you have told me,” Charlotte recited as her father’s long, thin hands began to twist. “It will be fine, Papa. I shall behave.”
    She only hoped this friend of Hugo’s would behave himself, too. Just in case, she would continue to keep her penknife about her. Maybe she’d give one to Maggie as well.
    â€œI don’t like this plan of you sharing Maggie’s room.” Twist, twist, went one hand about the other, as though wringing out wet laundry for Barrett. “It’s not proper.”
    Margaret’s namesake and the reverend couple’s sole grandchild, the ten-year-old occupied a sunny chamber on the upper floor of the vicarage. It was not considered as fine as the spare room kept for the rare guest, but Charlotte would be glad for the company. “Maybe not, but what’s the alternative? It would be even less proper for Mr. Starling’s friend to share my chamber.”
    The reverend closed his eyes. “Do not speak of such things, child. You never know who could hear you.”
    Right. Yes, that was the only problem: the risk of being overheard.
    She could not share in her father’s distress over propriety, yet it speared her. Her poor father; he looked so thin and gray. He ought to be settling into a sedate retirement in a seaside resort like Bath, not caring for a child. Or hosting his wayward daughter.
    â€œYou look tired, Papa. Do sit, and I’ll make certain that all of my belongings are removed to Maggie’s room, and that all is in readiness for your guest. What is his name, by the bye?” Her father had called him only Lord Hugo’s friend for the past day, but this would hardly do once the man himself were present.
    â€œAh. He’s a soldier! No, a sailor? I can never recall how those types are called. He was the sort that sails around, I think.”
    â€œA sailor, then.” To cover her suddenly nerveless fingers, Charlotte set down her discarded bonnet and veil and began to tug at her shawl. “Would he by chance be a lieutenant?”
    â€œI believe so, though he doesn’t care to be called by his rank. Frost is his name.”
    Shite .
    Failing at untying the knot, she tugged the shawl over her head and yanked it off. “Well, I look forward to meeting him.”
    This was not exactly false, but not quite true either. She would have to meet him again knowing he sought the stolen sovereigns, and he knowing she did, too. Knowing he had found her veiled and giving a false name.
    And knowing he was blind, about which her reverend father seemed not to be aware. Had Frost lied about writing a manuscript? Was he truly friends with the son of a duke?
    If he was, how the devil did such disparate worlds collide in this tiny vicarage in a nothing village in a rough bit of the Peak District?
    Because of gold. Because of the royal reward. She’d never have come back here—she couldn’t think of it as home—if not for the chance to get five thousand pounds for herself and Maggie. And once she did, she’d be a proper maiden aunt to her niece, living in an equally proper village somewhere. Charlotte Pearl, and Charlotte Perry, and Mrs. Smith—they could all vanish. Good riddance to them.
    She swooped up her shawl, bonnet, and veil, intending to take them up to Maggie’s bedchamber, but a knock sounded at the front door.
    â€œIt is he! Earlier than I expected.” Her father’s knobbly limbs seemed to fly about in all directions. “That knocking must not be allowed to disturb your mother. She is at a delicate stage in her translations—oh, shall I ring for tea?”
    â€œFirst we ought to answer the door. Shall I fetch a servant to answer it, or shall I do it myself?”
    â€œAnswer it, answer it. Barrett is never about. She would hang the washing out to dry, though we’ve a guest arriving. What will he think,