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Little Nico lowers himself from the nearest tree, jumping the last few feet and catching himself on his hands and knees on the mossy ground. He slaps his hands together to remove any loose dirt before throwing his arms about my skirts.

“Good day, Duchess,” he says.

“Good day to you, too. What are you about this afternoon?”

“I’ve spotted a bird’s nest up in the tree. I’m waiting for the eggs to hatch.”

“Have any of them moved yet?”

“No, and the mother hasn’t come back since I scared her off while discovering the nest.”

I take his little hand in mine and start walking. “You’d best leave the eggs alone, else the mother might not come back. Then the babies would die.”

“Oh,” he says. “She would be most indignant if her babies died. I shall leave the tree alone.”

“Wise decision.”

“What shall we do instead?” he asks.

As we trot along the worn path, he jumps on sticks, cracking them underfoot, or picks up rocks to throw at the trunks of trees. I hadn’t any experience with young boys until moving to the estate, but they are quite destructive little things.

“I’m going to pick some wildflowers,” I tell him. “I’m sure you’d find it terribly boring.”

“Not at all. I shall help you find the best ones!”

I don’t want an audience for this part, but I doubt Nico counts. After all, he’s already forgotten the bird’s nest from two minutes ago.

We pick our way through the woods until we come to an open field laced with blossoms. Daisies and dandelions and morning glories and irises. Nico rushes forward and grabs handfuls of the plants, yanking some of them out by the roots in his enthusiasm. He doesn’t seem to care whether the flowers look fully ripened or if anything looks like it needs more water. All flowers are created equal in the eyes of a four-year-old boy.

I show him how to make crowns out of daisies, and he spends some time perfecting his new skill before rushing toward the nearby stream to look for bugs and frogs. I keep him in my line of sight as I begin selecting my own blossoms.

Foxglove. Water hemlock. Nightshade.

They all grow naturally in the uncultivated forest surrounding the manor. I’ve been taught all my life to stay away from these plants, not to touch them, and certainly not to eat them. With my gloved hand, I pick a few of the belled flowers from the foxglove, berries from the nightshade, and clusters from the water hemlock.

Ensuring Nico isn’t looking this way, I place my finds within a leather pouch I brought along with me. I turn my soiled gloves inside out before pocketing them. Then I search for some harmless flowers to take back with me to the estate. I call out to Nico when I’m done. He barely acknowledges me as he tries to catch water skippers hopping across the slow-moving sections of the stream. He’s drenched up to his waist and couldn’t be happier for it.

His childhood is so different from what mine was. So much freer, though he doesn’t get to spend time with other children. There aren’t any others to be found on the estate. Perhaps I should find a way to change that. We could hire on new help. Perhaps single mothers who need work? Something to look into once Eryx is gone.

I hand my bundle of flowers off to Tekla once I enter the estate, asking her to find a vase for them. That night, I steal a small teapot from the kitchen when no one is looking. Since I regularly frequent the kitchens, no one thinks my presence odd. I am fond of baking from time to time, so I regularly pop in to try out new recipes from Cook’s books.

I fill the pot with water and place it atop the roaring fire in my room. I add the pouch of petals, berries, and clusters. I’m not entirely sure how much it takes to kill a man, so I figure it couldn’t hurt to brew a lot of everything, letting it all soak in the boiling water, drawing out the poison from the plants into what I hope is a more concentrated form.

A mixture of the three deadliest plants found on the estate.

When I deem that my concoction has had enough time to stew, I pour it into a glass vial and stopper it with a cork. I flush the remains of the plants down the toilet, then wash and return the pot to the kitchens in the dead of night.

It seems careless to poison the duke so close to when I went picking wildflowers. No, I need to wait just a bit. Let no one be able to put this together.

I am not like Alessandra.

If I kill a man, I’m not going to be caught.

IWAIT A FULLweek before putting my plan into motion. My sister’s wedding is this weekend. I’m cutting it close, but the delay was necessary. Caution is paramount when plotting murder.

When I go through the meal schedule with Cook, I arrange for an extremely spicy and potent dish on Thursday, a foreign curry heaped with herbs and vegetables. Something that will hide the foul smell and taste of my home-brewed poison.

The trickiest part, by far, will be getting the poison into Eryx’s bowl when no one is looking. There are so many attendants standing near the dining table in case they are needed. The kitchen is full of staff preparing meals for all in the household.