Page 87 of Laced With Secrets

I caught his eye across the small distance between us and smiled, holding up the card. The crowd was already moving, couples separating with laughter and playful arguments about who would find whom first. The music shifted lower, creating ambiance for the hunt.

“I’ll meet you there,” I called to Dominic over the noise, pointing toward the west corridor.

He started toward me immediately, clearly intending to accompany me, but was intercepted by a volunteer. I saw his frustration, the way he obviously wanted to extract himself, but the volunteer was insistent.

I caught his eye and mouthedit’s fine, go, gesturing for him to play fairly. We’d meet in the greenhouse in a few minutes anyway.

Through our bond, I felt his reluctance, but he nodded and turned to follow the crowd being ushered toward the mudroom.

I slipped away from the ballroom, following vaguely familiar corridors toward the back of the mansion. The fashion exhibition was in the east gallery—I’d been through this areaseveral times during the week helping Penny with last-minute arrangements. The greenhouse was accessible through the west wing, past Richard’s study.

The mansion was quieter away from the party. My footsteps echoed on polished floors, passing portraits of Fairfax ancestors who stared down with stern expressions. Occasional staff members moved through the corridors, carrying supplies or managing last-minute details, but no one stopped me or questioned where I was going.

The greenhouse entrance was marked by an ornate door with frosted glass panels etched in Victorian patterns. I tried the handle—unlocked, as I expected for the scavenger hunt. I pushed it open and stepped inside.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The greenhouse was dim, but moonlight streamed through the Victorian glass panels overhead, illuminating the exotic plants in silvery light. It was actually beautiful—romantic in an unexpected way. Richard’s trilliums were visible in the central display, their white petals luminous against dark foliage. I felt along the wall for the light switch I’d noticed during previous visits, finding it and flipping it up.

Nothing happened. The bulbs must be out.

“Dominic?” I called out softly. My voice echoed in the glass space.

No answer. Maybe the library clues were longer, taking him on a more complicated route before leading here. I moved deeper into the greenhouse, toward the central display. My dress shoes clicked on decorative tiles—Victorian-era design in intricate, geometric patterns of blue and gold.

“Leo.”

The voice came from behind me, near the entrance. I spun around, heart jumping.

Adelaide stood silhouetted in the doorway, backlit by the corridor light before she stepped fully inside and closed the door behind her. She wore an elegant vintage dress from the seventies—light, pastel yellow with a flowing skirt and classic-Rome wrapping at the midriff, perfectly tailored to her frame. Her silver hair was styled in soft waves, jewelry understated but expensive, posture as regal as always.

“Adelaide,” I said, startled. “What are you doing here?”

She moved closer, her heels clicking purposefully on the tiles. “The scavenger hunt. It was my idea. Very romantic, yes?”

“Yes. I’m meeting Dominic?—”

“No, you’re not.” Adelaide’s smile was sharp, wrong somehow in the moonlight.

“But—“

“He’s probably being led outside right about now,” she continued. She must have seen the confusion on my face because she smiled and looked down at the envelope in my hand. “I forged your card. I’ve gotten quite good at it.”

Instinctively, I pulled out the card and looked at it again. The handwriting was elegant, professional—exactly like all the other materials from the centennial celebration. The paper quality matched, the envelope style identical. I hadn’t thought to question it.

“It’s very easy when you’re one of the primary organizers and have access to all the materials,” Adelaide continued, watching my realization dawn.

My hand moved unconsciously to my belly. “Adelaide, what?—”

“You’ve been very persistent in your investigation.” She continued moving, circling around me slowly, and I realized with sick certainty that she was positioning herself between me and the only exit. “Too persistent. I knew weeks ago you were getting close to the truth. The questions you were asking, the people you were talking to. I tried to warn you off—but you wouldn’t stop.”

“Adelaide, I don’t know what you think I?—”

“Don’t insult my intelligence.” Her voice hardened, losing all pretense of civility. “You know I killed Thomas Wong. You’ve figured it out. Richard gave you the letter, didn’t he?”

“You forged Thomas’ letter,” I said, the realization striking me harder than any physical blow could have.

Not Henry Fairfax. Adelaide.