Page 14

Grace smoothed her palms over the bodice of her dress, as if arranging armor, and knocked firmly on the door to her sister’s room.

From Miss Cox’s report, when Grace had gone to check on the maid and Zahra, Lillias had only been out of her room once since entering it earlier, and that was to see little Thomas.

Not counting this morning, it had been seven months since Grace had last seen her sister, and their final exchange had not exactly been the kind one commits to sentimental recollection.

Grace had cornered Lillias, demanding she confess her pregnancy to Frederick before the wedding.

When Lillias refused, Grace had issued her ultimatum: “Tell him, or I will.” Instead, Lillias had taken the third option—eloping with Tony under cover of night, leaving Grace to face both Frederick and their father’s wrath alone.

Since then, the few letters Lillias had sent to Grace waxed stiff and eloquent about her provincial life as a banker’s wife.

But now Grace understood why each letter felt shallow and weak.

Because they had been.

A gambling husband, a diminished household, and the ever-tightening squeeze of discontent: a threefold braid of discontent, all tracing back to that pivotal final conversation.

Guilt tempted a poisonous resurrection in her chest, but Grace shook her head. No, this wasn’t her fault. Lillias had made her choice long before that confrontation—long enough, in fact, to create little Thomas.

Grace knocked again, more insistently this time. Lillias’ voice, faint but audible, summoned her forward.

The room was a startling oasis of opulence, a stark contrast to the rest of the house.

Paintings Grace recognized from Rutledge House adorned the walls, and a light oak bedstead with gilded edges dominated the room.

The heavy curtains, fine wallpaper, and marble fireplace spoke to a life Lillias had clearly curated as compensation for everything else.

“I’m having Dorothy serve supper to you in your rooms,” Lillias said from her place in a high-back chair positioned in the alcove of windows. “I haven’t the inclination for socializing this evening.”

Her sister’s pale face and frown drew Grace farther into the room. “Of course not. No one would expect it, Lillias. And Frederick and I will tend to ourselves and the others, for the next few days, if that would relieve you.”

Her sister looked up, her light blue eyes red-rimmed and tired. “I would appreciate that.”

Grace’s fight died a little and she continued her path into the room. “If there are other ways we can be of assistance, please let us know. Frederick and I both wish to help you.”

One blond brow arched in response. “Can you find the person who killed my husband?”

Just having Lillias ask the question relieved some of Grace’s concern. If Lillias wanted help to locate Tony’s killer then it was less likely her sister was a part of his death, wasn’t it?

“That’s exactly what we mean to do.” Grace took the question as invitation to sit across from her sister. “Which is why I’ve come to speak with you. I believe you have information that will help us try to figure this all out.”

Lillias’ eyes widened before her lips tipped crooked. “ You mean to find the person who murdered Tony?”

Grace sat up straighter, offering her sister a reassuring smile. “I mean to try.”

“You’re serious.” Lillias grin grew into a puff of a laugh, before her gaze trailed down Grace’s body, leaving a strange sort of unease in Grace’s stomach.

“Grace, this isn’t one of your novels. This is real life.” Lillias looked over at her as if speaking to a young child. “Though I appreciate your intentions, this task is not for you, little sister.”

Grace blinked, her mind turning over the tone, the look—at once familiar and yet startlingly new. Had she misread it all these years? Had what she’d once dismissed as harmless endearment always been cloaked in condescension?

Her throat tightened, an unwelcome knot forming. Had she been so naive? So blind? What else in her past, taken for truth, was merely another lie wrapped in sibling civility?

“Lillias,” Grace began, forcing her voice steady, “haven’t you read my letters?

I’ve been involved in much nastier business than this over the past few months, and none of it had anything to do with my imagination.

” She paused, reconsidering. Her imagination had gotten away from her a time or two, but still, it had all been undeniably real.

“One involved almost being buried alive in a tomb, and the other—well, let’s just call it a treasure hunt.

Not that I was looking for treasure, but some very unpleasant people certainly were. ”

Lillias rolled her eyes. “There’s no need to exaggerate. I’m sure your life as a countess is terribly exciting.”

Words sputtered and died before Grace could push them out.

Exaggerate? She rarely exaggerated. Life had proven itself more colorful and adventurous than any flourish she might add.

Yet here she was, suddenly feeling absurd, as though caught playing dress-up.

The sensation was achingly familiar, dredging up memories of their childhood relationship.

Grace’s jaw tightened. “I’m not exaggerating.”

“Of course not.” Lillias’ tone was smooth, infuriatingly placating. “I can see how inventing these little stories might help you adjust to such an unfamiliar role. After all, you were never raised for this kind of life, were you? Not as I was.”

Grace studied her sister. Had Lillias always seen her as a simpleton?

Yes, Grace adored stories—true, embellished, or entirely fictional—but her sister’s words twisted that love into something trivial, laughable.

Was that how she saw Grace? Truly? And though stepping into her role as Frederick’s wife hadn’t been without its awkward moments, Lillias made it sound as though Grace had stumbled through it like a village idiot.

To be honest, Frederick’s staff had certainly suffered their share of shocks. And Frederick himself had as well.

But those looks of bewilderment had dwindled over the months—mostly.

Her shoulders dropped. Until today.

But that wasn’t Grace’s fault.

“I’m not making up stories, Lillias. And though being a countess certainly wasn’t in my plans, I’ve adored getting to be Frederick’s wife.

” And how had the conversation gone from Lillias as a possible murderer to Grace as a misplaced countess?

Had Lillias excelled in this type of deflection in conversation all these years, turning fault and blame elsewhere?

Air shook from Grace in a shuddered sigh. Did she even know her own family? “Everything I wrote to you was true,” she continued. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask Frederick yourself. In fact, Detective Miracle asked Frederick and me to join him on his last case a—”

“Detective Miracle? His last case ?” Lillias cut her off with a humorless laugh. “Do you hear yourself? Grace, you are not a detective, and you certainly shouldn’t involve yourself in such dangerous nonsense. Poor Lord Astley. You’ve probably made him the laughingstock of all England.”

Grace opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. Her thoughts scattered like a flock of startled birds. She didn’t even know the woman before her.

It was only the crinkle of paper in her hand that brought her back to something solid. Something tangible. Something that mattered more than her sister’s insults.

The scene cleared in her mind. She’d never expected her sister to be a Lady Catherine de Bourgh, but … here she was! Incarnate!

Which meant that Grace would have to shore up her inner Lizzie Bennet, wouldn’t she?

She straightened, holding the letter aloft. “Please explain this.”

Lillias froze, just for a moment, before her expression smoothed into practiced indifference. “I thought you were going to deliver that letter to my former maid,” she said lightly, turning toward the window. “I see your need for adventure has led you to pry into private matters.”

“Private matters?” Grace fisted the paper, a little uncertain what to do with the growing anger inside of her. “You told us this was a letter to ask Miss Steen back into service, but instead, you offered her money to lie about your whereabouts.”

“And what if I was?” Lillias’ tone was airy, dismissive. She stood and moved toward the window, her back to Grace. “I hardly see how it concerns you.”

“It concerns me because you lied, Lillias,” Grace snapped and stood, this moment too similar to one of the last conversations she’d had with her sister, calling her out on her deception of attempting to marry Frederick under false pretense. “Don’t you see how that looks? It makes you suspicious.”

Lillias turned, her expression hardening. “You don’t understand anything, Grace. You never have. You’re too busy playing detective, running about with your ridiculous notions, to grasp the reality.”

Grace’s breath hitched, but she refused to falter. “Then help me understand. Why would you need Miss Steen to lie? Where were you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Lillias waved a hand, as if brushing away Grace’s concerns. “I’m certain Miss Steen will see reason.”

“Reason?” Grace barked out a laugh so sharp it even surprised her. “She’s more than willing to give you up, Lillias. She told us of the fighting and the gambling, and she will happily tell the officers when they arrive tomorrow.”

Lillias’ composure faltered. “You think the officers will believe a gossiping maid over a lady of my standing?”

“They’ll believe proof, and right now the only person with proof of her whereabouts is Miss Steen.” Grace fisted her hand at her side, attempting to gain some composure … some understanding of what lay behind her sister’s behavior. “You very well could be suspect in your own husband’s death.”

Grace hadn’t meant to say things so plainly, but there it was.

And she didn’t regret it.