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Lillias’ hand flew to her chest, but her chin remained high. “That’s absurd. I would never kill my own husband.”

“Would or wouldn’t, the officers will decide. They’ll examine the debts, the secrecy, the”—Grace hesitated, choosing her words carefully—”the disharmony in your home.”

Lillias laughed, brittle and cold. “Disharmony? We hated each other by the end!” Her voice cracked, her pale blue eyes glistening as she turned back to the window.

“Do you think I wanted this life? A shabby townhouse, no money, no respect? A husband who gambled away everything while you”—she whirled back, eyes blazing—”while you prance about as a countess, married to the man who should have been mine. ”

“You think I wanted to take your place?” Grace moved forward, her high-pitched voice foreign to her own ears.

“I stepped in because you left me no choice, Lillias! You lied to all of us, and I won’t be made to feel guilty because you are unhappy now.

You made your choices, and I had to make mine for the good of our family. ”

And thanks be to God, He’d redeemed the choice and made it so much better than Grace had ever dreamed.

“And now you’re reaping the rewards,” Lillias sneered, words laced with sarcasm. “It’s easy to play the noble savior from your lofty position as countess.”

Grace’s grip on the letter tightened. “I never tried to be anything but myself,” she said, then paused. Except, perhaps, when donning disguises for cases. But surely that didn’t count. “ You were the one pretending, and it hurt everyone.”

“You know I would’ve been a better match for Frederick than you,” Lillias spat.

“I know the rules. I could’ve upheld his title.

But you—you’ve turned him into a joke with your wild escapades.

” She stepped closer, the fire in her eyes unlike anything Grace had ever seen before.

“And you came along and took it all away, didn’t you? Ruining all my plans.”

Grace blinked, trying to piece together how her sister had managed to twist the narrative so tightly that Grace was somehow the villain in this story.

True, she didn’t exactly embody the grace and poise of the aristocracy.

And it was true she’d left more than a few people shocked and perhaps offended by her lack of training in the art of high-class English living, but Frederick didn’t regret it.

And their adventures together had saved lives. Helped people.

Grace fought against the fear wiggling up through her middle, clawing at insecurities she thought she’d put to rest months ago. “Your plans were going to ruin several people’s lives all at once, and I couldn’t stand by and let it happen. I only meant to help everyone we love.”

“You’ve helped enough, little sister.”

But the endearment had taken on a darker turn, meant to put Grace in her place.

She refused its power. “Please stop calling me that.”

For a fleeting moment, Lillias looked startled. And then her lips curved into a smile so cutting, it could open letters. “Should I refer to you as your ladyship, then?” All attempt at cloaking any disdain vanished from her sister’s tone.

Grace let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Pieces of the past snapped together with the present, forming a grim mosaic of this newer, colder version of Lillias Ferguson Dixon.

“I will not carry the weight of your jealousy, Lillias. A man is dead, and you are quite possibly in danger of being charged with his murder. And believe it or not, I’ve actually helped solve crimes like this.

So instead of arguing over your petty ideas of who has gained what in life, you might try searching for answers—either within yourself or in the actions of others. ”

The words left her lips before she could second-guess them. But as they echoed in the room, Grace felt something shift. Not in Lillias—her sister’s expression was as stony as ever—but in herself. A growing sense of clarity, of purpose.

Grace took a step back, her body trembling, her eyes burning with unshed tears she was determined not to release in front of her sister.

“Tony’s death wasn’t just a ‘mishap,’ and you know it.

You have a choice, just like you did when I found out about your pregnancy.

You can choose to do what’s right—or not.

But when it comes to situations like this, there’s only so much any of us can do to help you. ”

She turned toward the door, her hand on the knob, desperate for an exit. For air. For a moment to think. But just as she began to pull it open, the door burst wide, slamming against the wall with a force that rattled the room.

A man stumbled through, his face pale, his hands stained with blood.

Lillias screamed.

But Grace took in the scene.

This wasn’t just any man. No, the bloodied hands and wild-eyed panic belonged to none other than Grace’s own Lord Astley.

The only thing on Frederick’s mind was finding Grace.

He wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d been unconscious.

The moon hadn’t seemed to have moved much in the sky, but with the pounding in his head, time felt like an unreliable companion.

On the third attempt, he managed to rise, steadying himself with a hand against the house.

The door hung ajar, a gaping invitation for trouble.

His pulse quickened. Had his assailant left something else behind? Or worse, gone inside?

With the police officer on guard at the front of the house, anyone could have access from the back. Frederick pushed forward, up the steps into the hallway, stopping only when his dizziness forced him to steady himself against the wall.

It took what seemed forever to climb the stairs with him almost losing the contents of his stomach before making it to the top, but once his feet hit the solid ground of the upper level, his head began to clear a little.

He reached up to touch the more bruised area at the back of his head only to bring his hand back covered in blood.

Lovely. That explained the throbbing, the nausea, and the nagging sense of déjà vu.

The memory flashed—Christmas, forcibly removed from his own home (he refused to use Grace’s term of man-napped ), only to be knocked unconscious when he attempted an ill-fated escape. At least this time, he hadn’t been tied to a chair. Small blessings.

A raised voice echoed down the hall, clear and unmistakable.

Grace. But angry? He stumbled, wondering if the hit to the head impacted his hearing.

His wife rarely raised her voice except, perhaps, in joy.

And angry? His body surged into motion. He busted through the door, ready to protect his wife from some villain who’d sneaked into the house, only to find her and her sister in the room.

Grace turned wide eyes on him.

Lillias screamed.

Frederick blinked at the pair of them, focusing on Grace as he waited for the room to stop spinning. “Are you all right?”

“Me?” Grace crossed the space between them in an instant, her gaze scanning his face. “Heavens, Frederick, what happened?” She took him by the arm and drew him toward a chair across the room.

Lillias backed farther away, her palm over her mouth.

“Attacked,” he muttered, easing into the chair with a groan. “In the back garden. Thought he might’ve come inside.”

Two warm palms rested against his cheeks, and he opened his eyes to find Grace examining his face. “Where does it hurt?”

His lips quirked despite the pain. “Back of the head. Knocked me out cold. But”—he hesitated, glancing at Lillias, who now looked like she might faint at any moment—”there were signs of a struggle. I think he came back to search for something he lost in the fight.”

Her brows lifted. “You found something?”

“Yes, but he took it when he fled. Whatever it was, he wanted it badly enough to risk coming back.”

Grace’s gaze shifted toward the door, and Frederick followed it. Zahra hovered in the threshold, her small frame rigid and her face unnaturally pale.

He began to push himself out of the chair, but Grace’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. In his current state, it didn’t take much.

“He is going to be fine, Zahra.” Grace cooed out the phrase as Zahra’s attention switched from Grace back to Frederick.

Her lost expression nearly pulled him from the chair.

Had she seen similar things in her young life?

Worse, probably. “But would you mind fetching Miss Cox? I think we could certainly use her assistance.”

Zahra lingered for a heartbeat, then nodded and dashed from the room.

“Do—do you mean that the man who killed Tony was just outside the house?” Lillias stammered. She clung to the back of the chair as if it might save her from fainting.

“It seems so,” Grace replied, though her attention stayed fixed on Frederick. She lowered herself to her knees beside him, taking his hand in hers. “We only parted less than half an hour ago. You couldn’t have been unconscious long.”

He closed his eyes, hoping to stave off the wave of nausea threatening to crest. “The pin was near the back garden wall.”

“Pin?” Grace’s voice came soft, but there was no denying the interest in it. “What sort of pin?”

He opened his eyes, holding her gaze. “Scottish.”

“Scottish?” Grace breathed the word, and he could see her mind spinning faster than her driving. “Frederick. The inheritance? Do you think it could be a coincidence?”

He attempted a half-smile but felt it falter. “What does Detective Miracle say about coincidences?”

Her fingers squeezed his, and the familiar gleam returned to her eyes, brighter now than he’d seen all day. He’d always admired how quickly she could go from nurturing to razor-sharp sleuth.

“There is no such thing as a coincidence—only clues we haven’t discovered yet.”