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After witnessing her darling husband in such a state and knowing he could have died yet again—this time at the hands of some nefarious fiend—Grace decided it was time to set aside her sisterly frustrations and don her proverbial sleuthing hat.

As any good detective knew, there was no time for pettiness when life and death were on the line.

Lillias, naturally, had nearly fainted at the sight of Frederick’s wound, so Grace had sent her to fetch one of the servants in order to call a doctor and the police.

And here they were, an hour later, with Frederick stubbornly insisting on speaking to the police, despite the fact that it was well past midnight and he’d just been knocked unconscious.

The doctor seemed much more concerned about the way in which Frederick was wounded, than the actual injury, which simultaneously impressed and annoyed Grace. Her dear husband could have died.

Though, if Grace were honest, she’d had more than enough practice with the impending sense of Frederick’s demise.

Several times throughout their marriage, she’d thought him lost to her—dead or near enough to it—and a few more times, she’d even daydreamed about it, in a dark, maudlin sort of way. But tonight? Tonight felt different.

For some reason, it seemed darker, more dangerous. Perhaps because it was her family involved this time.

And the clearer view of her sister’s mindset brought shadowy talons into the present.

Having been away from Lillias for all these months and having matured herself, Grace found herself reframing previous scenes with Lillias based on her sister’s current actions and words.

Other moments of similar condescension and dismissiveness.

Other times when Lillias had been secretive or even laughed at Grace and her love of books and mysteries.

At the time, Grace had seen them as simple teasing, but had they been more? A jealousy underneath all along? Or had her feelings taken this turn once Lillias felt the sting of her reduced circumstances since marrying Tony?

And could those feelings have led her to murder?

For the first time, Grace wasn’t too certain she wanted to solve a mystery. Not this one, anyway.

“Are you sure you want this conversation to happen now?” Grace asked, her arm tucked through Frederick’s as they made their way downstairs to the study.

It was more to steady him than anything else—he seemed to be holding himself together well enough, but his pallor prevented her from experiencing complete peace of mind.

“There are too many moving parts to delay.” Frederick searched her face, his brow furrowing as he added, “What if you’d been the one out in the garden?”

She slowed them to a stop in front of the study door, where Detective Johnson and Officer Todd waited at Frederick’s request. “We’ve had this discussion several times before, my dear Lord Astley. Only God has the power to protect us fully.”

“But He gave us wits to use as well.” He narrowed his eyes at her in an attempt at mock seriousness. He knew, as well as she did, that they had both teetered on the edge of something awful tonight. The teasing helped her heart stay steady, if only just.

“And we need more help than just ourselves in this situation, Grace,” he added, his voice softer but no less resolute.

Her gaze swept over his face, noting that some pink had returned to his cheeks. “I know.”

The tension around his eyes softened, and he squeezed her hand. “I will be all right.”

She studied him a moment longer, a frown tugging at the corner of her mouth, then nodded before Frederick opened the door and led them into the study.

Detective Johnson stood from the nearby chair and Officer Todd turned at their entry. “Lord Astley, I am glad to see you upright considering your recent attack.”

Frederick nodded to the man and led Grace to a nearby chair, taking the couch next to her for himself. “I am well enough, Detective, thank you.”

“And Mrs. Dixon?” Officer Todd looked toward the doorway, expectantly.

“The doctor gave her something to help her sleep, as she was quite”—Grace tried to figure out which word would be best—”overrun with her nerves.”

Yes. That seemed a perfect descriptor. Her sister appeared on the brink of some sort of breakdown. Hopefully, in a less homicidal direction.

“That doesn’t seem to be your predilection, Lady Astley.” Detective Johnson tipped his head, studying her with the faintest glint of amusement. “Not the swooning sort?”

“Not from dangers, sir,” She shot back, a little pleased at her quick and somewhat subtle retort. She looked over at her husband. She wasn’t a swooning sort of woman, but exceptions to that rule always came because of him, and she wasn’t about to admit that to the detective.

“Clearly.” Johnson turned his attention back to Frederick as Grace helped her husband adjust his position on the nearby couch. “And you felt this meeting necessary tonight, Lord Astley.”

Frederick raised his gaze to the man. “Based on some information we’ve gathered today.”

“Information you’ve gathered?” Officer Todd scoffed, his arms crossed in an unflattering stance. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

Grace narrowed her eyes at the boorish man.

Her husband was exceptionally impressive.

Just wait until they saw him cane fighting.

Or wielding a pistol. Or deciphering clues.

Her cheeks grew hot at the loveliness of the memories.

Officer Todd, no doubt, couldn’t look nearly as dashing while embroiled in such villain-fighting moments.

The detective exchanged a look with the officer, and Todd frowned but said no more.

“Though we do have a history as sleuths, Detective, this time our involvement was much less intentional.” Grace clarified. “And the information found us more than we found it.”

The detective raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but settled himself in the chair across from them. “What has happened?”

Frederick took a steadying breath and proceeded to recount their visit to Miss Steen’s house as well as the attack in the back garden, his words as thorough as any detective could hope for.

Grace couldn’t help the proud smile that tugged at her lips.

Clearly, the knock to the head hadn’t hurt his memory at all.

Nothing like what she’d read about in other mysteries.

One man even forgot who he was and didn’t remember for seven entire chapters!

How delightful to have a husband whose mind wasn’t easily scrambled.

“Let me get this straight,” Johnson began, his tone measured. “You, Lord and Lady Astley, ventured out to interview Miss Steen without notifying me—”

“As I mentioned before, Detective, our intention wasn’t to interview her at all.

” Then Grace frowned at the unintended hint of a lie in her words.

Of course, she was always trying to discover more information about a mystery.

“Well, not entirely. We did mean to deliver the letter, but if Miss Steen offered us information, we were hardly about to refuse it, especially in the interest of finding Tony’s murderer. ”

“But as I mentioned,” Frederick continued, “we never delivered Mrs. Dixon’s letter. Miss Steen, however, thought we were part of the investigation and provided us with information, as well as mentioning a man who had paid her for information—Mr. K.”

“Rather inconspicuous, isn’t it?” Johnson quirked an eyebrow, his tone dry.

“And Lillias’ letter wasn’t the heartfelt plea for reconciliation she’d told us that it was.” Grace continued. “Instead, it was an attempt to coerce Miss Steen into providing a false alibi for Lillias—an entirely fabricated account of her whereabouts this morning.”

The detective’s gaze lingered on her for a long moment. “And you’re certain of this?”

“Miss Steen was quite forthcoming,” Frederick pressed his fingers into his forehead, still suffering from the effects of his attack. “She also mentioned she made contact with several people during her morning walk, all of whom could verify her whereabouts.”

“Yet you still believe Mrs. Dixon is innocent?” Johnson asked, his tone even but probing.

Grace straightened. “Lillias may be hiding something—she is hiding something—but we don’t believe she killed Tony. Or at least, if she was part of it, she didn’t give the death blow.”

Detective Johnson’s brows flew upwards, but Grace couldn’t fathom why. The phrase “death blow” seemed perfectly accurate to her. Wasn’t that the sort of thing detectives were supposed to get excited about?

“Then why lie about her whereabouts?” the detective pressed. “If she wasn’t the main culprit, it’s possible she was a party to it—especially given the unhappy marriage.”

Grace couldn’t help but bite her lip in thought.

“I’m sure there are many unhappy marriages that don’t end in murder,” she suggested, but the words hung in the air uncertainly.

Of course, in her extensive reading—fictional as it was—there was usually a fair balance.

But perhaps, in this case, it was best to err on the side of optimism. One can hope, at least.

“Yet there are some that do.” Detective Johnson’s gaze sharpened.

“Well, yes,” Grace conceded, refusing to relinquish her point in a grasp to save her sister. “But there are also plenty of mysteries where the murderer is someone entirely unexpected.”

“And there is still the quandary of the suspicious man who paraded himself about as Officer Clark.” This from Frederick.

“It’s possible he murdered Mr. Dixon, dragged him back into the house for Mrs. Dixon to find, and then waited outside for the discovery— conveniently in time to alert you and your officers.

As you said earlier, it was all … very convenient. ”

“Convenience,” Johnson mused, stroking his chin, “is the height of suspicion.”