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The combination of his voice and his immediate confusion with titles had her breaking all protocols of a countess and running directly into the older man’s arms. He stayed as straight as a tree, but that didn’t stop Grace.

His scent of polish and soap had meant home for such a large portion of her life.

Her smile brimmed, and she stepped back, Perkins looking every bit as discombobulated as he always did when she’d hugged him. “It is so wonderful to see you, Perkins. And you look the same as always.”

“I should hope so, my lady. It hasn’t been a year since we last saw one another.”

“No, it has not, though it feels much longer.” Grace gestured back to Frederick. “I don’t believe you’ve met my husband, Lord Astley.”

The butler dipped his body in an awkward bow, his gaze taking in Frederick, before he dipped his head again. “Your lordship.”

“I apologize for not having given you notice of our arrival, Perkins.” Frederick smiled. “But I had hoped to surprise my bride with a visit home before we return to England.”

“Isn’t it the sweetest thing?” Grace sighed back to her darling husband and then tried to peer around Perkins to get a view of the interior of the house.

The entry hall really was one of its best features.

“The house looks marvelous too.” She surveyed the new shrubbery lining the front, pausing on a patch of missing foliage.

Had someone removed Mother’s rose bushes?

Why on earth would Father ever approve of such a thing? “There’s new landscaping?”

Her stomach dropped with renewed fervor.

“Within the last three weeks, my lady.” Perkins ran a finger beneath his collar and swallowed audibly. “Several new improvements, as you can imagine.”

Father had mentioned improvements just before Grace wed Frederick in late November, which was why he’d encouraged Grace and her sister to prepare for the wedding at their friends’ home, Whitlock Manor, but Grace had always supposed the improvements involved internal changes. Updates.

Nothing drastic.

Nothing like removing Mother’s roses.

“I was sure the improvements would have been finished by now.” Grace looked from Perkins to Frederick, whose expression dissolved from welcome into … what was it? Concern? Surely there wasn’t much to be concerned about regarding house renovations, was there?

Unless one distracted a serious workman with too many questions and he nearly electrocuted himself.

A twinge of guilt pinched in her chest.

Perkin’s brow rose again. “Not—not when the new owners wish for different sorts of improvements, my lady.”

And now she doubted her hearing. New owners?

“They have more modern views than your father and took to implementing those designs as soon as the purchase was finalized.”

It was Grace’s turn to blink. Surely, there must be some mistake. “What do you mean? New owners?”

He shifted his attention from Grace to Frederick and back, and with a deep sigh, he lowered his head. “You—you haven’t heard?”

A splash of cold branched through Grace’s middle and she turned to Frederick to see if he understood. He looked serious. Grace couldn’t seem to find her voice, and even if she could, she wasn’t certain what to say. None of this made sense.

“Are you saying Rutledge House is under new ownership?” Her husband voiced the slow growing awareness in her mind.

“Yes, sir.” Perkins turned his attention to Grace. “I—I thought Mr. Ferguson would have written to you to alert you of the situation.”

“The situation?” Her knees weakened the slightest bit, which was the oddest thing, because her knees rarely weakened to anything except Frederick’s kisses.

And occasionally while reading an excellently terrifying book.

Her stomach clenched. But this moment fit neither one of those descriptions. So what on earth was wrong with her?

“We’ve been traveling on our honeymoon trip,” Frederick explained, stepping nearer. “So any letter may have missed us.”

“But we didn’t receive a telegram either.” Grace studied Perkins, trying to sort out the reason why her eyes had started to burn a little.

“That explains why a solicitor arrived yesterday in search of you.”

A solicitor? Good heavens, what on earth is going on?

“I would invite you inside to explain.” Perkins glanced behind him. “But the new family … well, I stayed on …” He cleared his throat. “They are not accepting visitors at this time since they are newly arrived.”

Grace’s mind stuttered over her thoughts in the most alarming way. Her last letter from Father gave no indication of selling Rutledge House or of any desire to leave.

“What has happened?” Grace stilled herself against the sudden rise in emotions and held Perkins gaze. “Tell me, Perkins.”

“My lady, I–I’m not certain—”

“You must tell me.” A sudden heat rose into her face. “Clearly, you know.”

Frederick placed his palm on Grace’s back, stepping closer to her side, dousing her sudden anxiety in a sweet blanket of his presence. “I understand you may not wish to break confidences, Perkins, but we are in need of direction, and you have the information to assist us.”

“Yes, my lord.” Perkins nodded, his shoulders drooping from their stiffened state. She’d seen that look plenty of times too. Usually, when he’d been tasked with finding Grace from some hidden location.

But this reason felt much larger than any of those silly times.

“It is my understanding that Mr. Ferguson has declared bankruptcy and all of his debts have been called in.”

The words made sense, but Grace couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the meaning. Father hadn’t been the most clever with finances, but bankruptcy?

“Six weeks ago, everything seemed to come to a head, so Mr. Ferguson made a quick sale of the house, as well as any of his other properties, to cover those debts.”

“But it wasn’t a surprise, was it, Perkins?”

Grace shifted her attention to Frederick. What could he mean? Not a surprise? It completely shocked her.

“No, my lord.” The butler lowered his gaze again. “It was my understanding that Mr. Ferguson had been struggling with finances for some time, and his last few investments had not been … successful.”

For some time?

She frowned up at the man. As an amateur sleuth, she’d certainly missed the mark on this one. Not one clue. Not one hint.

Her thoughts paused. Or—or had there been?

Before her marriage, Father had held more closed-door meetings. Whispered conversations with the lawyer. Less frequent visits to town. Cold spread through Grace’s body. Had finances been the reason Father had engaged in a desperate search for a groom for Lillias all along? To secure her future?

She turned to Frederick. And wasn’t her father supposed to provide a third installment of the dowry at the one-year mark of their wedding? Was that lost too?

Had Frederick been hoodwinked by Grace’s own father?

Nausea swelled up through her tightening stomach, and her eyes stung with more ardor. She flipped her attention back to Perkins. “Where is Father now?”

Her voice rasped out the question in the strangest way. Her throat closed. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she sort out her feelings? An ugly, uncomfortable, and unfamiliar ache bruised deep. Was it hurt? Surprise?

Her breath quivered. Betrayal?

She pressed a fist to her chest. No. Surely not something as devastating as betrayal.

Didn’t that only happen with strangers and villains?

She gave her head a shake as the pain knifed a little deeper.

No. In all the stories, betrayal wounded the deepest from those closest and dearest, didn’t it?

Her fist pushed against the growing ache.

“I’m sorry, my lady.” Perkins’ words tumbled out.

“I know Mr. Ferguson would not wish for you to find out about this situation in this manner. He had me forward mail to your sister’s house until two weeks ago, at which time he wrote to alert me that he was going to visit his sister in South Carolina for an extended period of time.

It seems that the living situation at Mrs. Dixon’s home was not …

well, your father needed some distance from your sister.

” Perkins’ face reddened all the way from his neck to his forehead. “Or … the reverse.”

Could this situation get any worse? Her father and sister at odds. Her family home sold. Her father’s … lies?

Grace leaned back into Frederick’s hold. It was one thing to feel betrayed by a crazy archeologist or a wealthy owner of stolen paintings, but quite another by her own father.

“In reference to the solicitor, I do have some mail we received for you that preceded the solicitor’s visit, but since it was in the midst of all of Mr. Ferguson’s …

changes, the mail was misplaced. I only recalled it when the solicitor arrived yesterday in search of you and Miss Lilli—” He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Dixon.”

“Mail?” Grace’s gaze turned back to the man. “From a solicitor?”

“His explicit instructions were that the information be delivered by hand to you or your sister. He seemed quite adamant on me locating either of you.” Perkins nodded.

“I have it safely placed with the purpose of driving to town to hand deliver it to Mrs. Dixon tomorrow, but if you will permit me, I can give it to you now. Mr. Barclay is staying in town with the hopes of speaking with your sister, since I told him you were no longer in the country. Allow me to retrieve it, my lady.”

He turned back into the house, leaving Frederick and Grace standing on the doorstep of her own home.

She tilted her head, studying the familiar door.

No, no longer her home. She straightened a little, allowing the warmth of Frederick’s touch to radiate through her and soothe her untamed emotions. Her home was with Frederick now. At Havensbrooke.

She turned toward her husband, the stinging in her eyes intensifying. “I—I didn’t know … about the finances. I promise I didn’t.”

He stared down at her, the tension in his jaw relaxing a little as his palm smoothed her arm. “I know, Grace.”