When she reached the area outside of the dining room, Lottie hadn’t arrived. For once it was someone else pacing. Gerald had dressed in an evening suit as well. It was his, so he must have come prepared. His face was freshly shaved, his hair slicked back, he was pale, but the frantic pacing had added color.

  “He wants another whiskey,” Victor told her. “But I refused.”

  “He can’t properly get on his knees if he can barely stand,” Violet agreed. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Think of how I feel then, Vi darling. We all know I have half the wits you do. I want to throw myself at her feet, and beg her to put him out of his misery.”

  Chapter 14

  Charlotte Wilder had dressed for the occasion, but she had put a long coat over the top to hide her soft pink evening gown. Her neck and ears were bare of jewels, but her long silky curls hung about her ivory neck as beautiful as any diamond necklace. Her eyes were wide and shining and when they landed on Gerald, they warmed.

  The two of them stared at each other with a tension that crackled. Violet bit down on her bottom lip to stop herself from begging them to choose each other.

  “I’m sorry,” Lottie said quietly.

  Gerald folded in on himself, turning stark white.

  “No!” Lottie said, scrambling. She darted to him, throwing herself at him. “I’m sorry I had to think. I’m sorry I didn’t throw myself right at you. I’m sorry I let the countess get inside my mind. I’m sorry.”

  Gerald staggered back as she landed in his arms, but he grasped her tightly.

  “I’m sorry,” he echoed. “I’m sorry she’s my stepmother and I can’t get rid of her. I’m sorry that your father doesn’t like me. I’m sorry that you had to choose anything.”

  Violet watched and found that Victor was pressing his handkerchief in her hands. She dabbed away the unnoticed tears as the two lovers whispered.

  Violet glanced at Victor who grinned back.

  “Should we leave?” he mouthed to her.

  Violet glanced at the couple. Gerald was pressing a kiss to Lottie’s palm. His gaze was so fixed on hers, he didn’t seem to notice their audience.

  Violet answered her twin with a shrug. Should they leave? Should they stay? Violet took a slow step backwards towards the door and her movement caught Gerald’s attention. He laughed as Lottie turned in time to see them backing away.

  “Don’t go,” Lottie said happily. “I—” Lottie glanced up at Gerald and then at Violet. “Thank you, Violet. I wouldn’t have been able to trust it without you. If you hadn’t been so kind—”

  Violet smiled away the gratitude and gestured the couple into the dining room. They ate in a blur of watching Gerald and Lottie making happy plans while the other two missed their spouses even more.

  “Is it wrong,” Victor asked Violet while they left the dining room, “to go and get my wife and take her away from her ailing mother?”

  “Yes,” Violet told him, simply.

  Victor scowled and then glanced with envy at Gerald, who was tucking Lottie into his side in the parlor. They hadn’t been wise enough to have the chalkboard moved away and Lottie stared at it before she left Gerald on the sofa to turn it around and read it.

  “Who are these people?” Lottie asked, staring at the list of names that Violet had put down the last time she and Victor worked on it. Violet was glad Lottie’s name was no longer on the list.

  “Those were our suspects when Carlton Danvers died,” Victor explained.

  “Henry Carlyle?”

  The twins looked at each other and then shrugged in silent unison.

  “That’s your father the earl, isn’t it?”

  Violet sniffed and then admitted, “If Father knew the details of who and what Carlton Danvers was—”

  “Any loving father would have slaughtered the man like a rabid dog,” Gerald told Lottie. “The only reason that Father wasn’t a good suspect was that he’d have done it before the wedding day.”

  “The wedding day?” Lottie asked.

  “Our little sister was getting ready to flee,” Violet said. “I had gone for Father to tell him she wasn’t going to go through with the wedding. But instead, I found Danvers.” Violet shivered and added, “It was horrible.”

  Lottie gasped. “You found his body?”

  Violet remembered the body in the library, the spread of blood, the smell. She gagged, and then let Victor pull her close as she nodded.

  Lottie looked back at the chalkboard. “And you thought your father might have done it?”

  “Not really,” Violet said. “But you can’t set aside family as a suspect if anyone else would suspect them. The most likely person to murder you,” Violet told Lottie, “is your father or Gerald.”

  She gasped. Her eyes were wide. Her pretty lips were gaping. She glanced between the three siblings, probably looking for one of them to be joking, but no one was laughing.

  “For me?” Violet continued. “Father, Gerald, Victor, and Jack of course.”

  “Of course?” Lottie gasped.

  Violet nodded as Gerald cursed. “Change the subject, Violet. Neither myself nor Mr. Wilder are going to lay a hand on Lottie, and Jack would commit a hundred murders before he let anyone hurt you.”

  Violet fiddled with her wedding ring and tried smiling at Lottie. “It’s just the likelihood, Lottie. Most men don’t hurt the women they love. My brother never would.”

  Lottie shivered and let Gerald pull her to the seat. They had wine with dinner, but when Victor offered to make cocktails, Violet requested her favorite ginger wine and found that Lottie had joined her. They discussed wedding plans again.

  “Oddly enough,” Violet said with a smile, “this is the second round of wedding plans I’ve discussed today. Helen Mathers is getting married. They aren’t going to wait.”

  “Neither are we,” Gerald said. “You can have the biggest wedding you want, Lottie, that can be done in the shortest amount of time.”

  Violet paced her bedroom that night as she thought about Jack. What was happening in Leeds if he wasn’t coming back with a murder in London? There were prayers fervent enough for the worry she was carrying. She wanted to kick the wall, to shriek at the heavens, but she couldn’t.

  Her door cracked and she met Victor’s equally sleepless gaze. He’d taken to remaining at her house since his was too empty. “Jack isn’t coming back?”

  Violet’s lip was trembling as she shook her head. Victor opened his arms, and she was in them before she even realized she was crossing the room. “What will I do if—”

  “Don’t,” Victor ordered. “Don’t.”

  “But what if?”

  “It’s not going to happen,” Victor said, but she heard the same worry in his voice. She pressed her face into her brother’s chest and wished that the sound of his heartbeat provided the same comfort of Jack’s.

  “I want to get on a train and go,” she admitted.

  “You can’t.”

  Violet didn’t need Victor to tell her that. If something bad was happening in Leeds—and it was—Jack would be at greater risk if Violet were there. She was his Achilles heel.

  “I might vomit,” she told him.

  Victor squeezed her tightly and then shoved her to her bed. He put her small writing desk on her lap and handed her paper and a pen. Without letting her mind linger on Jack, Victor pushed Violet through story ideas and plots until she found her eyes were drooping.

  Victor picked up the book they were writing a sequel for and read to Violet until she slipped into sleep.

  She didn’t wake until the next morning and had to wonder what tender mercies of heaven made that possible. Violet dressed in a cherry red day dress and went down to the parlor. To her surprise, Victor was standing at the bar with a good dozen cocktail concoctions in front of him. On the other side of the bar were Smith and Beatrice.

  “Oh,” Violet said. “It’s not even 9:00 a.m.”

  “I’m creating. Beatrice won’t do more than sip, and even then only if I ask for feedback. Smith apparently doesn’t have a limit.”

  “It’s the devil in him,” Violet said. She crossed to them. “Which one is the best?”

  Beatrice tapped the fourth glass of the dozen. Violet lifted it, sipped it, and then nodded. “That’s lovely. Insomnia?”

  Victor clarified, “Vi’s insomnia. Bitter, biting, and somehow still sweet.”

  Violet met his gaze and novels of feeling passed between them before they turned to Smith. He had changed, shaved, and was bright-eyed. “Did you find the letters?”

  “Beatrice got them for me. Your stepmother is a nightmare.”

  Violet sighed and, keeping the half-empty fourth glass, crossed to an overstuffed chair. “She’s a typical well-bred Englishwoman who was raised to prize being an aristocrat above all else. She made the same choice as generations of idiots.”

  Beatrice cleared her throat before she said, “It seems to me that Mr. Mitchell Fitzhugh truly loved Lady Eleanor. I don’t know that I find him that suspicious.”

  “The biggest victim if this secret gets out will be Geoffrey,” Violet said. “Or it could be if Father doesn’t mock the rumor and claim Geoffrey.”

  “Which he would,” Victor said. “However, Fitzhugh couldn’t know that.”

  “Exactly my point,” Smith declared. “Love twists to hate. Maybe he decided he hates the countess and it was time for revenge.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Beatrice told Smith in a way that suggested they’d argued about it before this. “I think he truly loves her. Or loved her when he wrote those letters.”

  “Regardless of the answer,” Violet cut in, making Beatrice blush, “we need to speak with Fitzhugh. I want to see the look in his eyes when we ask him if he’s threatening Geoffrey with awareness of who he is.”

  “Father’s back in London with Geoffrey,” Victor said. “Ginny stayed. She had an important exam.”

  Vi grinned and her relief was echoed by Victor’s. “Speaking of Ginny,” Violet told Beatrice. “Would you have one of the housemaids pack up the things I bought Ginny and see them delivered?”

  Beatrice nodded, making a note in her notebook.

  “She’s not your maid anymore,” Smith told Violet.

  Vi paused but Beatrice snapped, “I am happy to do as Violet asks.”

  “That’s the statement of a maid pretending to be a business woman.”

  Beatrice’s gaze narrowed and the look she sent Smith actually had him wince.

  Violet considered and then said, “I’ll take care of it, Beatrice.”

  “No!” Beatrice argued. “I work for you.”

  “He’s right, though,” Violet said. “My apologies.”

  If the look Smith received before had been scathing, the one Beatrice gave him after Violet’s apology was deathly. Violet begged Victor for help with a glance.

  “I agree with Beatrice,” Victor said offhandedly and turned back to the cocktails. “I read the letters this morning. I also think we should consider something else.”

  Violet turned to him. She kept her gaze focused on him so she didn’t have to see the silent battle between Beatrice and Smith.

  “I would have known your secret, Vi. I made my own list of suspects.”

  Victor gestured to the chalkboard and Violet realized it had been pulled out, so he could see it while he played at the bar.

  Violet stood and turned the chalkboard to read it. It said:

  PEOPLE WHO MIGHT HAVE KNOWN E’S SECRET

  Helen Mathers

  Harry Mathers

  Markus Kennington

  Wanda Kennington

  Norman Kennington

  Adele Kennington

  Carlton Danvers

  Henry Carlyle

  Mitchell Fitzhugh

  Violet looked at the list that Victor had created and her head tilted as she examined it. “You made the list longer.”

  “I’m not looking for the blackmailer,” Victor said. “I was just thinking about us. Who might know or have learned Lady Eleanor’s secret? Wouldn’t it have to be someone close to her or close to someone she would confide in?”

  Violet nibbled her thumb as she considered.

  “Then there are Algie’s secrets,” Violet mused. “Which aren’t that hard to find really, but still, they aren’t written on his forehead. It is possible someone associated with him or with Lady Eleanor could have gotten the information on them both.”

  She took the chalk and crossed out names until it read:

  Helen Mathers

  Harry Mathers

  Markus Kennington

  Wanda Kennington

  Norman Kennington

  Adele Kennington

  Carlton Danvers

  Henry Carlyle

  Mitchell Fitzhugh

  Victor stood next to Violet. “If you add in someone who might have the connections or wherewithal to have a man murdered in prison—”

  He crossed out more names until only three remained.

  Markus Kennington

  Norman Kennington

  Henry Carlyle

  Violet reached out and crossed out their father’s name. Only two names were left and they were both Eleanor’s brothers. The twins looked at each other and then back at the chalkboard.

  “That assumes,” Smith said, “that someone else didn’t know about Danvers’s blackmailing, contacted Mathers, and promised something—anything—to get Danvers’s stash of proof. That person could be anyone.”

  “You can, however, start with the Kennington men,” Beatrice told him. “While Violet and her family work on Lady Eleanor about who else might have known her secrets.”

  “The best plan,” Violet said, “is for my father to tell Eleanor that he will claim Geoffrey no matter what. That will take the sting from the blackmail threat. Then we see what happens.”

  “Set your man of business on them as well,” Victor suggested. “As memory serves, both of the Kennington brothers were involved in Danvers’s fraudulent investment scheme. Maybe one of them is more hard-pressed than the other.”

  “I need to see Helen again,” Violet said with a sigh. “Does anyone know what you know, Smith?”

  Smith shook his head.

  “We can’t let her find out about her father when it all comes tumbling out. She deserves the warning.”

  Smith stood and announced, “I’ll start with the Kennington brothers and Fitzhugh. You can’t rule him out yet.” Smith nodded at both Violet and Victor, glanced at Beatrice and said, “I’ll be seeing you.”

  Her scowl made him smirk and then he was gone.

  Violet considered. “He’s right, you realize,” she said to her twin. “We can’t rule out Fitzhugh. But we can try.”

  Victor caught her meaning at once and agreed with a nod.

  Chapter 15

  Violet and Victor were both pacing the next afternoon as they waited for the knock at the door. The silence was tense enough that it stifled the whole room. They bypassed each other as they moved. The teacart was loaded with sandwiches, coffee, and an excellent blend of black tea. The room was shining, the chalkboard missing, all signs of the bar being a playground hidden.

  Victor wore a conservative grey suit, a blue tie, and a tense jaw. Violet wore a light tan day dress that hung to her calves. Her powder was light, her lipstick just enough to add a little color, and her stomach was roiling.

  The knock had both of the twins leaping and Violet let out a sick laugh. They crossed to the armchairs near the lit fireplace and sat side-by-side as they faced the door.

  The man who followed Hargreaves in had them gaping. White blonde hair, watery blue eyes, a stick-thin frame without an ounce of fat.

  “Oh my heavens,” Violet murmured, unable to hold her thoughts back. “I—”

  The man smiled at them and glanced around the room. “Yes, I thought so.”

  “I—” Violet repeated and then looked at Victor. No doubt her own expression matched the shell-shocked astonishment of her twin.

  “Yes, I look just like him.”

  Violet was suddenly uncertain that Father claiming Geoffrey would be sufficient to save her brother from being the cuckoo in the nest.

  “Bloody hell, Fitzhugh,” Victor groaned. “It’s like looking into the future.”

  “No wonder Geoffrey knows you look in on him.”

  Fitzhugh took the chair that Violet was slow to offer and she poured him tea in a shocked haze. She loaded him a plate with blindness, her mind racing around the thoughts of her brother.

  “I wanted him to know I care,” Fitzhugh said. “I didn’t want him to think I didn’t.”

  Violet pressed her fingers against her lips, ignoring the coffee and food, and tried to think. “I feel like all my questions have shifted.”

  Mr. Fitzhugh smiled at her rather gently. “Perhaps you could start with why you pretended my son wanted to meet me.”

  Violet leaned back and then decided nothing ventured, nothing gained. “We were curious if you were the person blackmailing Lady Eleanor about Geoffrey’s parentage.”

  Mr. Fitzhugh’s gaze narrowed and a look of shocking fury crossed his face. In a low, angry voice, he said, “I would never. Why would you think such a thing?”

  “Because,” Victor said, “you clearly know the secret.”

  “Anyone who knew us then could guess,” Mr. Fitzhugh said. “Every Kennington, your Father, perhaps some of Ellie’s oldest friends. It’s not a hard leap if you know me and have seen him.”

  “Yes, obviously,” Violet said. She was flabbergasted.

  “I won’t pretend to love Ellie anymore,” Mr. Fitzhugh added, “but I do love my son.”

  Violet’s man of business would confirm that there was no reason for Fitzhugh to set aside his personal honor to blackmail the mother of his child, but Violet liked the man. She hadn’t intended to. Someone who had truly loved Lady Eleanor started out with very low expectations on Violet’s part, but somehow the earnest fierceness and care that Fitzhugh directed only towards Geoffrey was all that Violet needed.