If Blake was right, then Seraphina might not be the person Iris had always thought she was. And that would devastate her.
Keith really, really hoped that Blake was wrong. No one who cared that much about image would rush to accuse his wife of murder, but maybe Blake had just made a terrible mistake.
“Everything’s been happening so fast,” Blake said. He looked stressed and distraught, like someone pushed to his breaking point. “I kept asking myself what to do, and this was all I could think of.”
“I don’t understand,” Iris said. “You have to be wrong. There’s no way.”
She looked like her knees might give out on her from sheer shock, so Keith maneuvered her into the parlor and settled her down on one of the stiff upholstered sofas.
She folded into position as pliantly as a doll, which worried him. Blake’s accusation—revelation?—had hit her like a sledgehammer, leaving her dazed and weak. He couldn’t stand to see her like this.
Some part of him wished that Blake hadn’t dragged them into this. He could have just talked to Keith’s team. Maybe that was why he had gone out to the barrier this morning in the first place, only to lose his nerve when he came face-to-face with the prospect of confiding something so embarrassing and shameful to outsiders.
Either way, it didn’t surprise him that Blake wanted to test the waters with them before he tried talking to anyone else. He was probably hoping that Keith would convince him that his fears were groundless.
Keith hoped so too.
“You’ll have to talk us through this,” he said steadily.
He tried to pitch his tone somewhere between “reassuring future brother-in-law” and “trustworthy professional.”
Blake nodded a few times. “I can explain everything. Let me just get you something to drink.”
More sparkling fruit juice, no doubt.
That’s really not necessary, Keith started to say, but then he looked at Iris’s ashen face and trembling hands. She wasn’t exactly in shock, but she wasn’t too far off from it, either. Having something sugary to drink might help.
A good old-fashioned glass of brandy might help even more, but Keith didn’t know if Blake still had any on hand after those celebratory cocktails.
That night felt like it had happened centuries ago.
He let Blake go pour the drinks. Besides, if Blake was as shaken up as Iris was, it would do him some good to be able to fall back on something as ordinary and familiar as basic hospitality.
Keith sat down beside Iris and put his arm around her. She curled against him.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” she said. “He has to be wrong, doesn’t he? Seraphina wouldn’t kill Lady Marianne. She never even swatted at mosquitos. When she finds a spider in the house, she catches it in a cup and takes it outside. She can’t be—she can’t have—”
He kissed the top of her head. “It’s probably just a misunderstanding.”
“It has to be. It has to be.” She blinked furiously, and tears caught in her long eyelashes.
Blake came back with two glasses of fizzy grapefruit juice.
Iris downed most of hers in a single swallow, like she was taking a shot to settle her nerves. Keith wished it would have that effect on him. But as dry as his mouth was, he couldn’t seem to convince himself to drink yet another glass of this stuff. Grapefruit was his least favorite, too.
Luckily for him, Blake cared so much about keeping this meeting private that he strode across the room to close the heavy velvet drapes. Anyone hoping for an eyeful of drama was going to be disappointed. Keith took advantage of the distraction to covertly pour about half his glass into a nearby vase full of white lilies.
He hastily wiped a telltale drop off the edge of the vase as Blake came back.
“I’m sorry,” Blake said again, settling down in the chair opposite them. “This has all just been overwhelming. It’s like an avalanche.”
“Just talk to us,” Keith said. He rubbed his thumb up and down against Iris’s arm. She had goosebumps, and he didn’t think it had anything to do with how cool it was in here. “Tell us what’s going on.”
Blake sighed. He eyed their glasses again, and so help him, if he tried to go freshen them up, Keith would kill him.
That was one murder it would be easy to solve.
But to his surprise, Blake didn’t make a move to get up. Instead, he unwound a little, leaning back into his chair. It was like he’d been carrying a huge burden and he was finally getting to put it down.
