April entered the drawing room to find Eugenia seated beneath the soft glow of morning light, her embroidery frame resting in her lap. Tulip slumbered by her feet, as always indifferent to the world.
Eugenia looked up at once. “My dear, what has happened?”
April halted mid-stride. There was no sense in pretending. The lie she might have spun would wither at once under Eugenia’s eyes.
She took a slow breath and crossed to the chair beside her aunt. “He said we were a marriage of convenience. That he was done indulging me.”
Eugenia blinked. “Theodore said that?”
April nodded. She folded her hands tightly in her lap, staring at the curve of her knuckles, her voice low and even.
“But as I repeat the words aloud,” she said slowly, thoughtfully, “they ring false. His voice trembled. His jaw was tight with something. Fear, perhaps. And the way he looked at Gregory…” She trailed off, brows drawing together. “It was not the look of a man addressing kin. It was… something darker. A storm barely kept at bay.”
Eugenia’s fingers stilled on her stitching. “That boy has never loved before. Not once. Not truly. But he loves you. That I know.”
April’s breath caught.
Then why would he say it? Why would he wound me like that? Unless?—
She stood abruptly. “He did it to protect me. Something’s happened. Gregory must be the one. The suspect. It all makes sense.”
Eugenia nodded once. “Go, child. Quickly.”
April’s pulse raced. “I have to save my husband.”
She turned and swept out of the drawing room, skirts rustling like waves in a storm. Her feet barely touched the floor as she flew down the hallway toward the foyer and glanced about, her heart hammering like a war drum.
“Redmond?” she called.
He wasn’t there.
A nearby footman turned. “I believe he went toward the kitchens, Your Grace.”
She thanked him quickly and hurried toward the east wing. The scent of baking bread and the clatter of pans announced the kitchen’s bustle before she reached the door.
Inside, Redmond stood with two younger footmen, speaking in low tones. The moment he saw her, he broke off.
“Your Grace,” he said, stepping forward with a bow.
“Where did the Duke go? I must know at once.”
Redmond hesitated, eyes flickering toward the kitchen staff. He motioned her aside, toward the quiet of the pantry hallway.
“His Grace instructed me not to inform you, but… given the nature of things, I believe I must.”
April exhaled slowly. “Please, Redmond.”
“He left with Mr. Roth not long ago. I sent word to Mr. Elderman, the Bow Street Runner His Grace has been working with. We shall depart shortly to follow.”
April’s eyes widened. “Then I’m coming with you.”
“Your Grace, that would be highly unwise?—”
“Do not waste breath objecting. I am your mistress, and I am going.”
Without another word, she hurried up to her chambers to snatch her shawl and a beaded reticule before rejoining the men. Outside, horses were being prepared. A third rider had already arrived and dismounted. He stepped forward.
“Your Grace,” Redmond said, coming up beside her, “this is Mr. Elderman.”
