Mr. Pemberton opened his mouth, then closed it. He gathered his papers. Tapped the edges square against the table.
Valeria watched his hands. Steady. Careful. Hands that did not belong to a man who would hurt her.
“I will see to the necessary arrangements,” he declared, standing. “After the mourning period, of course.”
“Of course,” she agreed, folding her hands.
He paused at the door. “Your Grace. Your grandmother would have been proud.”
That landed somewhere she was not ready for. Somewhere tender. She managed a nod.
She waited for the door to close, then pressed her hand to her mouth.
She rang for Mary. The maid came with tea and a plate of shortbread. Valeria stared at it. Golden. Crumbly. She had not been allowed shortbread for two years.
“The servants want you to know,” Mary said, setting down the tray, “that whatever you decide, we stand with you, Your Grace. Every one of us.”
Valeria picked up a piece and bit into it. Butter and sugar on her tongue. Her eyes stung. Not from sadness. She used to love shortbread. Every Sunday, her father’s cook made it. She used to steal pieces off the cooling rack. Her mother would scold her. Her father would pretend not to see.
Gordon found out. He told the kitchen to stop because he could.
She did not cry.
She ate two more pieces. Then she set down her tea and looked out the window at the garden. She had not been allowed out there alone.
“Mary,” she said.
“Your Grace?”
“How long have you been planning this?”
Mary set the teapot down very carefully. “Planning what, Your Grace?”
“The shortbread. You had it ready. You had the tea ready. You knew before I rang.”
“The kitchen has been baking since midnight, Your Grace.”
Valeria looked at her. Mary looked back. She had brown eyes and a face that gave nothing away, but right now she was giving this away on purpose.
“You knew he was going to die,” Valeria concluded.
“I knew he was not well, Your Grace. The brandy. The hours. Mr. Barrett mentioned chest pain last week.”
“And you said nothing,” Valeria said, very quietly.
“There was nothing to be done, Your Grace. And forgive me, but I daresay we would not have wanted anything to be done.”
The room was very quiet. The clock ticked. Mary stood with her hands folded and her face steady.
This woman has been protecting me for three years, and I did not know half of it.
“I will choose someone honorable and worthy,” Valeria said. “And no man will ever steal my choice from me again.”
CHAPTER 2
ONE YEAR LATER
Valeria stood at the top of the staircase, looking down at the chaos.
