When they entered their rooms, Grace was momentarily speechless. The space was vast, the colours soft and inviting, with elegant, delicate furnishings. A four-poster bed draped incream satin beckoned her, promising unparalleled comfort. By the fireplace, a plush sofa and armchair were accompanied by a thoughtfully chosen selection of books. Heather’s and Mrs Merriweather’s rooms were equally exquisite.
‘Heather will be introduced to society soon. In the meantime, I suggest we show you some of the sights of London—some light socialising, perhaps some shopping?’ Lady Elizabeth suggested. ‘We will ask Gerrard to accompany us.’ Seeing Grace’s confusion, she added, ‘Oh, that is right, you have not met Gerrard. He is our younger brother—he will join us this evening.’
Jane smiled warmly, too warmly. ‘Oh, you simply must accompany us, Miss Skye. After all... we are to become quite well acquainted, are we not?’ both ladies retreated, leaving the sisters and Mrs Merriweather to rest before dinner. Lady Jane flashed one last perfect smile and left.
Grace hated her.
PREPARATIONS FOR DINNERbegan early, with both sisters fretting over what to wear. Heather chose a cream satin gown, befitting a debutante.
Grace, however, was not here to attract attention. Out of sheer stubbornness, she selected the simplest dress she owned—a navy-blue gown that, while well-fitted, was decidedly conservative.
This did not sit well with Betty.
‘If you are going to dress like you are still at Skye Manor, I wonder why you bothered coming to London at all!’ Betty scolded, pinning Grace’s hair with unnecessary force.
Once dressed, the ladies descended the grand staircase and were ushered into the drawing room, where more guests than expected had gathered.
Grace squeezed Heather’s hand reassuringly before stepping forward.
They were introduced to many people, most of whose names Grace promptly forgot—except for three.
Lord Gerrard Averton, the Duke’s younger brother. Lord Edward Averton, his cousin. And Lord Harry Averton, their younger cousin.
Lord Gerrard was strikingly similar to the Duke, though slighter and younger. His cousins, however, bore different features. Lord Harry was pale and delicate, the smallest of the four men. He walked with a distinct limp, relying on a cane, and appeared more bookish than the others.
Lord Edward, however, was entirely different. He had the air of a man who had seen much of the world—handsome, but with a cynical twist to his mouth. He carried himself with a confident ease, his sharp gaze lingering a little too long on Grace.
‘It is a pleasure to meet you both. Indeed, you are a breath of fresh air,’ Lord Edward remarked, flashing a broad smile at her.
Unused to such forwardness, Grace hesitated. But curiosity won over caution—after all, she had not forgotten her suspicions. Forcing a polite smile, she responded with pleasantries.
Thus encouraged, he declared, ‘I would be honoured to escort you to the dining room, Miss Skye.’ Before she could respond, a sudden commotion stirred near the entrance of the withdrawing room.
Grace turned, craning her neck.
The crowd parted, and her breath hitched.
The Duke of Armitage, Lord Gabriel Averton, stood at the threshold. He was resplendent in his evening attire and stood a head taller than everyone else. Grace sighed.
He was not expected to dine with them tonight—that much was evident from his family’s surprised greetings.
His hazel eyes swept the room until they found hers.
Something flickered in his gaze. Recognition.
His eyes travelled over her from head to toe, a strange smile playing on his lips.
And then, as if nothing had happened, he nodded briefly—before turning away and immersing himself in his family’s greetings.
Grace, Heather, and Mrs Merriweather hung back, all but forgotten in the excitement. As the evening wore on, she took the opportunity to observe the suspects.
Lord Harry was the most reclusive, sitting in the corner with a calculus book.
Lord Edward had already found another target for his flirtations and was having considerably more success than he had with Grace.
Lord Gerrard appeared to be the socialite. Regaling the room with tales from his Grand Tour.
No one looked like a murderer.
