She did not throw it away.
The investigation had stalled, and Lily could see the frustration in Hugo’s posture when she and Sophia arrived at the Heatherwell study three evenings later.
Edward sat behind his desk with a stack of papers and a glass of brandy, and Hugo stood at the window with his arms crossed and his jaw set in the way that meant he had received news he did not like.
“The printshop in Leipzig has been identified,” Edward said, spreading a letter across his desk. “One of my men traced the ink to a small operation run by a man named Brauer. But when his contacts arrived, the shop had been closed. Emptied overnight. No forwarding address. No records.”
“Someone warned them,” Hugo said without turning from the window.
“It appears so.” Edward rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Which means whoever commissioned the forgery has enough reach to monitor the investigation and enough resources to shut down a printshop on the Continent at short notice.”
Sophia sat beside Lily on the settee, her expression carrying the focused calm she wore when she was thinking several moves ahead. “Mr. Colborne has not received any further forgeries. Whoever did this has gone quiet.”
“Quiet is not the same as finished,” Hugo said. He turned from the window, and his gaze found Lily. Something softened behind the frustration, a quick, private reassurance meant only for her. “They will try again.”
“Then we need to be ready,” Lily said.
Hugo held her gaze for a beat. Then he nodded. “We will be.”
The certainty in his voice settled over her like a hand on her shoulder. She believed him. She was not sure when she had started believing him, but the trust had taken root somewhere between the first scandal sheet and this moment, growing quietly in the spaces between their arguments and their lessons and their charged, complicated silences.
Edward poured brandy for Hugo and tea for Sophia and Lily, and they spent the next hour reviewing what they knew.
“The forgery required knowledge of my pen name, access to a Continental printshop, and a reason to target Lily,” Sophia said. “The first alone narrows our field to fewer than a dozen people.”
“What about motive?” Hugo leaned against the mantel. “Who benefits from damaging Lily’s reputation?”
“The pamphlet appeared the same evening Wilfrey showed Lily marked attention,” Edward said. “Someone may have wanted to drive him away.”
“Miss Graves has been circling Wilfrey all Season,” Sophia offered. “Her mother is ambitious enough.”
“Mrs. Graves can barely organize a dinner party,” Hugo said. “She does not have the reach to commission a Continental forgery.”
“What about Lady Stapleton?” Edward asked. “Her daughter has been positioned near Wilfrey at every event. And the Stapletons have business ties on the Continent.”
Hugo shook his head. “Lady Stapleton is calculating, but this would be extreme, even for her. Forging a scandal sheet to clear the field for a daughter’s courtship? The risk far outweighs the reward.”
“Then we are no closer than we were,” Lily said.
“We watch,” Sophia said. “If whoever did this moves again, they will make a mistake. They always do.”
The certainty in her sister’s voice settled over Lily, but it was Hugo’s gaze that steadied her. He held it for a beat, and the quiet reassurance in his eyes carried more weight than any strategy.
The morning of the house party dawned gray and soft.
Lily stood in front of her mirror in the ivory muslin gown. The fabric was lighter than she was accustomed to, moving against her skin with every breath. The neckline revealed the line of her throat and the curves of her collarbones in a way that felt exposed and elegant in equal measure. Her lady’s maid had pulled most of her hair into a loose arrangement, but she left two curls free at her temples, the way Hugo’s note had instructed.
She turned to examine herself from the side. The gown followed her figure with a fidelity that her usual wardrobe never attempted. She looked like herself, but a version of herself that had been kept behind a locked door and was only now being allowed into the light.
“You look beautiful, darling.”
Lady Brimsey stood in the doorway with tears in her eyes, because Lady Brimsey cried at beautiful things the way other people sneezed at dust, involuntarily and without warning.
“Thank you, Mama.”
“The Duke has excellent taste.” Lady Brimsey crossed the room and adjusted a curl at Lily’s temple with the gentle precision of a woman who had been adjusting her daughter’s hair since before she could walk. “Your father and I will not be joining you at the house party, as you know. Aunt Margaret will be your chaperone.”
“I know.”
