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He waited until the footman had left the drawing room and closed the door behind him, then accepting the cup of tea Rosalind offered him, he placed it on the small table at his right and reached for a biscuit. “It’s rather a long story,” he said. “And as the conclusion has not yet been determined, I would ask that whatever I tell you remain between the three of us.”

All hint of mischief disappeared from Rosalind’s face. “You can trust us, Jonas,” she said.

He gave her a grateful nod. Years of bantering and sparring aside, he had a pretty good idea of his sister’s loyalty. Her willingness to endure the long journey from Finley Park to be at his bedside these past two weeks spoke volumes.

A line of worry had appeared across his mother’s brow, but the teacup in her hands remained steady. “Go ahead, my dear,” she said. “We’re listening.”

His heart warmed toward her. She’d borne a heavy burden after his father’s passing and had done it with more grace and fortitude than any woman he knew. He remained unsure as to how she would react to his account, but his conviction that she was strong enough to hear it was redoubled.

“Very well.” He set his biscuit beside his teacup and faced them both. “Several months ago, I began a quest to infiltrate the Lamhurst Gang in an attempt to break its stranglehold on this portion of Kent.” Rosalind’s eyes widened, but he ploughed on. “Posing as a smuggler, I assisted with several of their operations, including the unloading of a ship off the coast of Little Tilbury three weeks ago.”

He had not thought it possible to shock his sister into silence, but it appeared he had managed it.

“That’s where you were shot,” his mother said.

Jonas nodded. “The Preventative Men were joined by customs officials and soldiers from Dover. They arrived on the beach just as the last boat was coming to shore. I escaped but not without taking a bullet.”

“If you had been caught . . .”

Jonas was not sure whether Rosalind’s pale complexion came from her concern over his welfare or the realization that their family reputation had come dangerously close to being shredded by scandal.

“Thankfully, I was not,” Jonas said.

“Where did you go?” his mother asked. “Your wounds were stitched when you arrived here.”

Jonas gave his mother a grateful smile. Her concern was obvious.

“I had already learned that the owner of the village inn was heavily invested in the smugglers’ work, so I rode there. The innkeeper’s daughter hid me and tended to my wounds. When the immediate danger of discovery passed, I rode to Langton.”

“Why would you risk so much for something the very government cannot control? Your own life and reputation—along with ours?” Rosalind’s fiery disposition was resurging, but Jonas met her indignant look with an unwavering stare.

“First, as Viscount Langton, I am invested in this community and its people, and I refuse to continue to sit by whilst the Lamhurst Gang’s leadership reigns with terror, operating as though they are a law unto themselves and answerable to no one. Second, it is past time that they be brought to justice for the numerous murders they have committed—including our father’s.”

Rosalind gasped, and the teaspoon sitting on his mother’s saucer rattled against her cup.

“Forgive me, Mother.” Jonas searched her face, not sure what emotion he would discover. “I would have wished to tell you of my suspicions in a more sensitive way, but it is important that both you and Rosalind understand I would not have risked so much had the outcome of my efforts not been so important.”

His mother’s hand shook slightly as she set aside her cup and saucer, but her expression remained composed.

“Although I cannot say your decision to put yourself in such danger meets with my approval, your motivation does you credit,” she said. “There is not a day that goes by that I do not miss your father; we would all agree that he was taken from us too soon.” She held his gaze, her eyes as focused as he’d seen them since his return. “I should like to hear why you believe his death was not an accident, and I expect the same direct approach with your response as you took with your earlier declaration.”

There were undoubtedly many noblemen who would balk at receiving such a firm order from his mother or sister. Jonas was not one of them. Grateful for Lady Langton’s strength and candor, he accepted her challenge and began by explaining his long-standing disquiet over the details surrounding the viscount’s death. After telling the women what he’d learned from the Earl of Bloxley about the ship that had run aground that fateful evening, he told them of the smugglers' elaborate signaling, efficient transportation systems, and mysterious leader. He then went on to share what he’d learned about the duplicitous character of both the current and former magistrates.

“So you believe the former Mr. Cummings—the one who oversaw the formal inquiry into your father’s passing—was as heavily involved in smuggling work as his son is currently,” his mother said.

“That’s what I was led to believe by the local smugglers,” Jonas said. “They’d have no reason to fabricate such information, and if the older Mr. Cummings’s character is half as deceitful and amoral as his son’s, I consider it a certainty.”

“So what do you think happened to Father?” Rosalind’s voice was taut.

He glanced at his mother. Her hands were clasped tightly now, but she was listening, waiting for his reply.

“I think that when he arrived at Little Tilbury that night, he came upon the smugglers—or wreckers as they should be called—at work. They were actively guiding the Alouette through the storm and onto the rocks because they knew of her valuable cargo. Given Father’s character, I would guess he did all in his power to prevent the wrecking, and he lost his life for his efforts.”

Lady Langton took a shaky breath. “The smugglers tolerate no opposition.”

Jonas nodded. “Nor unwitting witnesses to their illegal endeavors.”

“Then how do we prove what happened and bring the murderers to justice?” Rosalind said.