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Aidan absorbed what he had just read before slowly exhaling, the implications setting in. The letter crackled slightly as he adjusted his grip, its brittle edges catching the sleeve of his coat. “Lily is in serious danger if the killer believes his secret might be contained within the walls of Ridley House.”

Trafford snorted. “And the culprit would be correct, considering the letter you are holding.”

“There is insufficient information to reveal his identity!” Aidan’s protest was met with a twist of Trafford’s lips.

“There is enough. An elderly lord, suffering from a recent bout of ill health, with a younger brother named Peter who died some twenty years ago, and an even younger brother set to inherit his title. Who has likely killed the baron to conceal the knowledge of the true heir in order to secure his inheritance? It drastically reduces the number of suspects.”

“Precisely,” Filminster responded. “Lily and I spent last evening and this morning comparing a recent copy of Debrett’s to a copy from thirty years ago to compile a list of peers. The runner, Briggs, is investigating what happened to each of the Peters to learn the circumstances of their deaths. Thus far, we have a list of six heirs who might fit the description, which is why I need your help.”

Aidan was brought back to the declaration that had started this conversation. Filminster needed his assistance to secure Lily’s safety. “What do you need?”

Filminster cleared his throat, twisting the toe of his boot on the bright Aubusson rug adorning his study floor while his dark chestnut curls fell forward over his brow. The room was quiet but for the creak of a leather chair as Trafford shifted beside him.

“It is much to ask …”

Trafford smirked. “That has not stopped you before.”

“This is different, Julius. My bride is in danger.” Filminster inhaled deeply before continuing. “If anything happened to Lily, I would never forgive myself.”

Nor would I.

Aidan could simply not imagine how he would ever recover from putting Lily at risk. If harm befell her, his guilt would consume him entirely, and there would be nothing in his bleak future to console his soul. This was a matter of life and death.

With that realization, Aidan reached a decision. It was time to stop resisting this new relationship with his sister’s husband. They needed to band together for Lily. His sweet young sister deserved their cooperation and protection. Rising to his feet, he interrupted the tête-à-tête between Filminster and Trafford.

“Whatever you need, I will do it.”

Filminster’s brandy eyes flickered to Aidan, and he nodded. “Thank you … Aidan.”

Trafford heaved a heavy sigh. “I am in. What is next?”

Returning to the window, Filminster leaned against the deep sill carved with floral scrollwork. The light streaming in fell across the gleam of the ormolu clock beside him. “I need your help to investigate these six men. Lily and I are still considered scandalous for our supposed tryst on the night of the coronation. Although the scandal is abating now that we have wed, it is difficult to be discreet when all eyes are upon us. You two gentlemen, as single young bucks about Town, will be welcomed into the homes of polite society with high hopes you might make a match with their daughters or nieces. That access will allow you to search for information that might shed light on their involvement.”

Aidan rubbed a hand over his face. The fine wool of his coat scratched his jaw. In the normal course of things, he would never agree to such unethical conduct. Gaining access under false pretenses was not the behavior of a man of character.

But this is for Lily.

He accepted the truth of it. A man of character would take steps to correct his mistakes, regardless of what he might be required to do. It was a matter of restoring his honor, and if he needed to dirty his hands for the greater good, then so be it.

“Where is the list?”

Frederick Smythe was the most irritating of men, Gwen decided, resisting the urge to clench her fists and stamp her slippered foot against the Axminster carpet beneath her.

“We cannot afford it, Papa! I am five and twenty! On the shelf! A spinster! Pray tell, what is the point of spending money on yet another ball when none of the young men wish to dance with me?”

Her father’s lips curled into his customary grin. The one that had, for decades, dissolved the resistance of family, friends, and fellow politicians alike. Gwen steeled herself not to be affected by his charm. The late-afternoon light streaming through the parlor’s tall windows gilded his silvering temples and caught the dust motes hanging in the still air.

“It is not the time to give up, Gwendolyn. It is only a matter of time before you meet a gentleman who appreciates your wit and grace.”

Gwen could not help but snort. “Grace?” Twisting her face, she sang the refrain from her youth, voice dipped in mockery. “Gwen, Gwen, the Spotted Giraffe!”

Her father’s grin faded. “I curse myself to this day for sending you to that school. Those harpies destroyed your confidence, but I see a great beauty when I gaze upon you, Gwendolyn. Your mother stole my very heart from my chest the moment I beheld her. And once she quoted Homer to me in Ancient Greek …” He raised a hand to his chest, as though steadying a memory that had stirred too sharply. His eyes softened, gaze drifting toward the fireless hearth. “I shall never forget a moment of our time together.”

Gwen felt tears prickling. Lifting a hand, she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, giving a discreet sniff. The scent of lemon polish from the rosewood escritoire nearby mingled with old paper and dried lavender from the potpourri bowl on the mantel. “Mama was majestic.”

“As are you, daughter.”

She shook her head, rejecting the notion that she was the beauty her mother had been. “I am a ginger!”