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“I certainly hope so.”

Brendan kept his expression impassive at the coroner’s pointed remark, but his stomach twisted with unease. What, he wondered grimly, would it take to convince Harriet to show mercy and offer him the alibi he so badly needed?

Lily poured a cup of tea for the duchess, adding a squeeze of lemon before handing Her Grace the cup and saucer. The duchess accepted it with a faint smile of gratitude, her features pale in the dim room. She was an elegant young woman, with a riot of chestnut curls framing her face and brandy-hued eyes that caught the low light, but her eyelids were puffy and red.

Observing the visible signs of Her Grace’s grief made Lily feel a twinge of guilt for having, even fleetingly, treated the situation as an escape from the monotony of her day. Lady Halmesbury had just lost her father in a brutal, shocking manner. And despite her usual facility for chatter, Lily could not summon a single word of comfort.

She glanced at Sophia, who stood by the window, staring out as if her thoughts lay a thousand miles away.

The room had remained silent since their arrival. No one had spoken, each woman wrapped in her own thoughts, the terrible events of the morning forming an invisible weight over them all. Lily winced inwardly, remembering that she had talked her way into this gathering on the promise of offering comfort and help. She had to try.

“I … quite enjoy a cup of exotic tea,” she began, her voice soft but steady. “I especially like mine with milk, and one of those dainty biscuits that Cook makes. Do you know the ones I mean, Sophia? They have a hint of lemon, and you can eat them in just two bites … They are as light as clouds. One day, it would be such a wonder to journey to the Far East and see fields and fields of green tea, stretching out as far as the eye can see.”

The duchess tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharpening in surprise at Lily’s unexpected monologue. But then her shoulders gave a small almost-imperceptible shift, as though she were easing the weight of her grief just slightly.

“I have often wondered about the lands where tea is grown,” Her Grace said quietly. “What would acres of fresh, growing tea smell like, I wonder? We only ever see the fragrant dried leaves sealed in a tea chest after they have traveled months across the sea. This tea”—she lifted her cup gently—“was grown in India, visited Africa in transit, and arrived half a world away in London so that we might drink it while we speak of such terrible things.”

Sophia turned back from the window, her curiosity apparent as she looked between the duchess and Lily. Accepting a cup of tea, she murmured, “This tea is a tale from another world. It allows us to journey farther than we may ever travel ourselves.”

Lily picked up her own cup and sipped, savoring the variety of notes while imagining the leaves’ voyage. She was content to have offered some comfort, however small. The three of them sat quietly, drinking their tea, until Lily extended the saucer of biscuits. The duchess accepted one, and Lily was pleased to see that Her Grace and Sophia seemed more grounded now, breathing in the fragrant steam as they nibbled on the light confections.

“I wanted to thank you . . . for being here with me,” the duchess said softly. “My father and I were never close, but the loss still comes as a shock.”

Sophia reached out, placing a steady hand over the duchess’s. “Of course, Annabel. We shall always stand beside you when you need us.”

“If I am honest, I grieve not so much for what we shared as father and daughter,” Annabel murmured, lowering her gaze. “I think … I mourn what we shall never share. He was a hard man to please, and time spent with him always felt like effort. He never truly appreciated his family.”

Lily bit her lip, surprised at such a private admission. It made her feel distinctly grown-up to be included in so intimate a conversation. “I am so sorry. Papa is everything a daughter could ask for. He protects and dotes on us.”

Sophia nodded solemnly. “Lord Moreland has been a better father to me than my own ever was. I regret that the baron never recognized how fortunate he was to have such an accomplished daughter.”

The duchess offered a faint smile, the corner of her lips quirking up. “Fortunately, I have a wonderful brother.”

Lily coughed gently. “I suppose Mr. Ridley is the baron now.”

The duchess blinked, sitting straighter. “I had not thought of that. That is a great deal of responsibility to shoulder with so little preparation.”

“The duke will guide him through it. And Richard will help, too,” Sophia said with quiet conviction. The strength in her tone brought comfort, and Lily felt a swell of satisfaction that her attempt to brighten the mood had succeeded.

Just then, the door opened. Lily turned, her eyes widening as the men entered. Their grim expressions immediately dampened the room’s warmth. The duke crossed the space and lowered his long frame beside his wife with a weary sigh.

“Lily Billy,” Richard whispered in greeting as he passed, settling beside Sophia. Lily gave him a wink, raising a faint smile from the otherwise solemn earl.

Mr. Ridley entered last, his features drawn. He lowered himself into the chair nearest Lily, and despite the gravity of the moment, a tiny thrill fluttered in her chest at being seated so near such a striking gentleman.

In his upper twenties, he had chestnut curls to match the duchess. They also shared those riveting brandy eyes, but Mr. Ridley was a man through and through, with his lean frame, broad shoulders, and chiseled jaw. He scraped six feet, which meant he towered over her dainty form, and she could not help but wonder what it would be like to waltz with such a fine specimen of manhood rather than the doddery old men she was usually required to dance with.

“That Mr. Grimes is pugnacious and unlikeable,” Richard grumbled after several moments.

Sophia frowned at her husband in question.

“I believe he will pursue Ridley for this murder.”

“I agree,” the duke said gravely. “I spoke privately with Briggs before he left, and he said it is imperative that we find an alibi. Apparently, Grimes has political ambitions and little affection for the aristocracy. Worse still, the little upstart has powerful friends in the House of Commons, so this could turn into a proper fight despite Brendan’s connection to me.” His tone conveyed his concern as he accepted a cup of tea from his wife and sipped.

“Who is Grimes?” the duchess asked, her voice tinged with alarm.

“The coroner,” the duke answered simply.