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She would address the matter at dinner, Lily resolved.

The thought of visiting Sophia offered a welcome reprieve. Brendan had made it clear that First John must accompany her, given that the footman and coachman might pose a risk, but within Sophia’s home, she would be free to move without her silent shadow dogging her every step. Brendan had agreed that John could wait with the servants in the mews behind the Saunton townhouse until she was ready to return.

Brendan, meanwhile, would spend the day speaking with more lords who might have conversed with the late baron. With arrangements in place, Lily left Ridley House with a sense of relief. She had grown weary of the silence, the uncertainty, and the unrelenting suspicions about the staff.

When she arrived at Balfour Terrace, the earl’s London townhouse, her spirits lifted immediately. To her delight, Miles was in the drawing room with his mother. Lily scarcely paused to greet Sophia before sweeping the infant into her arms, cooing over his round face and bright eyes.

Miles gurgled and grinned, reaching for a strand of her hair with an eager, tiny hand.

“Oh, Sophia! I want a little angel of my own.”

Sophia laughed. “Give it a moment. Perhaps let the menfolk solve this murder before introducing a child.”

Lily sighed and took a seat, settling Miles on her knees to face her. She pulled silly faces, delighted when his eyes sparkled and he gave a delighted chuckle.

“Brendan has informed me I am in danger,” she said softly.

“I know,” Sophia replied. “Richard told me he arranged for the Johns. Where is …” She trailed off, then added a bit awkwardly, “One of them?”

“In the mews. Brendan and I agreed that I only need protection when I am near our own servants. We even spoke of pensioning Michaels and letting the footmen go, but it felt unfair to dismiss all of them on the suspicion that one may be at fault. Besides, if we do not know which man poses the danger, then removing only one solves nothing.”

Sophia’s brow furrowed. “So what happens now?”

“Brendan wants me to return home.” Lily’s shoulders slumped. “But I want to stay. Things were beginning to go so well between us. I was so sure we could fall in love. Now it is all murder and mystery, and I cannot bear the thought of Mama interfering. If she finds out I am in danger, she will never let me hear the end of it.”

Sophia pulled a sympathetic face. “We are returning to Saunton Park in a few days. If the matter is not resolved, you might come with us. Or even stay here at Balfour Terrace until we leave.”

Lily tickled Miles, who squirmed and laughed, his little body wiggling with joy. “It is not ideal, but perhaps I shall. I would much rather spend the summer with you and Richard than endure Mama’s commentary on my marriage.”

“I think you are fortunate to have a mother, especially one like Aunty, who cares so deeply, but I understand the need to shape your own life now that you are wed. The invitation remains open.”

Lily spent the rest of the day with Sophia and Miles, grateful for the warmth and comfort they provided. For a few blessed hours, the shadow of Ridley House faded.

It was only as she departed that evening, her carriage rolling quietly through the streets, that she realized she had forgotten to ask Sophia about the on-dit in the gossip sheets.

But what could Sophia truly say, other than to encourage her to ask Brendan directly?

Lily’s stomach knotted as she tried to plan how to broach the subject.

Perhaps it was not simply the how that troubled her. Perhaps it was that she feared the answer.

Briggs shook his head. “I can find no other suspects among the servants. Michaels is the only one with any apparent grievance against your family.”

Brendan cleared his throat. “Even so, we cannot dismiss the possibility that one of them has been bribed, or threatened, into silence by the killer.”

“Indeed. And given that both the study and your chamber have been searched, it is difficult to believe Michaels murdered the baron in pursuit of some long-forgotten revenge. The accidental death of a gamekeeper over thirty years ago does not explain his interest in your belongings.”

The air in the library hung still and musty, tinged faintly with the pungent tang of leather-bound tomes. A faint ticking from the mantel clock underscored the conversation, its rhythmic beat marking time like a metronome to their speculation.

“In summary, then … we know very little of value.” Brendan exhaled, his voice edged with frustration. “The barons I interviewed could only recall idle conversation before and after the coronation. The baron did not attend any gatherings that followed. According to Michaels, he returned home for dinner, gave his valet the night off to visit family in London, and dined alone in the formal dining room. Afterward, he secluded himself in the study and instructed the staff not to disturb him. At some point between ten o’clock and dawn, he was struck from behind with a marble sculpture taken from the mantel.”

“He was killed well before dawn,” Briggs added. “The coroner was clear that he had been dead for several hours by the time we arrived.”

Brendan nodded. “Then we presume he was murdered between ten o’clock and midnight. By that hour, most of the male servants would have been belowstairs in the servants’ hall.”

The chair creaked as Briggs shifted his weight. “Which means one of them may be lying about their whereabouts. They would have had both opportunity and, possibly, motive.”

“Or,” Brendan added, “Michaels or one of the footmen answered the door and allowed the killer in. Whether out of fear or for a price, they might be keeping silent.”