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Livia didn’t judge her aunt for her decision. It didn’t matter whether she had an abortion, or if something else had destroyed her marriage. She just knew that the result was a broken woman who drifted through life in a haze.

“I’m not sure she is free,” Livia muttered.

“Are any of us?” Remy lifted his hand to stare ruefully at his swollen joints. “At least she isn’t stuck living with that miserable ass.” He lowered his hand. “And neither are we.”

“But at what cost?” Livia shivered, once again feeling the heavy presence of her grandfather. “A shame she didn’t escape the Willows.”

“It’s not an easy place to leave.” Remy nodded toward the back door that had been left open to allow the breeze to tunnel through the long, narrow house. “Feel lucky you got out so young.”

Livia glanced toward the pool of sunshine that spread across the worn tiled floor, the shadows that threatened to wrap around her banished by the knowledge she could stand up and walk away. In fact, she could get in her car and never return to this part of Louisiana.

It was a freedom the rest of the Benoits would never have.

“You know, Remy, I think you’re right,” she said. “I used to be annoyed that I’d been given away like an unwanted puppy after my mother died, but it forced me to become independent.” She slowly rose to her feet, smiling at the older man. “A gift from Grandpa Henri. Thanks for chatting with me.”

“Happy to see you.” Remy struggled to stand, a warm smile curving his lips. “And don’t be a stranger. I’m out on the porch most mornings.”

“I’ll be back,” she promised, stepping toward the back door.

“Livia.”

“Yeah?” She glanced back to discover Remy staring at her with a sudden frown.

“Be careful. The Willows isn’t a place to go digging. Let the past rest in peace.”

Let the past rest in peace …

The words whirled through Livia’s mind as she drove back to the Willows. She didn’t know if Remy had any actual knowledge of the secrets that had been buried by the Benoit clan, or if he’d simply sensed that there was a darkness haunting the estate. Either way, the warning should have sent her scurrying back to her rooms, where she could remain behind locked doors until she could get her trust fund money and leave. That was the smart thing to do.

So of course she did just the opposite

Once back at the Willows she parked in her usual spot and strolled around the side of the house. She silently warned herself to act casual, but she knew that if anyone was watching her they would instantly sense something was up. Her movements were jerky and she was glancing from side to side, searching for potential enemies preparing to leap at her from the shadows.

Her hope was that the family was sleeping in late after a night of festivities while the staff was busy cleaning up the mess left behind by the guests.

Rounding the back of the house, she continued at a measured pace, her gaze sweeping over the terrace, searching for any clue left behind by the jerk who’d attacked her the night before. Predictably, there was nothing out of place. No outline of a footprint. No stray cigarette butt. Not even a silk scarf carefully arranged for her to discover.

Her steps slowed and her stomach twisted as she reached the pool. There was no indication that she’d scrambled across the tarp in an effort to flee her assailant. It was still pulled tight over the empty pool. Maybe the layer of dust was disturbed, but that was it.

If she didn’t have bruises on the palms of her hands where she’d tried to break her fall, she might be able to convince herself that the shove and her tumble toward the pool had been nothing more than a nightmare.

A shiver raced through her and she paused, glancing up at the balcony directly over her head.

That’s where her mother had stood. Had she’d lingered for a long time, contemplating the voice whispering for her to end it all? More importantly, had she given any thought at all to the daughter she was leaving behind? It seemed doubtful since she hadn’t bothered to write a note for Livia. Not even a scribbled “I love you” on a scrap of paper.

Then again, maybe she hadn’t lingered on the balcony. Maybe the pain had been too overwhelming and she’d been driven to leap over the railing of the balcony to find peace from her demons.

Livia shook her head. She would never know what was in Giselle’s mind when she took her life, but there were other answers she could uncover.

Or at least, that was the hope.

Forcing her oddly heavy feet to carry her forward, Livia used the servants’ entrance to step into the kitchen. The room was thankfully empty for the moment, although she assumed the cook would soon be starting lunch. For now Livia was able to scurry across the tiled floor and through the open doorway into the narrow hallway without being noticed.

During the long hours she’d spent pacing the floor last night she’d dredged up an ancient memory of spying on her grandfather when she was very young. It hadn’t really been intentional. She’d been playing with her dolls on the back terrace when her attention had been captured by her grandfather shutting the blinds to his office.

The suspicion that he was doing something secret had naturally stirred her curiosity and, creeping to the doors, she’d peeked through the narrow crack in the blinds to watch the older man standing in front of the massive globe that was perched on a wooden stand. As she watched, he grabbed the sides of the globe and twisted it until he could lift off the top half and set it aside. Then he reached into the bottom half that was obviously hollow to pull out a black velvet bag. Livia had easily recognized it as one of the bags that held the Benoit family jewels. Her grandfather had occasionally had them delivered by a servant during formal dinners to pull out the sparkling necklaces and earrings so he could spew boring stories about which relative had bought the expensive bauble and how many times a Benoit woman had worn the jewelry during a visit to Buckingham Palace, or attending an inauguration, or dinner at the governor’s mansion.

Livia had quickly lost interest and returned to her dolls. Even as a child she’d known those shiny gems would never belong to her. She was very much Cinderella, according to the Benoit clan. Celeste was the princess.