Page 55

“I’ve been researching several areas, but with the Mayfairs being so close to home, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been particularly intrigued by your family’s history,” Theo says smoothly. “It’s fascinating, really, how the estate holdings shifted in the late nineties. I came across a brief mention of a charitable foundation that appeared and dissolved within three years, right around the same time several properties were transferred through shell companies. The timing coincides with what looks like a private financial settlement—sealed, of course—but the pattern’s unusual. It’s the sort of thing you usually see when a family is trying to manage rumors about hidden assets.”

Theo studies her for a moment, then leans back, casual. “I’d love to cross-reference some of my findings with original documents—estate records, legal filings, anything that might help me trace how the Mayfair influence evolved over time.”

I expect Evelyn to be affronted, or at least suspicious. Instead, she seems intrigued.

He is smooth. So smooth. I almost roll my eyes at the easy way he can read a person.

“You must have heard some of the nonsense people say about Henry. The rumors became so dramatic they stopped sounding human.” She waves a hand. “Secret archives, hidden rooms, the infamous ‘lost devices’ he was supposed to be hoarding.”

Theo tilts his head, just curious enough. “Lost devices?”

“Oh, you know the type. The rich get bored and invent myths. My favorite was the orrery.” Evelyn huffs out an amused breath. “A supposedly priceless one he hid from museums. Sixteen million dollars, if the whispers were to be believed. Some collectors swore it existed. Others said it was a ghost story someone started at a charity auction.”

She shrugs. “People latch onto anything glamorous if a wealthy recluse is attached to it. None of it meant anything.”

Theo hums. “Whether it meant anything or not, it’s worth noting. Readers expect the folklore along with the facts.”

“Well,” Evelyn says after a beat, a glint of interest flickering behind her polite smile, “if you’re sincerely interested in including the Mayfairs, you simply must take a look at the family archives.” She waves a hand like it’s nothing. “They go back generations—letters, wills, ledgers. I imagine you’d find quite a lot to satisfy your curiosity.”

Theo feigns surprise, as if this wasn’t his goal the entire time. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Oh, nonsense. If you’re writing a book, it would be a crime not to let you see them.”

The irony of that statement nearly makes me choke on my drink.

“Besides,” she says with a dismissive flap of her napkin. “You strike me as a young man who’d find the truth one way or another. I’d rather it come from the source.”

She reaches into her cardigan pocket and pulls out a key ring, flipping through them until she lands on a small, antique-looking key. She wrestles it off the ring, then turns it between her fingers before setting it on the table in front of Theo.

“Victoria was the last one to go through them,” Evelyn says, almost absentmindedly. “She was the only one with a key besides me. I gave her Henry’s copy after—well.” She pauses, smoothing the napkin in her lap. “She had a habit of locking herself away when she was fixated on something. Rest her soul.”

I glance at Theo, then back to Evelyn. “Fixated?”

She exhales softly, the sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh. “I was telling Theo before you arrived, dear. She was obsessed with our family tree. Always trying to track where we came from, how we got here. It was her little pet project, she called it, piecing together things none of the rest of us cared much about. She used to say she was curating our legacy. Preparing for the day some poor soul decided to write the definitive Mayfair biography.”

Her eyes glaze over with something far away. Sadness, maybe, or an ache that comes from remembering things you wish you could forget.

“The archives are just down the hall past the study,” she says after a small pause, lighter now, like she’s returned to the version of herself she prefers people to see. “Some things are quite old, so be gentle with the aged documents.”

Theo presses a hand to his chest, looking every bit the picture of sincerity despite the utter bullshit that just came out of his mouth. “Of course. I’m honored to be trusted with something so invaluable.”

I shake my head as we stand from the table. The sheer audacity of this man.

Evelyn looks at me, smiling warmly. “And you, dear? What will you be contributing to the book?”

“Oh, you know.” I flash her a beaming smile. “Moral support.”

Evelyn pats my hand. “You do that beautifully, dear.”

Theo and I exchange a glance before heading toward the archives, his fingers brushing lightly against my elbow in a wordless good job keeping up.

I roll my eyes but don’t pull away.

The hall leading to the archives is dim, lit only by wall sconces that cast wavy shadows against the dark wood paneling.

Theo pauses in front of the door, rolling the antique key between his fingers. He glances at me. “Ready?”

I nod, and he exhales through his nose, a quiet sound that’s almost a laugh. “I have a feeling she knows why we’re here,” he murmurs. “She’s too sharp not to. The tea invite, the little breadcrumbs she dropped before you showed up—and now this.” He lifts the key between his fingers, the metal glinting in the dim light. “I think she wants us to figure it out.”