Red bloomed on Harker’s chest like the morbid unfurling of a flower’s petals. His eyes glazed over as he collapsed face first onto the ground. Tristan and the duke fumbled to get their pistols out of their pockets and raised. If they hadn’t shot him, then who…

Freddie rolled her back to the log to find her mother lowering a smoking pistol. Mama’s face was set, her chin stubborn. Tendrils of her gray-and-blond hair escaped her coif, lending her a feral look. Freddie had never seen her looking so hard.

Tristan skidded to a stop beside Harker’s gurgling corpse, his brother on his heels. Both raised their weapons at Mama.

No. Freddie had to stop this. She lurched to her feet, intending to throw herself between both parties if need be. Before she caught her balance, her mother dropped the pistol. It landed on the ground with a thud. Mama raised her hand, touching her forehead, then her lips, then her chest.

“A rose plucked unwillingly houses the sharpest thorns.”

What?

The Graylocke brothers looked equally baffled. The duke’s jaw dropped. “You’re our contact?”

Wait, what? Mama was a spy? No. It couldn’t be true. Freddie had been the only thing holding her family together upon Papa’s death. Mama was too weak and malleable to spy.

“I was.”

Mama stepped forward. She barely glanced at Freddie. Instead, she hiked her mauve skirt to her knees as she stepped over the branch. She skirted the growing red stain on the grass and crouched to lay her fingers at Harker’s neck, beneath his cravat.

Her mouth twisted into an expression of disgust as she stood. “I’m not sure what good I’ll do you, now. My value to the Crown rested in my ability to spy on Harker and report his movements.”

Freddie’s ears rang. Her breath gushed from her chest. When her knees weakened, she sat heavily on the log. It groaned, but held her weight.

“Mama? You’re a spy?” The roar in her ears drowned out her words, but her mother must have heard, because she turned away from the Graylocke brothers.

The duke said something about a book and Tenwick Abbey, but Mama waved him off to attend to his spy. Until then, in her shock Freddie had forgotten there was another casualty. Her breath caught and she prayed the man was still alive.

Tristan caught her gaze and held it. He looked like he wanted to say something, but his brother called for his attention and he turned to attend the fallen man. The duke pressed his hand to the man’s shoulder. He must still be alive.

Freddie half-expected Mama to follow after them and offer her assistance. Instead, she hiked her skirts and crossed over the log to sit beside Freddie.

Freddie swallowed twice, trying to summon her voice. When she did, it emerged as a distant croak. “Don’t you want to help them?”

She clutched Freddie’s hand. The squeeze barely registered. Her hand felt numb. Was Freddie going to swoon? She had more mettle than that. Her mouth tasted metallic.

“I’m more worried about you.”

“I wasn’t shot.”

Mama smirked. The weak expression faded immediately. “I’m glad for that, darling, but you don’t look well. You’ve had a shock.” She pressed her free hand against Freddie’s cheeks and clucked her tongue. “Clammy.”

When she tried to pull out of Freddie’s grasp, she clutched Mama’s hand tighter.

“Freddie, darling. I need the smelling salts in my reticule. I’m not leaving.”

Mama spoke in soft, dulcet tones that brought to mind the lullabies she used to sing when Freddie was ill. Reluctantly, Freddie loosened her hold, letting Mama dig through the embroidered reticule hanging from her wrist. The embroidery was only haphazardly done, including what was either supposed to be a dog or a dragon. It was one of the first things Charlie had stitched as a child. Mama refused to part with it for one better made, despite Charlie’s repeated entreaties. Mama said she cherished it, because it reminded her of the past.

When she pulled out the small vial containing the smelling salts, Freddie made a face. “I hate those.”

“I know.” Mama uncorked it. “Have a sniff. They’ll make you feel better.”

With a sigh, Freddie leaned forward to endure the noxious torture. If anything could make her wish for a head cold, it was smelling salts. They did help to grant her some clarity, though. She took a deep breath of the fresh, clean air once Mama put the horrid bottle away. What was supposed to be a cleansing breath turned into a cough at the ripe stench of Harker’s body lying not far away.

Mama eased her hand beneath Freddie’s elbow. “Perhaps we should go inside.”

Freddie dug in her heels. There was no love lost between her and Harker. In fact, it was a relief to know that neither Charlie nor Mama would ever become the subject of his attentions again. That ordeal was over.

Even if Freddie didn’t quite know how she would keep a roof over everyone’s head. No doubt Harker’s estates fell to some long-lost male relative, if not the Crown.

“No, Mama. Not until you explain. How long have you been a spy?”

Mama sighed. Her shoulders drooped. “Since we moved into Lord Harker’s household.” When Freddie opened her mouth, Mama held up her hand. “Wait a moment. Let me collect my thoughts and start at the beginning. I only want to tell the tale once.”

“What about Charlie?”

Mama pursed her lips. “Twice, then.”

Satisfied, Freddie clasped her hands on her lap and waited. She tried not to breathe through her nose, to minimize the stench. If she didn’t turn around and look at Harker’s corpse, she could pretend he wasn’t even there.

“Your father had a gambling problem,” Mama began.

Freddie swallowed, but didn’t interrupt. She knew that already.

Mama wasn’t looking at her face. Instead, her gaze was fixed on the scenery, the line of trees cropping up on the edge of Tenwick Abbey to the south. “The problem with gambling is that whenever he lost, he always thought he would be able to win it back. Even if he recouped some of the money, he kept trying, and eventually, he lost again. Sometimes, even worse. By the time you turned fifteen, he feared that he would be hauled away to debtor’s prison at any moment. The Crown came to him with a proposal, instead.”

Freddie opened her mouth, but her voice must have fled to the soles of her feet with the shock. She shut her mouth again.

Mama continued, “They offered to absolve his debt and set me up with a small annuity if I completed a task for them.”

“If you did?”

Mama turned her head, catching Freddie’s gaze. Her eyes were cloudy in the growing twilight. “Yes, Freddie. Me. They knew Lord Harker was a traitor, you see, and they needed someone to report on his movements. As your father was Harker’s closest living relative, if something were to happen to him, I would be in a prime position to insert myself into Lord Harker’s household. From there, I could report on his movements, his correspondence, his associates. Any number of things.”

Freddie gasped. “So the Crown killed Papa?”

“What?” Mama barked out an incredulous laugh. “Heavens, no. Don’t be silly! Your father entered the service as well.”

Freddie groped for Mama’s hand. She didn’t realize how tight her grip was until pain flashed across Mama’s face. Freddie licked her dry lips. “Are you…are you saying that Papa is alive?”

Mama nodded. “He is. He leads a secret life somewhere in France, to the best of my knowledge. Our communication has been limited ever since I took up position in Lord Harker’s household. Maybe now…”

Freddie shook her head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tears glimmered in Mama’s eyes. “You and Charlie were so young when it happened. I thought it better to keep you innocent of the endeavor. Then, as you got older… Can you blame me for not wanting this dangerous life for you? I wanted you to have a chance at a normal life.”

Helpless, Freddie shrugged. “I was introduced to this life anyway, by Harker. If I’d known what he was from the beginning I might have been able to do things differently.”

Mama clutched Freddie’s hand tightly. Movement from the corner of her eye and an agonized groan from the base of the tree caught Freddie’s attention. Tristan finished tying a makeshift bandage around the wounded man’s shoulder. The Graylocke brothers positioned themselves at the spy’s head and feet in preparation of lifting him.

In a steely voice, Mama said, “It’s over, now. That’s the important thing.”

His hands red with blood, Tristan lifted his arm as if to run his fingers through his hair. He stopped at the last minute and gripped the spy’s ankles instead. When he glanced up, his gaze met Freddie’s.

She was too far away to discern the expression in his eyes, but if they in any way mirrored the emotions in her heart, he must be battling an inner turmoil. Longing, relief, uncertainty. Love.

When Mama urged Freddie to stand and leave the hilltop, she turned her face away from Tristan’s, unable to look at him any longer and contemplate a future she might never have. Mama was right, this ordeal with Harker was over. But where did that leave Freddie and Tristan?