Jane chose to take a seat in the corner of Hendricks’s small office with the intention of lessening her presence. James had insisted she remain in the room with him while he questioned Mr. Goodard, but the curious, even disapproving look, she’d received from Hendricks confirmed she didn’t belong there. Which was to be expected since her position as a housemaid put her on equal footing with Mr. Goodard. She was not his superior and couldn’t even serve as a witness to any wrongdoing he might have committed. So of course Hendricks and anyone else who discovered her involvement in the interrogation would wonder about it and, consequently, about James’s reasons for insisting she join him.

“She discovered some valuable information,” James had explained to Hendricks. “Having her here might lessen Goodard’s deniability.”

Although Hendricks had nodded, his expression had remained skeptical. But he would never question James’s decision and had kept whatever opinion he had on the issue to himself, for which Jane was grateful.

“Mr. Goodard,” James began as soon as the footman was seated on an extra chair they’d brought in. James and Hendricks, on the other hand, remained standing. “How long have you been in my employ?”

The footman blinked as if surprised by the question. He shifted slightly in his seat. “Five years, my lord.”

James nodded. “And have you been happy here during this time? Have you been well treated, that is, and fairly compensated for your work?”

“Of course, my lord. I cannot imagine a better place for employment than Summervale.” Mr. Goodard darted a look in Jane’s direction, and she deliberately glanced away, refusing to offer support until she knew more.

Shoving his hands in his trouser pockets, James rocked back on his heels and considered the man before him. He eyed Hendricks for a second before asking the next question. “How well did you know my sister?”

Mr. Goodard’s eyes widened. A bit of nervous laughter escaped him before he managed to school his features once more. “As well as any other servant, I’d imagine. I mean, my interaction with her was limited to serving dinner for her at the table and running the occasional errand.”

James narrowed his gaze on Mr. Goodard. “And what exactly did these errands entail?”

Mr. Goodard looked to Hendricks, but the butler’s expression was set in stone. “Answer the question, lad,” he advised in a steady tone that brooked no nonsense.

“I…I…I dunno. I would fetch things for her once in a while, set up her easel on the lawn when she wished to paint, and help carry her boxes when she went shopping.” Mr. Goodard’s level of discomfort seemed to increase, his fingers now restlessly drumming his thigh. “Why are you asking me this? What’s this about?”

James stared down at Mr. Goodard. “It is about you facilitating a romantic attachment between my sister and her former tutor, Mr. Thompson.”

Mr. Goodard froze, his mouth hanging open while his eyes took on a dazed appearance. Then he suddenly swallowed and blinked. “She said she had no one else to turn to, no one else she could trust.”

“Bloody hell,” Hendricks muttered, following the expletive with an immediate apology. “What were you thinking?”

Mr. Goodard flinched but to his credit, he did not shy away from the truth or dissemble in any way. Instead he said, “What was I to do? Betray her trust?”

James rubbed his palm across his jaw. “While I sympathize with the choice you had to make, you must have considered that I am your employer, not her. Your loyalty was first and foremost to me.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right of course,” Mr. Goodard said, “but she was desperate. Her love for Thompson was clear and…well, she was so unhappy about it that I agreed to help.”

“And it never once occurred to you how inappropriate it was for you to do so?” James’s voice tightened. “She was an earl’s sister while he was no more than her tutor!”

Jane drew a sharp breath, and James glanced toward her, the angry lines in his face fading fast until his expression turned more apologetic. She shook her head lightly to tell him it was okay, that she was okay and that she didn’t blame him for stating the obvious.

But Mr. Goodard saw the exchange and straightened in his seat. “They loved each other, my lord,” he said, drawing James’s attention back to him. “I don’t see how that’s any different from the affection you share for Jane.”

“That is quite enough,” Hendricks barked. “How dare you speak to his lordship like that you impertinent pup?”

James held up a hand. “I will let the comment slide if you tell me the truth, Goodard.” He paused for effect. “Were you in love with Lady Tatiana as well?”

“No!”

“Did it grate, knowing she loved someone else and having to help her exchange secret letters with that man?”

“Of course not,” Mr. Goodard blurted. “If it had I would just have torn up the letters and thrown them away, told her Thompson hadn’t written to her, and waited for the whole thing to fade. But I didn’t. That’s not what happened.”

“Unless of course you were torn between helping the woman you loved and keeping her to yourself. Perhaps—”

“I fancy Tilly, all right?” Mr. Goodard’s face had turned a bright shade of red. His lips parted and closed in rapid succession, like a fish out of water, until he finally deflated on a long exhalation. “I’ve had a thing for her since the day I arrived here, and she helped me arrange a tray to your mother’s liking.”

Silence filled the room and then James took a step back. His lips flattened while he seemingly pondered the truth of what Mr. Goodard had told him, and then he nodded. “You should tell her. Perhaps she feels the same way.”

Mr. Goodard shook his head. “I want to. Especially with everything that’s been happening. Seeing how out of sorts she was over Betsy’s death has been hard. The two were close friends.”

So that was why he’d been sulking about? Because he hadn’t known how to comfort the woman he loved when he didn’t know how she felt about him? Jane wanted to kick herself for being so blind.

“You will forgive me for questioning you, I hope,” James said. “With the killer still walking around in our midst, I have to consider every possibility.”

“And you thought I might have done it?” Mr. Goodard’s eyes were as wide as saucers now. When James’s lips twitched, he shook his head firmly. “I could never do such a thing, my lord.”

“I know that now,” James told him. He gestured toward the door. “You may return to your duties, Mr. Goodard. Thank you for your time and once again, I do apologize for believing it might have been you.”

“What now?” Jane asked as James escorted her back upstairs where she was expected to set the table for dinner. “I don’t suppose the butler did it?”

The look James gave her made it clear he did not find her comment amusing. “I have no idea what our next step should be, to be honest. It does appear as though Snypes is the one who did it, though instinct tells me otherwise.”

“I’m sorry, but I think you might be right.” She spoke the words as the two of them exited the stairwell and entered the hallway. “He had opportunity and motive and—”

“Camden!” James’s mother bore down on them with a glower while Lady Rockwell followed behind.

James turned. “Mother! What a pleasant surprise.”

Jane stifled a grin in response to the sarcastic tone, concealing all traces of humor with a hasty curtsey.

“Considering your reluctance to attend a dance at the assembly room while still in mourning, and forced to admit may have a point, I thought it might be nice if we simply made an evening of it here with those already present.” Her face showed no hint of emotion while she waited for him to respond.

“You mean to have a party with only seven people?” James’s disinterest was obvious.

“We can easily dance a few different sets. There are certainly enough men and women present as long as the younger gentlemen are willing to partner with us dowagers.” She paused for a second as if expecting him to say something to that, but when he didn’t, she said, “It will give us something to do besides the usual, and dressing up is always good fun.”

“I disagree, but I will happily bow to your wishes if a festive evening is what you desire.” He smiled broadly, in that polite way Jane had come to recognize as being completely fake. “Anything to please you and our guests.”

“Well in that case,” Lady Camden said, her face tightening into a mask of superiority, “perhaps you can tell Jane to go and do what we are paying her to do?”

Knowing what it would take for James to give his mother a set down in front of Lady Rockwell, Jane took a deliberate step back.

“Last time I checked,” James stated, “I am the one paying the salaries, not you.” He glared at his mother, apparently willing to face both women’s censure. Or perhaps he just didn’t care what they thought. “Even your stipend is at my discretion and subject to my mood. If I may offer a piece of advice…try to refrain from antagonizing me.”

He turned to Jane who silently cheered his response, her heart swelling with pride and love because he’d taken her side over his mother’s, which couldn’t have been an easy thing to do since it went against proper upbringing and decorum.

Affection emanated from his gaze and the barest of smiles, directed only at her, touched his lips. “I am sure you have somewhere else to be besides here.” He gave her a reassuring nod. “I will speak with you later.”

Aware her remaining there wouldn’t be proper, Jane accepted his suggestive dismissal with a smile, bobbing a curtsey and turning away. And as she entered the dining room, she could hear the continued exchange ensuing between mother and son, the sharp voices suggesting their disagreement was far from over.

Breathing a sigh of relief and silently thanking James for giving her a chance to escape, she closed the door and went to collect a new tablecloth and napkins from a wide marble-topped cabinet while wondering how she would ever be able to deal with having a mother-in-law like Lady Camden.

* * *

Resting his feet, James leaned back against his chosen armchair and watched the quadrille currently under way. The ballroom felt huge with so few people present, but the lively tune being played by a musician Hendricks had brought up from the village helped fill the space with a positive atmosphere.

Perhaps his mother was right, loath as he was to admit it. Perhaps a party was the very thing to lift the veil of depression hanging over Summervale. His guests certainly deserved it, and their joyous faces warmed his heart, even as his sister’s absence crushed it. She’d always loved to dance, her smile wide and her steps so graceful she’d been the envy of many young ladies and the subject of much admiration.

“You look a bit put out,” Harrington said, dropping into an adjacent chair and handing James a glass of champagne. Overhead, the chandeliers sparkled in response to their two hundred candles, which was something of an extravagance for such a small event, even if he did find it worth it.

“I was just reflecting,” he said, thanking Harrington for the drink and setting the glass to his lips. He took a sip. “Has it really been a week since she died?”

The viscount puffed out a breath. “I suppose so.”

“It seems like forever and yet so recent. I am still not used to the idea of her being gone and wonder if I ever will be.” He glanced toward the entrance to the ballroom. “I still expect to see her rounding a corner with laughter in her eyes and a few stray curls bouncing against her forehead.”

“And so you shall for quite some time.” Harrington’s voice turned pensive. “Time makes it easier. It allows us to move on and lessens the severity of the pain. But it never goes away completely. How can it when the person you have lost was an intrinsic part of your life?”

James glanced his way and their eyes met. “How insensitive of me. I forgot about your brother.” He’d never met the man because he’d been older than them by roughly ten years and never present the few times James had gone to visit Harrington during his childhood. His death at Waterloo had changed Harrington’s life forever.

“As I said, it gets better. We learn to go on without them and perhaps appreciate the time we have and the people we’ve known more than those who have never loved and lost.”

Nodding, James prepared to say something else to lighten the mood, but then the dance ended and his mother approached, forcing him and Harrington to their feet. “The first waltz is about to begin, and Lady Elise is without a partner.” She stared at James without blinking.

“Well—”

“Thank you for bringing it to our attention. I have been hoping to partner with her myself,” Harrington said. “If you will excuse me.” He sketched a quick bow and went to invite Lady Elise to dance while James watched with some surprise.

“Now look,” his mother hissed. “Your dillydallying has placed her squarely in the arms of another.” She shook her head. “Honestly, Camden. Do try to make an effort.”

Holding his tongue, James let her go without a retort. He was still a touch surprised by Harrington rescuing him from his mother’s pointless attempt at matchmaking to bother. The viscount swept Lady Elise into his arms as the music started and twirled her about. His gaze met James’s and the edge of his mouth lifted as he winked, conveying without words the calculated purpose of his actions and perhaps the satisfaction he took in besting the Countess of Camden.

* * *

Having finished helping out in the kitchen, Jane readied a tray for Mr. Snypes and took it up to his room. The footman standing watch outside produced a key and unlocked the door. “Your supper is here,” he said without crossing the threshold.

A moment passed and then Mr. Snypes appeared in the doorway. He glanced at Jane and then at the tray before taking it from her grasp and preparing to turn away.

Jane stopped him by saying, “It looks like you did it, Mr. Snypes.” She ignored the footman’s presence and the obvious discomfort Mr. Snypes appeared to be feeling in response to her blunt remark. “Proving otherwise doesn’t seem possible, so if there’s anything you can tell me – anything at all that might suggest your innocence and another’s guilt, then I recommend you do so now.”

“Why should I when the reason I’m locked in this room is because Camden didn’t believe me even when I insisted I didn’t do it.”

Jane fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Your relationship with Lady Tatiana didn’t exactly give him much reason to trust you, did it?”

“There’s a big difference between exchanging notes with someone and suddenly choosing not only to kill them but to go through with doing so.” His voice was low, and yet it conveyed his frustration and perhaps even some measure of regret.

“I know that and so does Camden, which is why he’s reluctant to see you hang. But unless you can prove you weren’t involved, then that is probably what will happen.” She fought her way past the lurch in her stomach and willed herself to say what mattered. “The magistrate will arrive any day now and when he does, he’ll be looking over things more objectively than anyone else. He won’t fight for you, Mr. Snypes, he’ll condemn you because of what you did do and how guilty it makes you look.”

Mr. Snypes dropped his gaze and stared down at the tray while Jane held her breath. Eventually he shook his head. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing else I can say.” He took a step back, and the footman closed the door, locking it once again.

Jane sighed and thanked him before continuing toward her own bedroom. With the dance underway downstairs and footmen attending the guests, she’d completed her duties for the evening.

Reaching her room, she entered and closed the door behind her. An early night would be welcome if she could manage it and would give her a chance to think. She needed to go back over everything she knew and see if she’d missed some small detail along the way.

A crack of thunder in the distance brought her attention to the window, and she crossed the floor to look out. It was dark though, too dark to see if rain threatened.

Her heart lurched in her chest. Perhaps this was it, the night when she’d have the chance to return. Except if she did, it would be without James. So how could she? Leaving him here and building a life without him no longer seemed possible. And yet, to remain here…

She pushed her concerns aside and ran her fingers absently over the lacquered window sill. It wobbled slightly beneath her touch, as if an imperfection prevented it from lying completely flat. Instinctively, Jane pushed down a little bit firmer and watched as it happened again. Clearly the wood had come loose and was merely balancing in place.

An odd idea crossed her mind. Surely not. And yet, she’d always dreamed of finding a hidden compartment and weren’t old houses renowned for such things? Determined to find out, she lifted the sill and set it aside, revealing a space in the wall.

Excitement filled her as she leaned forward to peer inside, unsure of what exactly she might be about to find, if anything at all. And then her heart shuddered as a small, leather-bound book came into view. Jane reached inside and pulled it out, turning it over in her hands before opening it with trembling fingers. A neat script greeted her on the first page, stating simply that this was the property of Betsy Andrews.

Jane crossed to her bed and sank down onto the mattress, then flipped the page and started to read while pure exhilaration flooded her veins. Because this was no simple book. It was Betsy’s diary. And if the maid had known something about her mistress – a detail that might have led to her death – perhaps she’d written about it somewhere here for Jane to find.