I watched Leonora and her maid walk off then returned to Lincoln standing at the end of the row of terrace houses on Queen's Gate. He leaned against a lamppost, newspaper in hand, looking devilishly handsome and relaxed. A closer inspection revealed him to be focused on his surroundings, not the paper. I doubted anybody but me noticed.

"I have a question for you," I said to him before he could ask me what I'd learned. "Why does a woman not wear a warm cloak in this chilly weather yet carries a fur muff?"

His eyebrows shifted ever so slightly. "She's a shifter," he said with curiosity.

"I saw her hand and it was big. Her feet too. Lincoln," I said, hardly able to keep the excitement out of my voice, "this means Protheroe's murder is almost certainly tangled up with the shifter community. We just need to discover how."

"Just?"

"Perhaps it won't be as easy as that."

He offered me his arm, and we walked slowly to the other end of the street where Tucker waited with the carriage. "Did you learn anything else from Miss Ballantine?"

"Very little. She doesn't think her father or the secret paramour would kill Protheroe, yet she couldn't think of another reason he would be murdered."

"And the other man's name?"

"She refused to tell me, but I know someone who might."

"The maid?"

I nodded. "She does seem loyal but maids are not paid well. She might tell us. If she does indeed know it."

"She will."

"You're very certain," I said as we reached the coach. "You won't threaten her, will you?"

"No, but I can't promise that she won't be frightened into telling us."

I wasn't sure how that was any different, and I was about to ask him when he suggested we dine early and perhaps see a theater show. "To fill in time until the maid retires for the evening," he said. "Her guard will be down when she's tired."

We had neither dined alone nor seen a show together. Ever. My surprise must have shown on my face because he smiled as he handed me into the carriage. "Kettner's in Soho," he told Tucker.

"Do you have a reservation?" I asked as he settled opposite me.

"No, but they won't be busy this early."

"What sort of restaurant is it? Am I dressed appropriately? Shouldn't I change into something more elegant?"

"You look elegant enough to me." At my arched look, he added, "You're dressed appropriately."

Even so, I didn't relax until we were seated at a table in a quiet corner of the little restaurant with wood panel walls and polished tables. There were few other couples, and I did not feel out of place in my blue and white day dress. The French proprietor greeted us with a heavy accent and signaled for a waiter to serve us. Once our orders were taken, Lincoln asked how the wedding plans progressed. I'd expected him to ask for my thoughts on Leonora Ballantine. He was full of surprises tonight.

We talked of the wedding as dusk turned to evening and the restaurant filled with more happy couples. Couples like us. We were a happy couple. Happy and normal, in our own way.

We didn't bother with the theater after leaving the restaurant nearly four hours later. The restaurant staff had not hurried us so we'd spent the evening talking quietly—but not about the murder. We discussed everything except ministry business. It was refreshing. Lincoln laughed and smiled; several times, in fact. I'd enjoyed myself so much that I forgot about Protheroe, Leonora and shape changers. It was vital that we learn who killed him and why, yet in those few hours, the world felt safe and wonderful. There was no reason to rush off, so we didn't.

"Are you warm enough?" Lincoln asked, as he signaled to the nearest hackney cab waiting for patrons to leave the music halls, small theaters and French eateries that squeezed into the street. He'd sent Tucker home before we entered Kettner's.

"I am," I said. "We made the right decision, Lincoln."

"I thought you'd like Kettner's."

I laughed softly. "I meant deciding to marry."

"Yes," he said quietly. "It was the right decision."

The hack took us back to the South Kensington residence of Leonora Ballantine. Lincoln paid the driver to wait for us then we crossed the road and descended the steps to the service area. It took a few minutes and more knocking before a footman dressed in full livery of swallow-tail coat with silver buttons and a white tie finally answered.

"Yes?" he snapped.

"Is Miss Ryan in?" Lincoln asked.

"She's busy." The footman went to close the door, but Lincoln wedged himself into the gap and forced it back wide.

"Please tell her Miss Holloway wishes to speak to her."

"I beg your pardon? What are you doing? You can't come in!"

Lincoln barged past him. "Is there somewhere we can wait?"

I gave the footman an apologetic smile. "We are sorry for the intrusion at this hour, but it is important we speak to her."

"What is it about?"

"A private matter," Lincoln said.

The footman sniffed then led us through to a small office that must be used by the housekeeper, going by the sewing kit on the desk. Shortly after the footman departed, the housekeeper arrived and questioned us again. And again, Lincoln said it was a private matter.

"We'll require the use of this room," he said.

His commanding manner worked. She stuttered an agreement then left to fetch the maid.

I turned back into the office after she shut the door and my heart stopped. The ghostly apparition of a young girl sat in the housekeeper's chair behind the desk. I placed a hand over my heart to settle it and attempted a smile.

"Good evening," I said. "My name is Charlie. What's yours?"

"Lilith," she murmured, blinking at me. "You can see me?"

Lincoln followed my gaze but remained silent. He'd guessed what I'd seen.

The girl, who couldn't have been more than ten or eleven, approached me. She would have had dark hair in life, although it was impossible to tell how dark from the sketchy outline of her spirit. She'd been pretty, with large eyes and a face that reminded me of Leonora's. But what struck me were her large hands and feet.

"I can see ghosts," I said. "And you are a ghost."

"I know that. I've been dead a year."

Most ghosts weren't aware of time progressing. Even those who chose to remain on this realm seemed to grow muddled when asked how long ago they'd died. "How do you know it's been a year?"

"I saw Mama wish my sister a happy eighteenth birthday not long ago." Ghostly fingers twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "Leonora had just had her seventeenth birthday when I died of a fever. I was ten."

"I'm very sorry," I said, perching on the edge of the desk. "You haven't crossed to your afterlife, Lilith. Why? Is something the matter?"

The twirling became more vigorous. "Mama asked me not to leave her. When I lay dying, she begged me not to go. So I won't. I'll stay here until she can join me, and then we'll cross together."

Tears welled unbidden. I nodded and gave her a wobbly smile. "You're a good girl to think of her. I'm sure she'll be happy to see you when her time comes."

The door opened just as Lilith asked me why I wanted to speak to Ryan. I winked then turned to the maid standing by the door, eyeing me with defiance. It would not be easy to extract answers from her. Lincoln may have to employ his usual methods after all.

"Miss Ryan," I began, "this is Mr. Fitzroy, my fiancé. We need to ask you something about Miss Ballantine that—"

"No." The maid crossed her arms over her chest. "And don't try and bribe me. You can't pay me enough to tattle. I won't tell you nothing."

"Anything," the ghost girl corrected. "Honestly, she's quite stupid. Loyal, but stupid. Leonora always did like her, though. Mama never understood why, but she gave in and allowed Leonora to have her as her maid after I died."

I nodded my appreciation of her candor in the hope of encouraging her to continue. The answer I needed might come from Lilith rather than the maid. "I know your mistress is very upset by Mr. Protheroe's death," I said to Ryan. "But it's imperative I know the name of the other gentleman seeking her hand."

Ryan turned her face away. "If she didn't tell you then I won't." So she knew it.

"He may be responsible for Mr. Protheroe's death."

"Really?" Little Lilith came to stand beside Ryan, her features crumpled into a frown. "I wish I remembered it. I heard Leonora call him by his first name. I think it started with the letter E." She cupped her hands around her mouth and whispered. "Leonora let him touch her here." She indicated her chest. "I thought it was wrong but Father told her it was what all men did when they were in love. He said it shows how much regard the man had for her. He then urged her to allow the gentleman to do more in order to secure his affections."

"Well," I said, feeling a little overwhelmed by her tale and quite uncomfortable.

Ryan must have thought I was prompting her to answer my question. "We weren't introduced." The maid gave me a smug look, thinking she'd outwitted me. "If it's so important to find out his name then Miss Ballantine will tell you."

"I wish I could remember," Lilith said, inspecting the maid. She even touched her face. Ryan didn't so much as blink.

"It's quite all right," I said.

"Who're you talking to?" Ryan backed up and would have stepped on Lincoln's toes if he hadn't laid a hand on her shoulder. He'd moved to block the door so she couldn't escape. She whimpered and her gaze darted around the room. "There's someone else in here, isn't there? Miss Lilith? Is it her ghost?"

"She's right in front of you," I said.

Ryan covered her mouth, smothering her small squeal. Her big eyes turned to me. "N-necromancer."

"You remembered," I said. "Did Leonora tell you what a necromancer does?"

She nodded quickly. Her face had gone as white as Lilith's. The girl looked as though she were enjoying the exchange, dancing around the room on bare ghostly toes.

"Then you'll know that Lilith is able to tell me all sorts of things about you," I said. "For example, I know you let Mr. Protheroe into the house via the service stairs."

"I—I didn't!"

"She did too!" Lilith cried. "She let him in and took him up to Leonora's room. They were going to run away together. Father would have been furious."

"Miss Ryan," I said, gently, "I do not want you to lose your position here, so please cooperate. If you do not, I'll be forced to inform Lord Ballantine of your disobedience."

"No! Please don't do that. I want to stay here. I like being Miss Ballantine's maid. She's so pretty and kind to me. She gives me little trinkets, sometimes."

"Very well," I said. "I won't inform Lord Ballantine, but you must tell me the name of Leonora's second suitor."

"Freddie," she blurted out.

Lilith shook her head. "No, that's not it." She twirled her hair around her finger. "It started with an E, not an F."

"Lilith informs me the man's name began with an E," I said. "Please don't lie to me again, Miss Ryan. Lilith will be furious."

"Good show, Charlie." Lilith attempted to clap her hands, but they passed through one another.

Ryan began to cry, her entire body shaking. I put my arm around her shoulders. Lincoln watched on silently. "I don't like doing this," I said to the maid. "It pains me to force you to go against your mistress's wishes. You must understand that Miss Ballantine wanted me to know, but her conscience wouldn't allow her to speak his name. If you speak it, then her conscience is clear. So you see, it's quite all right that you tell me."

Lincoln smirked and nodded his approval at my new tactic.

Lilith's ghostly fingers attempted to open my reticule but gave up. I opened it instead and pulled out my handkerchief. Ryan took it and dabbed at her eyes.

"Very well," she said, her voice shaking. "If you think it's what Miss Ballantine would want."

"I do."

"I didn't hear his last name or if he had a title," she said. "Lord and Lady Ballantine never used it when any servants were near. But I was in Miss Ballantine's dressing room when I heard her refer to him as Eddy when she talked to her mother one night."

"Eddy!" Lilith cried. "That's it. Yes. Eddy."

"And how did Miss Ballantine meet Eddy?" I asked.

"How should I know?" Ryan said. "How do any of that sort meet one another?"

"Is there anything else you can tell us about him? Something that may identify him?" Half of England was named Edward. Finding this particular one would be almost impossible.

"He was a gentleman," Ryan said. "Lord Ballantine bowed to him, so I think he was more important than his lordship. That's all I know."

"Thank you, Miss Ryan. You've been a good, loyal servant to Miss Ballantine. It's no wonder she likes you."

"You won't tell Lord Ballantine what I done to help my mistress see her love?"

"No. Your secret is safe."

"And the ghost?"

"What about her?"

"Will you tell her to go away? She gives everyone down here the jitters. We know she's haunting the house. We can feel her."

Lilith crossed her arms again and struck a pose of childish petulance. "I'm not going anywhere until Mama comes for me."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," I told Ryan. "But rest assured, she's quite harmless. She won't disturb you or anyone else as long as you remain loyal to her sister."

"And Mama. Not Father, though." Lilith pulled a face. "I don't care about him."

"And Lady Ballantine, too," I added.

Lincoln stepped aside and opened the door for Ryan. She slipped through and glanced back, scanning the room for the ghost, perhaps, before Lincoln closed the door. I was glad he did. I needed a quick word with Lilith.

"I am sorry we don't know that man's full name," Lilith said. "I liked Mr. Protheroe, and I want you to find his killer."

"You did your best. Thank you for your help tonight." I smiled gently and hoped she would not be offended by my next remark. "One more thing before you go. I see that you're a shape changer."

Lilith's spirit swirled like dust caught in a whirly wind then reformed. "Shhh," she whispered, a finger to her lips. "No one must know. Mama says it's our secret."

"I won't tell anyone. I know Leonora is one too, but what about your parents?"

"Both Mama and Father change into animals."

"Are their other forms always the same?" I asked, recalling how King could change into anything.

She nodded. "We look like wolves, but we're not."

"What about your pack? Who is your leader?"

"What's a pack?"

"The other people like you. The creatures you run with."

She stared blankly back at me. "I don't—didn't—run with anyone. I was too young, so Mama said."

"Whom did your parents run with then? Or Leonora?"

The door opened and the housekeeper ordered us to leave. I appealed to Lilith's ghost, jerking my head to indicate she should follow us to the front door.

"Lilith?" I whispered.

The housekeeper's step faltered. She looked at me then up and down the corridor, her throat working with her rapid swallows.

"I don't know who Mama and Father ran with," Lilith told me. "Leonora wasn't allowed to join them, even though she wants to. I've heard her ask Mama, but Mama said she's not ready. We were only allowed to change in private, when the servants had their afternoon off."

The housekeeper opened the front door and stood guard by it until we left. "Please make an appointment next time you wish to speak to one of the maids, sir." She shut the door in our faces, but not before Lilith gave me a wave goodbye.

* * *

"The victim's lover is a shape changer," Lincoln told Gus and Seth after we informed them of our movements today. The four of us sat in his office, the men with a glass of brandy and me clutching a cup of chocolate. The rest of the household had gone to bed.

"Blimey," Gus muttered.

"According to her dead younger sister, Leonora is too young to run with other shape changers," I said. "It does seem as if the parents are part of a pack, however."

"Now that is interesting," Seth said. "What are the chances the secret lover is a member of that pack?" We had already told them about the man named Eddy and his rival suit for Leonora's hand.

"Very likely," Lincoln said.

"He's probably the murderer." Gus drained his glass and held it out for a refill.

Lincoln picked up the crystal decanter from the drinks table. "Or it may be Leonora's father, wanting to keep the bloodline pure."

Seth nodded slowly, mulling it over. "Or the pack leader, if Ballantine isn't."

"We got to find out who is," Gus said.

Seth grunted. "How clever you are."

Gus rolled his eyes. "He's been like this all day, Charlie, because Alice don't want to talk to him."

"She does." Seth sniffed. "She was simply busy today, playing the piano and chatting to my mother. I didn't want to interrupt."

"Wish you'd find yourself a merry widow," Gus muttered into his glass. "Been too long, that's your problem."

"Don't be so crass in front of Charlie. And it hasn't been too long." He counted on his fingers and looked surprised when he needed a second hand. "Bloody hell," he muttered and stopped counting.

"We are in agreement," Lincoln said. "We must find out who else is in Ballantine's pack and who leads them. It may well be Ballantine himself, but I want to know for certain."

"We can ask the committee members what they know about him," I said. "If he's an important man in his social circle then he could be the pack leader. We should speak to them tomorrow."

"After we speak to Gawler again. If the killer wants the bloodline to remain pure then the obvious choice for a mate is from Gawler's pack. A mate chosen from them keeps the shape shifting trait strong while avoiding issues that arise from breeding within the same pack."

"You think Gawler lied to you?" I asked. "You think he does know something about them?"

Lincoln nodded. "The city is too small for two packs not to cross paths." I did not like the fierce look in his eyes. He hated when people lied to him.

"You'll be needing us then," Seth said, rising. "I'd better get to bed and rest."

"You sound like an old man," Gus said, also rising. "Let's go out. You've been trapped in here too long. You need some entertainment."

"It's been entertaining here."

Gus looked as if he was about to comment, but I shook my head in warning. "Well? Want to visit a gambling house? A fight?"

"Not tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps. But I won't gamble."

"Aye, I know."

"And I won't participate in any fights," Seth said. "My face has endured enough bruises of late."

"You don't have to do anything that will make you look even uglier."

Seth clapped him on the shoulder as they left. "We both know you think I'm handsome. There's no need to pretend otherwise."

* * *

We found Gawler at the Jolly Joker, a tavern that couldn't be more unlike its name. The narrow building was wedged between two taller tenements on an East End street that looked as if daylight and a broom hadn't touched it in years. It was even darker inside with only a single hissing lamp. Three men sitting on stools at the bar looked up as we entered. Gawler groaned and hunkered over his tankard, protecting it between his hands.

"What d'you want?" he growled.

I followed Lincoln in, Seth and Gus at my back. One of the men stood and looked down his florid nose at us. "I don't want no trouble."

"You'll get none," I said when Lincoln didn't answer. "As long as Mr. Gawler cooperates."

The man limped around to the other side of the counter, taking his tankard of ale with him. The third man stood and backed away, stopping when he stumbled into a stool.

"A word," Lincoln said to Gawler.

Gawler sighed and indicated a table away from the bar. He held a chair out for me and I sat, folding my hands on the table surface. It was sticky so I removed them again. Both Gawler and Lincoln sat too. Gus cracked his knuckles. Gawler swallowed heavily.

"Tell me what you know about the other shape shifter pack," Lincoln said. "And this time I want a truthful answer."

"I have been truthful!" Gawler tucked his hands between his legs. "Mr. Fitzroy, sir, please. I don't know nothing about them."

"You knew of their existence."

"Aye, but they keep to themselves and so do we. They want nothing to do with us. We ain't good enough for them."

"How do you know that if you've never spoken to them?"

Gawler paled as he realized his mistake. "I never spoke to them."

"You communicated in your other form?"

Gawler glanced toward the two other drinkers then leaned forward. "We talked once in our animal form. Well, it ain't talking. Not like this. It's grunts and sounds, mostly, with body movements and the like to show what we mean."

"And what did you discuss?"

He shrugged and clutched his tankard hard. "Nothing."

Lincoln's hand whipped out and grabbed Gawler's jacket lapel. Ale spilled over the tankard rim and splashed on the table. Lincoln twisted his fingers into the fabric, tightening the collar until Gawler's face turned red. "I don't have time for games," Lincoln said calmly. "Tell me what you discussed."

I took out several coins from my reticule and placed them on the table. "For your next drink." I checked how much I'd set down. "Or several."

Gawler managed a nod and choked out some incoherent words. Lincoln let him go and Gawler slumped into his chair, coughing spittle down his chin. He rubbed his throat and swallowed several times before managing to speak. "It were about territories. We decided to keep to the East End and they could have the better parts of the city. There was no fighting."

"Was King with you then?"

Gawler nodded and wrapped his big hand around his tankard. "He fought me for the leadership soon after."

And won, sending Gawler away to live and run alone.

"Did King meet them again?" Lincoln asked.

"I don't know."

"And you have no idea of the human identity of any of the pack members?" I asked.

He met my gaze and shook his head. "No, ma'am."

"We believe a gentleman by the name of Lord Ballantine is part of that pack," Lincoln said. "Does the name mean anything to you?"

Again, Gawler shook his head. He hunched over his tankard, looking more miserable with every passing minute. "I don't know their names or what they look like in human form, and no one from my pack does either. All I know is there were six or seven of them. They came from nowhere one night. After that, they left us alone and we never saw 'em again."

Lincoln remained silent a moment then suddenly stood. Gawler slunk down, as if he expected Lincoln to strike him.

"Do not lie to me again," Lincoln said.

"It weren't a lie!" Gawler cried. "I never spoke to 'em before, it's God's truth."

"Barking is speaking," Seth told him. "It's just a dog's way of speaking."

"We ain't dogs."

Lincoln walked off and held the tavern door open for me. He seemed tense but that could have been because he was staying alert for trouble. If Gawler had been with other pack members, this conversation could have ended differently. It was possible they were not far away, although all should be at work in the middle of the day.

"Barking ain't speaking," Gus said to Seth as we climbed into the coach.

"It is if it's how dogs communicate," Seth shot back.

"But that ain't speaking."

Seth appealed to me. "You want that pedant walking on your left on your wedding day, Charlie?"

I held up my hands. "Leave me out of this."

Lincoln ordered Tucker to drive us on to Lord Gillingham's house. Thankfully Seth and Gus ceased their arguing and fell into a discussion about the two London packs and whether they would always live in the same city harmoniously. We all concluded that their truce seemed as sturdy as a boat built from straw.

Harriet and Lord Gillingham were at home. Harriet patted the sofa beside her and beckoned me to sit while a footman fetched Lord Gillingham.

"What a pleasant surprise to see you, Charlie," Harriet said. "And Seth, too. Oh, and Mr. Fitzroy and…your man."

Seth smirked. Gus didn't look the least upset that Harriet had forgotten his name.

"We've just come from seeing Gawler," Lincoln said, launching into our reason for calling.

Harriet pouted, perhaps sorry not to exchange gossip first. "Let's wait for Gilly before we begin. He'll be down soon. Owen, bring tea for our guests, will you?"

"Tea would be lovely," I said with a glare for Lincoln.

He pressed his lips together but did not refuse the offer of tea.

"How are you feeling, Harriet?" I asked her as the butler departed.

"Very well," she said, touching her belly and smiling. "Very well indeed."

Gillingham joined us, walking perfectly fine despite not having a walking stick to lean on. He greeted Lincoln but merely nodded at Seth. He didn't acknowledge either Gus or me at all. "Harriet told me about the murdering shifter," he said. "You could have called a meeting if you have to make a report, Fitzroy."

"I'm not making a report," Lincoln said. "We're here to ask both you and Lady Gillingham some questions."

Gillingham looked at his wife then ordered the footman to close the door and not disturb us.

"But I've asked for tea," Harriet said.

"Forget tea."

She sighed. "Very well. But come and stand by me" She held out her hand. He hesitated. She beckoned him with a wave. "Come, my dear. I want you to stand by me. You look so small next to Mr. Fitzroy and Seth."

Gillingham stretched his neck out of his collar as a blush crept up it. He joined his wife and stood by the sofa but did not hold her hand. She lowered it to her lap, her face a picture of disappointment. Gillingham noticed and lifted a hand. After a hesitation, he finally settled it on her shoulder. She smiled coquettishly up at him.

"What do you know about Lord Ballantine?" Lincoln asked.

Gillingham shook his head. "Very little. He's rich and well connected. Comes and goes from London, but I can't recall where his seat is."

"Bristol region."

"Harriet?" I asked. "Have you met Lord or Lady Ballantine? Or their daughter?"

"Not that I recall." She frowned hard then shook her head. "What rank is he?"

"Baron."

"That explains it," she said, as if it did. "And Lady Ballantine's people?"

"We don't know anything about them. Both Lord and Lady Ballantine are shape shifters."

"Oh!" She placed a hand over her black ribbon choker. "How marvelous! Are they part of the other secret pack?"

"Possibly," Lincoln said.

Gillingham patted his wife's shoulder lightly as if he wasn't quite sure he could trust her not to bite off his hand. "It's best if you don't meet them, my dear. They must be involved in this murder or Fitzroy wouldn't be asking about them."

They both looked to Lincoln. He neither confirmed nor denied it.

"Best to lay low now, anyway," Gillingham told her. "Wouldn't want to harm the baby, would you?"

A dreamy smile crossed her lips. "You're right. You're very good to think of me and Wolfy, Gilly."

"Wolfy?" I asked, as Gillingham made an odd sort of choking-coughing sound.

"The pet name I gave the baby," Harriet said, beaming. "I thought it was appropriate, considering it will be half like me. Gilly doesn't want me to call it that in public, but you're not the public." She placed her hand over his, completely covering it with her larger one.

Gillingham tried to tug free but she did not let him go. "Stop fretting, Gilly. These are our friends."

"Do you know anyone who associates with Ballantine?" Lincoln asked.

"The Prince of Wales, of course," Gillingham said. "He's part of that set, along with Underwood."

Well, well. Now that was an interesting connection.

"Speak with Julia," Gillingham added. "She'll have met him."

"That woman." Harriet pulled a face. "Stay away from her, Seth. You know what she's like."

Seth blinked, startled. "Er, yes. I'll be on my guard."

"You should have called a meeting about this, Fitzroy," Gillingham said.

"I will when I have something to tell you," Lincoln said.

"If there's nothing else…?" Gillingham pulled free and strode quickly toward the door. He flung it open and beckoned his butler.

"You be on your guard too, Charlie," Harriet whispered as she walked out with me. "Julia may have Lord Underwood to amuse her now, but she's always looking for new lovers and Mr. Fitzroy is just a man, after all."

"Uh, yes. I will be alert."

"He does seem utterly devoted to you, however. Just like my Gilly is to me. Now." She smiled at her husband.

He spun on his heel and walked quickly off, taking the main stairs two at a time. The walking stick he usually carried was certainly an affectation, then.

We drove on to Lady Harcourt's Mayfair house where she lived with her stepson, Andrew Buchanan. He was not at home, however, and I was glad. Conversation with him was a trial.

"Probably out drinking," Seth muttered to me as we entered the drawing room where Lady Harcourt sat in a jade green and cobalt blue gown to receive us.

She was the picture of civility and elegance, but a closer inspection revealed the deeper grooves around her mouth and lackluster eyes. Something troubled her.

"Are you all right, Julia?" Seth asked, ever the gentleman. "You look unwell."

"Perfectly all right, thank you." She tucked a letter she'd been reading into the folds of her skirt. "This is quite the force. Is something wrong at Lichfield?"

"We need to ask about a friend of Lord Underwood's," Lincoln said.

"Underwood!" bellowed Buchanan, swaggering through the door. "Not that blathering fool again. Julia is still seeing him, you know, despite his interest in your friend, Charlotte."

I sighed. This interview was going to take longer now he was here.

"Stop it, Andrew," Lady Harcourt hissed.

He cocked his head to the side, considering, then said, "No, I don't believe I want to stop." He loosened his tie and undid his waistcoat buttons then flopped into a chair. He belched and wiped his hand across his mouth. "Yes, I'm drunk," he said. "Hardly surprising, is it? I mean, who wouldn't want to be drunk all the time while living here? It's the only way to get through the day. The nights, however…" His mouth twisted into a cruel smile. "Those are worth being sober for."

Lady Harcourt closed her eyes and went very still, as if holding herself together. Was this how she lived now? With Buchanan coming home drunk in the middle of the day and mercilessly berating her?

"Stop it, Buchanan," Seth snapped. "You're making a fool of yourself."

"Me? Ha! You ought to have seen her the night after your dinner party. She begged Underwood not to leave her unsatisfied. But he didn't come in, so she begged me—"

"Andrew!" Lady Harcourt cried. Her chest heaved with her gasping breaths and her face turned a vibrant shade of red. Very little ruffled her feathers, but her stepson seemed to know which points to press.

"Enough!" Lincoln growled. "We need to ask Julia questions relating to a murder reported in the newspaper."

Buchanan snorted. "Don't believe everything you read in the paper. Oh, wait. Perhaps you should, if the source is a reliable one." His wet chuckle ended in a snort. "A reliable witness could be someone who knows what happened, who was there, watching the entire thing play out like a bad dream."

Everyone except Lady Harcourt knew he was referring to the report in the newspapers that had exposed her past as a dancer at The Alhambra where she'd met her future husband, Buchanan's father. Andrew himself had been the source. But from the slowly dawning look on her face, the very clever Lady Harcourt was piecing it together now from his drunken rambling.

"Andrew," she murmured, staring at him. "Andrew, did you…?"

Realizing he'd underestimated her, he sniffed and flicked unseen dust from his trouser legs. "We're not talking about that newspaper article. Your vanity knows no bounds, Julia. Not everything is about you."

He protested too much, and he didn't look at her. He was a hopeless liar.

An eerie silence thickened the air. Lady Harcourt's bloodless lips moved but no words came out. She stared at him, her eyes filling with tears. Then her body twitched, as if something inside her snapped. Her eyes dried and her lips peeled back from her teeth.

She shot to her feet and flung herself at Buchanan. He did not see her until she wrapped long, slender fingers around his neck. "I'll kill you!" she screamed.