For years, Lucy had longed for more family. Today, she wished they would all go to the devil.

“You can’t possibly mean to support Vale’s claim for the earldom,” Octavia said.

“You’ve said that four times,” Lucy responded. “Would you care to discuss something else?”

Octavia shook her head. “This is so unlike you. You never take risks like this. We know nothing about Vale. He could be a murderer. Or a spy.”

“Spies aren’t so bad,” Lord Rafael murmured.

He was standing behind Octavia’s chair in the main drawing room. She looked over her shoulder at him with a mischievous glance. “You’ll have to convince me of that later.”

Lucy somehow stopped herself from rolling her eyes. It was bad enough that Octavia was lecturing her about Max. It was worse to hear it while Octavia was mooning over Rafe like he was the best male specimen to have ever lived.

Unfortunately, Octavia wasn’t the only person in the room trying to dissuade her.

There were nine of them.

Ferguson had called the meeting. Lucy had thought he was meeting with her privately, but Octavia and Rafe were there when Lucy arrived. Others had trickled in while Octavia harangued her about Max.

Max, of course, wasn’t invited. But he was obviously the sole subject of the discussion.

Ferguson had invited his wife, Madeleine, as well as Lord and Lady Salford. Lucy knew they’d been tasked with examining Max’s documents, but she dismissed them as a threat. The Briarley Bible told her all she needed to know about the veracity of Max’s claim.

Rafe had somehow rolled Thorington and Callie out of bed in time to make this meeting. It was far too early for most guests to be abroad, let alone for the duke and duchess to have ridden over from the inn at Salcombe. Neither looked happy to be there. If she was lucky, Thorington would give her one of his trademark glares, say something rude, and be on his way within the hour.

Emma was pouring tea for anyone who wanted it. That, more than anything else, put Lucy on her guard. Emma never made tea when Lucy hosted a gathering. The fact that she’d taken charge of the tea cart meant Emma considered herself the hostess.

Which suggested that Emma had colluded with Ferguson about this.

Suddenly, it all felt like an ambush.

That feeling only grew when Claxton walked in and shut the door behind him. “Your grace, I’ve taken the liberty of stationing footmen outside. We won’t be disturbed.”

Ferguson nodded. Claxton didn’t take a seat with them, but he stayed by the door — this side of the door. Had he been invited as well?

Now there were ten people arrayed against her. Ten people who included the most important people in her life, save for Julia and Max.

She shouldn’t already be thinking of Max as important. But she wished they were here right now. Of course, if Julia toddled in, dragging Octavia’s old doll and demanding that her mama play with her, it would certainly change the subject away from Max.

It was a tempting thought.

But Lucy straightened her spine and folded her hands in her lap. She’d faced worse things alone before. She could handle whatever this group had to say to her.

Ferguson began the proceedings. “I thought it would be helpful to discuss the current state of the Maidenstone inheritance.”

“I’m surprised my presence is necessary,” Callie said, holding Thorington’s hand. “I married your worst enemy. Surely that excludes me from winning Maidenstone.”

“Your taste in men is rather appalling,” Ferguson said.

Thorington inclined his head as though accepting a high compliment. “The sooner you disown Callie for marrying me, the sooner you and I don’t have to speak to each other again.”

Ferguson sighed. “Unfortunately, you’re not quite the villain I thought you were. The two of you, as well as Octavia and Rafe, are still eligible to inherit. Or, at least, you were. Mr. Vale’s arrival has changed everything.”

“Is he really the heir?” Callie asked.

Ferguson slanted a glance at Lucy. “Our resident Briarley expert thinks so.”

Lucy felt everyone’s attention shift to her, but she kept her eyes on Ferguson. “If I thought it wasn’t true, I’d be the first to throw him out. But you know Grandfather would have wanted to see the title continue.”

“Are you supporting him because you believe his claim — or because he could make you his countess?” Ferguson asked.

She had a quick, fleeting memory of Max’s hands on her and the words they’d whispered to each other in the vault the night before. She would have craved it all again even if he could never claim Maidenstone.

But she still wasn’t entirely confident that he would stay. “Mr. Vale hasn’t made any promises,” she said coolly. “If he inherits, there is a good chance I would be left with nothing.”

“Then why are you supporting him?” Octavia demanded again. “Surely you’ve found proof that he’s not the heir.”

“I looked through everything he brought. So did Ferguson. From what I know of the Briarley family tree, his line looks legitimate. I’m as shocked as you are, but that’s the truth of it.”

Ferguson glanced at Lady Salford. “Prudence, do you wish to add something?”

Lady Salford looked at Lucy for a long moment. “Do you trust Mr. Vale?” she asked.

Lucy barely knew Lady Salford — Prudence, as Ferguson had called her. The woman was a few years older than Lucy, with a wry, intriguing sense of humor. Lucy might have tried to befriend her if she’d taken more time to get to know her female guests.

But they weren’t friends. Lucy had no idea why the question made her hackles rise — or perhaps she had some idea.

Perhaps the question cut too close to the bone — too close to the questions Lucy had been avoiding ever since she’d made her initial proposal to Max.

“He’s given me no reason not to trust him,” Lucy said.

Prudence gave her another long, assessing stare.

“Did you find something in his documents?” Lucy asked. “If you don’t think he’s the heir, you should be meeting with him, not me.”

Prudence shook her head. “His documents are impeccable.”

“Too impeccable,” her husband added. “When was he orphaned?”

Lucy realized Max had never talked about it, other than to say that he’d been present when his father had died. But the records had included his father’s date of death. She calculated the years. “He was twelve.”

“How did a twelve-year-old keep all these records safe after he was orphaned?” Lord Salford asked.

“Again, that’s a question for him, not me,” she said.

It bothered her more than she could admit that she hadn’t thought of that. She knew absolutely nothing about his childhood. It didn’t matter when she was looking into his eyes, laughing at his jokes, and dreaming of all the ways they could please each other. But when they were apart, her brain had space to wonder about all the things she didn’t know about him.

It didn’t help that everyone was looking at her like she was a fool. Like she was just as lovesick as Callie and Thorington, or Octavia and Rafe — like she’d lost all reason and all ability to think for herself.

Lord and Lady Salford glanced at each other. Lucy, losing patience, said sharply, “Do you think the documents are all fake?”

“Not precisely,” Prudence said.

“We checked everything we know about forged documents. There were no obvious signs that anything had been altered,” Lord Salford said. “Of course, if any of them don’t match the church records in their respective dioceses, that would disqualify him. But it would take time to visit all the parishes and reconcile the records.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Lucy asked.

Prudence looked at her again, with another of those looks that seemed to be weighing the benefits of telling her the truth versus letting her keep her illusions. Finally, Prudence said, “The documents all look real. But when Alex and I went for a ride yesterday, I saw a man in the stables whom I recognized. Mr. Vale’s coachman used to work for an antiquities dealer named Mr. Ostringer.”

“How is that relevant?”

“I don’t want to libel the coachman,” Prudence said slowly. “And I trust Ostringer.”

Lord Salford and Thorington both snorted at the same time.

“Ostringer always did right by me, even if he wouldn’t hesitate to cheat the rest of you,” Prudence said. “But if the coachman worked for Ostringer, there is a good chance that he either knows how to forge documents, or he knows someone who does. I’m not saying that Ostringer forges things, but if he were to hypothetically use forgeries, those forgeries would be too good for any of us to catch.”

“That doesn’t mean Max has anything to do with forgeries,” Lucy said.

“Have you asked Max?” Octavia asked, putting emphasis on the name Lucy shouldn’t have used.

Her spine prickled. There were so many questions she hadn’t asked. She hadn’t wanted to ask.

She didn’t want to know.

But that was the same mistake she’d made with Chapman.

“I’ll ask him. Are we done here?”

Ferguson cleared his throat. “Claxton, add your piece, if you will.”

Lucy had almost forgotten about the butler. He’d faded into the woodwork as usual. But he cleared his throat and took a step away from the wall. “Miss Lucy, begging your pardon, but I asked some of the servants to watch Mr. Vale’s servants. One of the housemaids has made it her job to befriend the coachman. He refused to accompany her to the bonfire last night.”

“So? Perhaps housemaids aren’t his type.”

Claxton was better trained than the aristocrats in the room, but even he couldn’t seem to stop himself from giving her a look. “It’s possible. But Miss Cressida’s lady’s maid didn’t attend either. I checked all the doors and windows this morning and found that one of the locks on the strongroom is missing.”

She barely stopped herself from sucking in a breath. She hadn’t expected Claxton to check the strongroom already. She knew exactly why the lock was missing. But if she divulged that she and Max had been there the night before, and if Callie later remembered the location of the Briarley Bible, it would taint any proof Lucy could provide for why Max’s claim was so solid.

She’d seen the evidence herself. But would any of these people believe it if they thought she was too invested in proving Max’s claim?

So she responded slowly, as though she was finally giving in to the doubts they were all trying to force upon her. “I don’t like the lady’s maid either. But it’s possible that Mr. Vale knows nothing of their backgrounds. He can’t have employed them for very long. I wouldn’t think he would have had the money for it.”

Claxton said, “That’s why I had them watched. You can’t be too careful with new servants. But there’s another problem, Miss Lucy.”

A headache started to throb behind her eyes. His next words didn’t help matters. “We found the missing spoon,” he said. “It was in Miss Cressida’s dressing room.”

“You searched her dressing room?” Lucy asked. “Without asking me?”

Claxton looked uncomfortable.

Octavia, however, looked triumphant. “I told you that you were taking too much of a risk. These people could all be criminals.”

She said it with so much disdain that Lucy winced. “They could be,” Lucy said. “But we have no proof — or at least no proof that Max knows anything about it. And anyway, you and Rafe were breaking and entering here only a week ago. You’re not in much of a position to cast stones.”

Lucy looked back at Claxton. “Why did you search Cressida’s room without telling me?”

There was a long silence. Then Emma said, “I approved it.”

Lucy’s headache took root. She didn’t want to show any reaction, but she couldn’t stop herself from pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose.

The sharp pain felt like betrayal.

“Why would you approve it?” Lucy asked, her voice muffled by her hands still covering her face.

“I received an anonymous note,” Emma said. “It suggested checking Cressida’s room.”

Lucy dropped her hands into her lap, turning her full glare on Emma. “An anonymous note? Isn’t it obvious that someone else had a hand in this? What girl would steal a spoon when her brother was on the verge of inheriting Maidenstone?”

“I admit that I liked talking to her last night. I can’t imagine that Cressida’s a thief. But she is remarkably vague about details pertaining to her childhood,” Emma said.

“I’ve noticed that as well,” Ferguson added, steepling his fingers under his chin.

Claxton cleared his throat. “It may not have been Miss Cressida. Her maid sleeps on a cot in her dressing room. It’s more likely that it’s her.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. The ten people arrayed against her all looked at her — except for Thorington, who checked his watch.

He snapped it shut and looked up. “Shall we run this bounder out Maidenstone so that we can all return to our business? I told my bride I wouldn’t let her out of bed for at least a fortnight. I’m most displeased to have been interrupted.”

Callie blushed. But she looked at Lucy with a furrowed brow. “I’ll confess I don’t know you well, but you aren’t handling this the way I would have expected. Is there a reason why you haven’t told Mr. Vale to leave already?”

“It’s only polite to let him stay until we verify his claim,” Lucy said.

But she knew her defense sounded hollow. Callie laughed. “You tried to convince me to leave, and I’m a Briarley who was invited to the party.”

“And I should have been invited, but you hid my invitations from me,” Octavia interjected. “Why are you more polite to him than you are to us?”

“Maybe because he cares about me more than you do?”

She said it without thinking, almost spitting the words out as her temper flared and her headache overcame her better judgment. As Emma gasped and Octavia’s face paled, Lucy regretted it immediately.

“I’m sorry,” she said automatically. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

And she was sorry — especially since her words had drawn even more attention to her connection with Max. She knew Emma and Octavia and all the rest cared about her — they wouldn’t have been trying, however clumsily, to intervene if they didn’t.

But there was a kernel of truth in her words that she couldn’t ignore. She’d gotten far too close to Max since his arrival — closer than she’d ever intended. Sure, she’d proposed an engagement, but she had never expected how much she would come to care for him.

Had that care — or whatever word one might use for such a heady combination of need and want — blinded her to what he really was?

She should have asked him all of this before. But if he’d hidden anything from her, she wasn’t in a position to cast stones. She still hadn’t told him about Julia.

Could their feelings survive the secrets they’d kept from each other?

Perhaps some of those fears played out on her face. Octavia’s response was softer than Lucy would have expected. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you when he arrived. If you have feelings for him, I’ll be the first person to support you. I only want to know that your feelings are real, not that you chose him because you felt abandoned by everyone else.”

Lucy suspected that Octavia was making a veiled allusion to Chapman. The reminder didn’t help her headache or her mood. But she nodded as graciously as she could, hoping to end this ghastly meeting so that she could find Max. “I know my heart. I’m convinced he’s a Briarley. If it turns out that he’s hiding some dreadful secret — well, wouldn’t that prove he’s one of us?”

She hadn’t even thought of that before this moment, but it felt like a sudden stroke of genius. Claxton in particular looked like lightning had struck him.

“Can’t deny you’re all more than a little mad,” Rafe said, grazing his fingers over Octavia’s shoulder.

Thorington nodded. “On that, we’re agreed,” he said, smirking as Callie swatted his arm. “But I, for one, find it entirely charming.”

Ferguson looked disgruntled. “I cannot believe I must side with Rafe and Thorington on that point, but it’s true. How any Briarleys survived to the present day is a mystery.”

Lucy blew out a breath, hoping to move the conversation forward while everyone was distracted with the idea that Max’s misdeeds might prove the truth of his inheritance. “Do any of the rest of you have anything to say? Or should we adjourn these proceedings until Ferguson’s messenger comes back with more evidence of Mr. Vale’s claim?”

Luckily, no one else had any evidence against Max. Ferguson nodded. “We’ll reconvene when we know more. Until then, Mr. Vale can stay here — but it wouldn’t do to trust him too much. And Lucy, I hope you’ll consider which path in front of you will offer the most safety. You can stay with me and Madeleine indefinitely if you need somewhere to go. You don’t have to marry the first man to offer for you.”

Lucy stood without answering him. It was clear that he thought her best answer was coming to live with him — and she would rather hang than do that. Besides, Ferguson didn’t know about Julia. She suspected he’d revoke his offer if he did.

All the men rose from their chairs as she walked to the door, which Claxton held open. When she exited, he closed the door behind her. She had no doubt that the rest of them would remain, dissecting Max’s behavior, dissecting her behavior, and speculating about what could be done to keep Max from inheriting or to keep Lucy from making a mistake.

She wanted to believe she wasn’t making a mistake. She wanted to believe that the way she felt in Max’s arms was the only truth that mattered — that everything she’d learned this morning was coincidence and happenstance.

She wanted to hold on to the dream of her and Max, united in the face of all obstacles. She wanted that dream to come true — the one in which he was the earl and she was his countess, and Maidenstone could keep Julia safe, and someday they’d have more children to fill these halls.

But under the weight of her family’s suspicion, the dream began to crack.

She took a breath. She knew what she had to do.

She just hoped she had enough courage to do it.