Griffin Boscastle, the Duke of Glamorgan, was Ravenna’s beloved monster of a brother. As a second son, he had not expected to inherit. Nor had he wished for or in any fashion caused Liam’s death. He had withstood a massive weight of guilt, unfair murder accusations, and the interference of his aunts in his life. Despite all, he had stepped up to his position and assumed care of his castle and family. His wife was a former street girl who had been painstakingly transformed into a gentlewoman by the Scarfield Academy for Young Ladies in London. Harriet still gave him hell from time to time, but on the whole marriage and the birth of his heir had matured him.

He was conferring in the library with Simon and Rhys when Ravenna crept into the room. The three men stood at her entrance, assessing her in open concern. Griff looked tired, but otherwise he was a typical Boscastle male, fit, blue-eyed, and too handsome for a woman’s good.

“I regret that Harriet and I missed your wedding,” he said gruffly as she stepped forward to embrace him. “I regret even more that we missed what led up to it.”

“Simon didn’t explain?” she asked, disengaging herself from his arms.

“He did. Grayson gave me an elaborate explanation. Rhys, as usual, has defended you. I am still left confused as to how it came about. This is a shock, even by our customs. I expected you to marry, but – ” His voice drifted off into an uneasy silence.

“I am happily wed,” she said. “Just not to the weasel. Is Aunt Primrose furious at me?”

“No,” Griff said. “She’s furious at me for not arriving in time for the ceremony. She is in raptures, truthfully, and so is Harriet, that you and Simon are married. Both of them are disgusted with David, however.”

“As we all are,” Simon remarked from the sideboard where he had decanted a bottle of brandy.

“Why did you swoop down on us like a bat in the dark?” Ravenna asked Griffin. “You should have waited. It’s incautious to travel in the dark and arrive at a place where you aren’t recognized on sight.”

“I sent a messenger ahead hours ago,” Griff said. “I knew he was too young for the job. I hope no mischief has befallen him.”

“He never arrived,” Simon said. “I’ll have two stableboys ride out to search the detours. It’s easy to get lost once you leave the road.”

“Is the baby well?” Ravenna asked.

“We are all well,” Griffin said, returning to his chair. “Everyone is worried about you. I would have waited until tomorrow to travel with Rhys, but then the aunts said they would come if we gave them time to pack. I deemed it better to rush here rather than wait.” He looked up at Simon. “Heath gave me a message to deliver to you.”

Simon put down the decanter. “And?”

“He didn’t want to leave his wife by herself at this delicate time, and so I offered to come in his place. That’s the primary reason I am here this late. Well, that and the fact that Glynnis and Primrose are driving me out of my mind. Those women never stop talking. Between them and Harriet, I thought my ears would explode.”

Simon brought Griff a glass of brandy. Rhys declined a drink.

“Heath’s message might make more sense to you than it does to me,” Griffin continued. “He said that a person who is a reliable connection has talked in depth to one of the housemaids at Bruxton Manor. She’s revealed one piece of information he believes should be examined.”

Simon took a swallow of brandy. “Heath knows I’ve spoken at least twice to everyone employed at Bruxton’s estate. Which I suppose doesn’t guarantee that the servants spoke the truth.”

Griffin shrugged. “Evidently a downstairs housemaid was reluctant to talk until she realized her past of petty larceny had been uncovered. At that point it seems she became a chatterbox. She offered nothing helpful about Susannah’s death. She did mention, however, that Bruxton’s housekeeper passed away while visiting an uncle in another parish, where they are both buried.”

“I knew Mrs. Littleton had died,” Simon remarked. “Odd timing, though, I suppose.”

“Convenient, in Heath’s view,” Griffin said. “He isn’t convinced she is even dead. He wondered whether the vicar for Bruxton Manor knows anything about the housekeeper’s passing. Allegedly she died in the parish of Appleburn. Is that a place familiar to you?”

Simon’s forehead crinkled in thought. “Yes. It’s an obscure hamlet to the north of Bruxton Manor. It boasts a few cows and cottages and little else. Not even a public inn or a smithy. I’m familiar with it only because my carriage once got stuck thereabouts in a muddy ditch and I had to ride in the rain to the next village.”

Rhys removed his greatcoat, revealing a rolled document inside the lining. “It shouldn’t be hard to find a grave or a dwelling in a place that small. Heath drew a map detailing the village, including the churchyard. I hope I haven’t crushed his masterpiece. There wasn’t time to slip it in oilcloth. I felt compelled to guard it with my life.”

“My hero.” Simon grinned. “Thank you.” He unfolded the map and spread it across his desk. “How the blazes was he able to chart out an insignificant hamlet in so short a time?”

“He collects maps for one thing,” Rhys said. “He is associated with the Home Office for another. With anarchists plotting riots all over England, there is good reason for agents to be knowledgeable about remote locations.”

Ravenna shook her head in disapproval. “Three men of your imposing stature storming a cottage at this hour are liable to frighten that housekeeper to death, should she still be alive. Perhaps it would be better if I came with you.”

“It would not,” Simon said without looking up. He traced his fingers across the map to a small red X. “Griff is staying here with you. Ah. Heath has marked the village lanes on his map.” He pulled on the gray riding gauntlets that sat on his chair. “What a clever, accommodating cousin-in-law. Rhys, look at these intriguing landmarks as Heath has written them.”

Rhys bent over the desk, reading aloud. “’The mill where stray dogs live. The hut of a hostile curmudgeon who owns a musket and will not hesitate to use it on trespassers.’ Well, it’s as useful as any other historical guidebook I’ve consulted.”

Simon rolled up the map and unlocked the middle drawer of his desk. “My dueling pistols are in here, Griffin. I will leave the keys with you. Timpkins has possession of another set. Help yourself.”

“I am well-armed,” Griffin said. “You aren’t going to take a meal before you ride out?”

“It will be daylight if we tarry,” Simon answered.

Ravenna waited in silence for him to bid her farewell. “Entertain your brother in the house until we are back, in case anyone is watching,” he said in a clear voice. “Griffin, let it appear as though the house is full.”

Ravenna hurried to the window and waited until she saw Simon and Rhys canter from the stable yard for the coaching road. Evening haze soon blurred their figures. She swallowed and felt Griffin standing at her side.

“I’d like to have gone with them,” he murmured. “Well, not to worry. Do I understand you have a new horse?”

“I'll take you upstairs to the stranger's room to wash and then fetch my mantle from the main bedchamber. Then we can talk about children and horses.” She smiled at him to belie the tension that hung over them. “We have cold meat pie and raspberry pudding left from supper. Tell me about Harriet and my nephew while we eat. Fill my mind with light thoughts until they are back. That is, if you are in a mood to talk.”

“To you, yes. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, nuisance.”

A cold draft embraced her as she entered the ducal bedchamber she and Simon shared. Had Isolde opened a window to air out the fragrance of rose water? Her gaze moved slowly across the room.

The curtains had not been disturbed. Nor had the long sash windows that looked out at the dense parkland.

She knew she was not alone.

Another rush of dank air touched her face.

She had not noticed anything unusual earlier when she had surveyed the room. The air had felt stuffy, overwarm, in fact.

She saw a reflection glimmer in the looking glass even before she turned and noticed the man standing in front of the fireside panel. He grasped a cap in his hand; his eyes followed hers to the pistol that she had placed at the foot of the bed. She hid her hands in her skirt, stepping back slowly.

“Please don’t,” he said, his Irish brogue unmistakable now. His face looked beaten and penitent in the firelight. “I’ve a confession to make about the duke’s sister. Hear me out. I’ve nothing to lose.”

“How did you know about the panel?” she asked, straining her ears for the sound of Griff’s voice.

“Susannah told me of it. Her father had forbidden her to use it, but his grace and his brother would sneak through down the hidden stairs to the stables to sleep with the horses on summer nights. He let her join them on occasion.”

“He would,” she said.

There was no chance of Simon’s intervention now, however. He and Rhys trusted Griff would guard her. They had no reason to hasten back to Caverley.

His voice startled her from her thoughts. “She was gracious,” he said. “And kind.”

“But I am not.” Her throat closed as he advanced across the carpet. She noted that he’d neglected to close the panel.

An oversight? Or deliberate act?

An appalling vision slid across her mind, that of her husband discovering her body entombed inside their bedchamber wall. He would fall to pieces.

She would not appreciate such a ghastly end herself. Poor Simon. He did not deserve another lashing of guilt, another cause for remorse. After all, it was her duty to protect his heart as he did her physical person. She would have to take destiny in her hands again.