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Her father looked up from behind his paper and took to his feet with a smile. “Duke! You made it home when planned, I see.”

Justin sighed and pasted on a smile. “I did, yes. Forgive me for arriving without warning.”

“You are always welcome here. You know that.” But rather than striding forward with a hand outstretched, Papa frowned and moved toward Brook. “What is the matter, my dear?”

“It was Catherine.” Neither of them could know what she referenced, so she drew in a breath and shoved the flyaway curls from her face. “She’s the one who hired my attacker—she must be. She said we took the Fire Eyes from her family.”

“Fire Eyes?” Justin looked from her to her father.

Papa came to an abrupt halt, thoughts whipping through his eyes. “She said that?”

Justin shifted, putting himself halfway between them. “What are the Fire Eyes?”

Her father looked to him. “We are not entirely certain—jewels, but that is all we could determine. Did she say what they were when she mentioned them?”

“No.” Brook’s hands curled into fists that did nothing to squeeze out the hurt in her heart. “But it links her to that man. You need to call the constable—”

“She would deny it.” Sighing, Papa set aside the paper still in his hand and came over to clasp her shoulder. “And I had him looking for a connection to them when we first suspected it was Rushworth jewels.”

She snapped upright, her mouth agape. But Papa had never trusted them. Not like she had.

He shook his head. “There was nothing.”

“He nearly killed me, and there’s nothing we can do?”

Her father looked deep into her eyes, his brow still drawn. “Tell me everything she said to you.”

She did so, word for word, including the slap—at which point Justin lurched a step forward, outrage snapping in his eyes.

“She
struck
you? And you
let
her?”

Leave it to him to make it sound like her fault—and make her want to smile about it. “I assure you, had she advanced again, she would have taken a fist to her upturned nose.”

Papa sighed. “Then what?”

“Then . . .” Swallowing did nothing to make the lump in her throat go away. “Then she said she was not so stupid as to think Justin’s travels a coincidence, that he was in the place they originated. That I was just like my mother, and look where it led her. She intimated . . . Papa, I don’t think the carriage accident was an accident. Not entirely, anyway.”

There
. She’d said it, that truth that had pounded her brain with every thunder of Oscuro’s hooves.

Her father spun away, muttering a word she couldn’t quite make out but that she suspected was a curse, given the way he seemed at a loss as to what to do with his hands. After a moment he clasped them behind his back in that way of his. “Catherine was trying to upset you. It was a fierce storm. The rain had wrought havoc on the roads. The carriage overturned. A tragic accident, nothing more.”

Storm?
Thunder and lightning and darkness
.

Brook, hands shaking, sank to the edge of a chair. “No one ever mentioned that. Is that what I’ve been dreaming of all these months? The storm that killed her?”

Papa looked at her as if the very question would make him unravel.

Justin, when he stepped into view, instead looked at her like her sanity already had unraveled. “You were far too young to remember anything from that night.”

“I know that.” And she didn’t need him to make her feel ridiculous. She pivoted, strode to a shelf, though all the titles upon it blurred together. “It has always been so vague. So frightening. Impressions, nothing more. But you cannot know how it has tormented me.”

Justin held up his hands. “I can imagine. But focus on the facts for now. This is a serious accusation you’re lobbing Lady Catherine’s way. And linking it to your mother’s death, which she could not
possibly
be responsible for, will do nothing to gain you believers among the constabulary.”

She wasn’t trying to get the constable to believe her, though—just them, the two men who mattered most. Dragging in a long breath, she fixed her gaze on her father. “What about Catherine’s parents? Her father—Mother’s cousin?”

He shook his head. “They were never close but never seemed at odds. His wife was jealous and contentious, but she would never have taken it so far.”

“But how far
would
she have taken it? Perhaps the accident was an accident, but what sent her on that journey?” Brook splayed her hands, begging them to understand. To believe. “Why would she leave here, with me, with the letters from you? Why, when Collette arrived, did my mother tell her to take me away and not to find you?
Why
?”

Papa shook his head, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “Questions I have asked myself too long.”

Justin eased forward. “The more immediate question is what Lady Catherine wants, and how far
she
will go to get it. The hint about my having traveled to these Fire Eyes’ origin is little help. I was in Africa and India both, and both are rich in mines of all kinds.”

Brook folded her arms over her middle. “Whatever they are, it seems my mother had them, perhaps unwittingly. It is all linked.
That
is certainly no coincidence.”

For a long moment, neither man made any response. Then Justin’s eyes went dark. “You didn’t write to me about any of these concerns, did you?”

She shook her head, though his meaning still made her stomach churn. “I told you in November there were things I could not put in a letter.”

“Good. I think we need to operate on the assumption that someone has stolen your correspondence purposefully.”

“Stolen your—” Papa cursed again, louder this time. “Why have you said nothing of this to me, Brook?”

“We just realized it.” Justin shoved his hands into his pockets. His shoulders had edged back. His spine had gone straight. He looked, standing there in a casual suit of clothes, perfect confidence in his every line, like a duke. “I wrote her dozens of letters, she says she got none. She sent me dozens, I received only one.”

He hadn’t mentioned
that
. “Which one?”

His eyes flashed. “It was dated the twenty-third of February. A week before you were set to go to Sussex.” He said
Sussex
as if it were the birthplace of all annoyance.

“When we were still in London for Mary’s birthday.” Papa’s eyes went calculating as he thought through it. “The one you posted yourself, that day we went out for a drive.”

She could see the suspicions mounting in his eyes, as they had in her mind. The implications were unmistakable—she had sent other letters from London and Sussex. But they had not reached him, either.

The postmaster in Eden Dale could hardly be blamed.

She sank onto the edge of Papa’s favorite chair.

Justin paced to the unlit fireplace. “Which servants travel with you?”

“My valet, Lewis. Her maid, O’Malley. Clark, who drives the carriage with them and our luggage. That’s all.”

Justin had turned back toward them but did not approach. “Does the maid still dislike you, Brook?”

Her father sucked in a breath. “She . . . ? Brook! What else have you not told me?”

A headache was gathering behind her eyes. “It was nothing to burden you with, Papa. The servants are all so loyal to you, it took them a while to accept that I was not out to steal all that is yours. That is all.
Je promets.
”

Her promise didn’t seem to ease him any. “How long is ‘a while’? How long did they not accept you after I specifically instructed them to welcome you as their mistress?”

Given the paternal fire in his eyes, he might call the servants in and dismiss each and every one of them, even though at this point they all doted on her.

Or so she thought. “Focus, Papa. We have only three suspects right now, and I daresay, whichever of them did it, it wasn’t a matter of dislike. Pratt said something today about how I’d never received any letters from Justin—intimating he got the information from the postmaster.”

Her father narrowed his eyes. “And what was Pratt doing here?”

She waved a hand. “Proposing. But the point is that he may have bribed—”

“
Proposing?
”

The twin responses from Justin and her father made Brook roll her eyes. “
Oui
, and I, of course, fell at his feet in adoration and said yes. Because we all know how much I like him. Again, could we please focus, gentlemen? On the possible bribery?”

Papa tugged on his waistcoat. “What kind of man proposes to a young lady without first speaking with her father?”

“The kind who knows well her father would refuse his blessing.” She managed a smile for him and resisted the urge to glance at Justin. “Bribery, Papa.”

“Hmph.” He stalked to the window, glaring in the direction of Pratt’s land. “Lewis has been with me for twenty-five years. I cannot think he would do this—he has no family to support, and I have set aside a living for him when it is time for him to retire. But . . . those years have established a friendship, and if he believed you a pretender, as those who came before . . .”

“O’Malley’s family is struggling.” She didn’t want to say it, to admit it. Didn’t want to think it could be Deirdre, with whom she’d finally established a rapport. “I’ve been sending extra funds, but she doesn’t know that. I know little of Clark.”

“I know little more—he only joined us last year. O’Malley has been here nigh unto eight.” Her father nodded, staring into space. “We will look into all of them. We cannot afford to assume.”

Justin was still glowering. “Have we two issues here, or one? Are Pratt and Lady Catherine working toward separate goals—he, you and she, the Fire Eyes—or are they somehow working together?”

Brook drew in a breath and leaned back into the chair. “Pratt would have no claim on any Rushworth jewels. And Kitty—Catherine.” She wouldn’t use the familiar name, not anymore. “She’s in love with him, so she certainly would not aid him in his pursuit of Whitby Park. They must be separate.”

“I agree.”

Justin nodded once, then shook his head. “You always have had a knack for finding trouble, Brooklet, but this . . . Pratt is obviously not opposed to stooping low to get his way. And if Lady Catherine would really hire a man to threaten you over jewels, what would she do because of Pratt’s affection for you?”

“It isn’t affection—it’s greed. But your point is valid.” She raised a hand to rub at the muscles gone taut in her neck. So many hours spent laughing together. So many times she had listened while Catherine pined for Pratt. How could her cousin
think Brook low enough to pose a threat to her relationship with him? “They may be unrelated at the core, but that does not mean that one will not exacerbate the other. Pratt thoughtfully warned me that Catherine will try to rip apart my reputation in London. I didn’t believe him then, but . . .”

Papa’s face finally relaxed. “We can only hope. If you complement her gossip with that horrible pink thing your aunt commissioned for your debut, we might have reason to come home again by June.”

No doubt she would be ready well before then. Brook grinned. “I plan to wear the gown Grand-père sent. But have no fear, Papa—I’ll not force you to too many balls.”

“Your aunt will try to have us at something every night of the week.”

“United, we can stand against her.”

Justin had lifted a brow and seemed to squelch a grin. “Pink? You look terrible in pink.”

“Thank you ever so much for noticing.”

His chuckle sounded like memories, indulgent and carefree. “You’ve always been quick to proclaim it—I don’t know why your aunt would ever dare try to put it on you. What did the prince send?”

“Oh, the loveliest gown.” It seemed trivial, in light of all else they needed to talk about. And yet not, because it was a gift from her grandfather, one that proved he still thought of her, still loved her. “Pale green, with a blue overlay of beading. Wait until you see it.”

Justin smirked. “Green? For a debut? Only you would dare wear something other than white or pale pink, Brooklet.” Then his eyes shifted. They went softer, and that flirtatious gleam entered them again. “Don’t forget you’ve promised me your first dance—after you open the floor with your father, of course.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” Her smile, though, would only stretch
halfway before it felt too heavy. Too false. Sighing, she met her father’s gaze again. How was she supposed to worry with filling up her dance card when her mother’s death still loomed over her, when mysterious jewels taunted her, when friends declared themselves enemies, when threats seemed to lurk everywhere?

Papa moved to the chair and rested a hand on her shoulder. “She has been gone this long, my dear. Much as we both need the answers, there is no urgency.”

Because she must, she nodded. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that in fact there
was
.

Twenty

T
wilight possessed the heath by the time Justin rolled to a halt at the carriage house of Azerley Hall. He had dined with the Edens, but when Whitby issued an invitation to stay, the pressing upon his spirit said he shouldn’t. He still wasn’t sure if Brook had looked disappointed or relieved.