BLYTHE DIDN’T BOTHER TO KNOCK WHEN SHE ARRIVED AT SIGNA’S room early

that next morning, flushed and breathless as her body bowed to the weight of the floral arrangement she carried. It was nearly half as large as she was, with wisteria that draped over beautiful greenery.

“Dare I ask what feminine wiles you worked to earn the prince’s affection so quickly?” Blythe set the arrangement on Signa’s tea table, trying not to trip over the flowers that skirted the floor.

It was barely sunrise, though Signa was already wide awake, seated at the desk in her sitting room and poring over the list of names of those who had received an invitation to Thorn Grove the night of Lord Wakefield’s murder. Several of them seemed to have been crossed out while she’d been sleeping, and it took her a solid ten minutes of staring at the parchment before she realized that this update could have been done only by Death. The realization had her scouring the table until she found a letter he’d left for her folded into the list of names. Wildflowers were pressed into the page, and Signa’s heart practically burst at the sight of it.

Fate may have been able to stop them from speaking, but he couldn’t stop this. She’d just unfolded the letter, which detailed all the things they’d do once this was over and all the places they’d see, when Blythe burst through the door, leaving Signa to shove the letter down her bodice as she pushed up from her chair. Crossing the room, she inspected the flowers with a frown.

“They’re beautiful,” Blythe said between stretches, trying to soothe her back from the weight of the arrangement. “Given the way you spoke to him and how you daydream of Lord Wakefield now, I had thought they were for

me until I saw your name on the letter. I’ve no idea how you managed to tame such a beastly man, but I’m impressed.”

Signa bent to see that Blythe was right—in the middle of the arrangement was a gilded envelope addressed to her. She pried it from the flowers, knocking a few petals to the table in her haste.

“I thought you didn’t care for the prince,” Blythe pushed, her eyes narrowing as she drew several steps closer to examine the envelope.

“For someone who also did not care for him, you certainly seem interested in what he sent,” Signa bit back. She didn’t mean to come across as antagonistic as she did, but Blythe’s prying ate at her nerves, and whatever this letter said, she preferred that Blythe not see it.

“Is it so wrong to be curious?” Blythe swept the fallen petals away. “Rest assured, I despise the man enough that he should have sent me flowers as an apology for burdening me with his existence. They’re quite lovely.”

They were, unfortunately. They appeared expensive, too, which meant that anyone who saw them delivered would immediately understand the prince’s intent. Signa could only imagine the ways in which Byron’s mind was already scheming.

“Aren’t you going to read the letter?” Blythe tipped onto her toes, trying once more to look over Signa’s shoulder. “If you’ve won the prince’s favor then you must respond!”

Signa bit back her groan as she tore the envelope open, angling her body away from Blythe, who further encroached by the second. Signa didn’t want to know what Fate had to say, but she didn’t doubt that he would realize what she’d done if she simply threw the letter into the hearth. And blast it if she wasn’t a little curious herself.

With fretting fingers, Signa pried the slip of parchment within it free.

There was but a simple sentence written in elegant script:

Give me the chance, and I shall show you that I am not the villain here, Miss Farrow.

Signa felt faint.

“What does it say?” Blythe asked as Signa tucked the note against her

chest and out of sight.

“Nothing. It’s only a note to thank me for dancing with him.”

There was a tart pucker to Blythe’s lips. “I danced with him, too. Let me see that—”

Signa dodged out of the way when Blythe made to grab the letter, then recalled what Elijah had done with his slip of paper back in the prison cell and crumbled it. When Blythe extended her palm expectantly, Signa popped the paper into her mouth.

Only, it was much thicker than the small slip of paper she’d brought Elijah, and she choked.

Blythe’s mouth hung ajar. “What on earth are you thinking?” With or without the letter preventing her from speaking, Signa couldn’t respond.

Fortunately, there was no need, as she was rescued by a knock upon the door and Elaine hurrying inside a moment later.

“Miss Farrow!” cried the maid. “You must ready yourself at once!” “What is it, Elaine?” It was Blythe who asked, allowing Signa a moment

to spit out the wad of parchment and scrub her tongue clean. She hurried to rip the damp paper and toss its remains into her wastebasket when no one was looking. “Has something happened?”

“He’s here, miss.” Elaine’s voice quaked with anticipation, and Signa’s blood froze as she prayed that the woman meant Elijah. Perhaps Fate’s letter meant that he’d decided to help them after all. But then Elaine continued, “Everett Wakefield is here to see you. Mr. Hawthorne is with him in the parlor.”

Blythe made a noise of appreciation in the back of her throat. “First the prince and now the duke. Someone had an eventful evening.”

Signa slumped back in her chair. “Lord Wakefield is here to see me? But I’m not receiving today.” The words sounded absurd even to her own ears, for surely he wouldn’t be calling on her without good reason given all that was going on, especially not at such an early hour. Still, curiosity had Signa back on her feet, knocking Blythe gently on the shoulder when she noticed her smug grin. “Very well. We mustn’t keep him waiting.”

Elaine hurried to help Signa out of her dressing gown and into a beautiful cream housedress with a high neckline and long sleeves adorned with lace around the wrists. Signa quickly pulled on her gloves herself, cognizant of how Elaine fussed, ensuring that every strand of hair was in

place. It felt ridiculous for anyone to be concerned with her appearance when Everett’s father had recently died, but she didn’t argue.

“It seems like you made quite the impression on the prince,” Elaine said. “You should see all the arrangements he’s sent for you.”

Good God, there were more.

Blythe swept the hem of her nightgown into the air, bowing low. “Shall I curtsy when I address you from now on, cousin? I wouldn’t want to offend a princess.”

“Since when has a title stopped you from offending anyone?” Signa’s words cut off in a gasp as Elaine tightened the laces of her corset so severely that Signa worried her ribs might crack. Readying oneself in the morning truly was an arduous affair, and by the time she was dressed and ready, Elaine was sweating and Signa was breathless and a little sore, while Blythe watched from a chair in the corner.

“Did Lord Wakefield give any word of why he is here?” Signa asked as she slipped into her shoes, already starting out the door.

Elaine followed behind her. She was shorter than Signa and had to hustle to keep up. “Only that he came to speak with you.”

Signa had wondered every day for the past two weeks how Everett was faring. Unlike his cousin Eliza, he’d kept a low profile, never once leaving his estate. If he had, Signa would have heard the gossip. So why was it that the first time he left, he’d chosen to come to Thorn Grove of all places?

“Wait!” Blythe hissed as she followed them. She was still dressed in her robe and nightgown, hair undone as she bounded down the hallway. “I’m coming, too!”

Elaine spun to face her with a horrified gasp. “You most certainly are not! We’d need to get you dressed appropriately, and there’s no time—”

Blythe waved her away. “He’s not going to see me. I’m just going to listen. Speak loudly, cousin. Enunciate.”

Though Signa would have loved nothing more than to tell Blythe just how silly and nosy she sounded, there was no time to argue. They’d reached the top of the stairs, and Blythe at once drew a step back, ducking into a corner of the landing. Elaine remained there as well, leaving Signa to descend by herself.

The lady’s maid had been right—there were flowers everywhere. Giant arrangements of peonies and roses. Lilacs. Endless wisteria draping from

massive marble vases. Saying that it was excessive was an understatement. Signa tried her best to ignore everything as she made her way toward the parlor, taking a moment to assess the situation while still unnoticed.

Byron and Everett sat across from each other, a tray of tea and untouched pastries between them. Everett was dressed from head to toe in mourning black, and he held his hat in his lap. His warm brown skin had gone ashy, and there were fine lines Signa had never noticed carved upon his forehead.

Though his every movement was sluggish, Everett made polite conversation and Byron was every bit as proper as Percy had once been, sticking to easy subjects and trying not to pry, though Signa was certain he wanted to. She didn’t hear any mention of Elijah’s name, nor the duke’s— and soon enough curiosity bested her. At the threshold to the parlor, she cleared her throat.

The two men rose to their feet. “Miss Farrow!” Everett drew the tiniest of steps forward, glancing discreetly at the flowers behind her. “Forgive me for once again arriving unannounced. I promise I will not make a habit of it. I would have sent a letter detailing my arrival, but…”

He didn’t need to say anything more. People were little more than piranhas these days, waiting for Everett to emerge so that they might tear into him. She stepped into the parlor, going immediately to his side. Improper though it was, she took one of Everett’s hands in her own. “There are no apologies necessary. Please, let us sit. I am sorry about your father, and while I know it’s not a fair question, I can’t help but to ask it.… How are you faring?”

“Miss Killinger has been most gracious with her time,” he said as he sat, drawing her down beside him. “She’s been helping me arrange everything. The funeral, the burial… the ceremony for my title. Truthfully, that’s why I’m here. I wanted to invite you and your family, and to apologize for my behavior that night. I’ve no idea what came over me when I said what I did about your uncles.” His gaze slid sideways to Byron, who nodded but watched Everett with keen eyes. It seemed they’d already had a discussion of their own.

“I wasn’t in my right mind,” Everett continued. “I want you to know that I spoke with the constable as soon as I got my wits back, and that I spoke on Elijah’s behalf.”

Signa straightened, ignoring a quiet thunk from the stairway, where Blythe was listening. “Are you saying that he’ll be released?”

The long delay before Everett spoke again was enough of an answer. Gently, he eased his hand from hers. “I don’t believe that your uncle had any reason to poison my father—but Mr. Hawthorne confessed to being the one to hand him the drink, and the constable believes he had a reason to want my father dead. They’re keeping him regardless of what I say. I just thought you should know that I never meant for this to happen.”

Were she in Everett’s shoes and the situation reversed, Signa probably would have hated him. The tactical side of her mind ventured at once to thoughts of potential motives. But then she remembered the letter from Fate that signaled his intent to prove himself. Could Everett’s reversal be a gift from him? The apology in Everett’s eyes was sincere enough that she could almost allow her body to be at ease. Almost but not quite, given that there was no telling whether Everett had come of his own volition or Fate had planted the seed in his mind.

“You speaking on his behalf at all is a great help,” she managed to say at last. “What happened to your father was horrible, Everett. The fact that you’re even thinking of my uncle right now is deeply appreciated, but you must take care of yourself. If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.”

“There is something, actually.” He leaned away just enough to reach into his coat and withdraw a letter. “As I’ve said, I must formally take my place as the Duke of Berness, and it would mean the world to me if you and your family attended the investiture.”

When he pressed the letter into her palm, Signa stilled. What he was asking was no small thing, and if not for Fate, Signa doubted that Everett would even ask. Though, without Fate, she didn’t believe that Elijah would have been accused in the first place. Still, if she and her family showed up to the investiture with an invitation in hand from the man who had named her uncle a culprit… Well, what could be a better step for clearing Elijah’s name?

“I made a hasty accusation that night.” Everett brushed a hand over his hair, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “For that, I apologize. I figure this is the least I can do to help repair the damage I’ve caused to your family.” Byron cleared his throat, and Signa looked at him just long enough to see

him nod once.

She set the invitation in her lap and flashed Everett a smile. “We’ll be there.” She hadn’t realized he was so tense until his shoulders eased upon hearing her answer.

“Wonderful,” he said, and she knew that even if Fate had orchestrated this whole thing, Everett still meant every word. He was a kinder person than she was—than most people were, really. Deeply, wonderfully kind.

Everett stood then, and both Byron and Signa followed suit. “I should go before anyone sees my carriage out front. But I apologize again, to your entire family, and I look forward to seeing you all at the ceremony.”

“You are going to make a fine duke,” Byron told him. “Your father would be proud.”

Those five words alone were enough to steal Everett’s breath and snatch any remaining light from his eyes. Signa stared at the pale press of his lips, guilt swelling within her as she watched him try to rectify himself. “Thank you.” His voice was flat, though he’d forced himself to smile. “I certainly hope so. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Perhaps unable to feign stability any longer, Everett set his hat atop his head and hurried off to his carriage.

The moment the door shut behind him, Blythe practically flew down the staircase. Her gown trailed behind her until it became wedged between two floral arrangements, and she had to stop to pry the hem out. “Do you think he was being genuine?” she asked when she’d caught her breath.

“He seemed sincere,” Signa admitted. “Though it’s hard to say.”

“This is precisely the sort of attention we need.” Byron scanned beyond the open door to where the servants were still gathering Fate’s gifts. “We’ll have to tread carefully. One wrong move, Miss Farrow, and everything shatters. When is the investiture?”

Signa pried open the envelope and removed the invitation, skimming down the elegant script until she saw the date. “The twentieth of April.”

“Less than a week. Not much time to plan.” Byron ran a hand down the length of his jaw, and when he looked once more at Signa, it was not with concern but rather the same consideration that one might give when inspecting a horse prior to the races. “This is going better than I anticipated. Keep it up, and we may have Elijah back sooner than we could have hoped.”

Whether he did hope, however, was the question. And it was time that

Signa finally got an answer.