BLYTHE

IF ONE WANTED TO UNCOVER THE LATEST GOSSIP, THERE WERE TWO places to

look:

First, the help. Not because they had any time for gossip, but because they were closest to a household’s best-kept secrets. Considering that so much of Thorn Grove’s staff was new, though, it didn’t seem there was anyone Blythe might be able to con into gossiping with her about what rumors they might have heard in town. Unfortunately, that meant she had to rely solely on her second source—the ladies of the season, who had entirely too much time for gossip, and loved to share whatever tidbits they’d picked up even if they were little more than flaking crumbs.

The morning Signa had left Thorn Grove, Blythe woke to find a note on her desk with a single name written upon it—Byron. It was Signa’s handwriting, and though no further explanation was given, she was certain it was a clue. And while it was better than trying to pluck leads for the duke’s murder out of thin air, part of Blythe wanted to burn the note and cast it from her mind.

Her family was a disaster enough without one more matter to add to the equation, and yet she couldn’t quit thinking about Byron’s behavior when they’d met with Elijah. He certainly seemed frustrated by Elijah’s position, though he also wasn’t out advocating on his brother’s behalf or trying to charm the prince as she had been.

It seemed that the weight of Elijah’s future rested entirely on Blythe’s shoulders, and so she would do what ladies of her age and status were

expected to—invite others over for tea.

The only problem was that Blythe wasn’t convinced anyone would show up. She’d spent the morning pacing around her room, then the halls, then the parlor. And when she wasn’t pacing, she was sitting and stewing as nerves she hadn’t anticipated roiled through her.

Sheer desperation had Blythe nearly tumbling over from relief as Warwick entered the parlor with Charlotte Killinger, Eliza Wakefield, and Diana Blackwater in tow. Though Warwick had always been entirely professional, Blythe didn’t miss the extra pep in his step as he led the ladies to a table set for four. He looked as relieved for Blythe as she felt.

“I’m so glad you could make it!” Blythe put on her most practiced smile. Considering both her overwhelming relief and considerable amount of practice, no one could prove it wasn’t genuine. “Warwick, could you please see that tea is brought up?”

He bowed his head and hurried off, leaving the ladies to settle into their seats. Piping hot tea was brought—as well as two trays of dainty sandwiches and sweet pastries—before they could even get out their greetings. Eliza was the first to grab a lemon scone, slathering it with blueberry preserves that Charlotte had brought to share, courtesy of a sudden abundance of berries near her home. Eliza dropped a copious number of sugar cubes into her tea and stirred, stiff and awkward as she brought the cup to her lips.

Charlotte, too, was rigid in her seat. Given the argument between them, Blythe couldn’t blame her. Diana had yet to stir, watching the cup as though it might somehow leap from its saucer and attack her.

Blythe tried not to be offended. She supposed that since she had seen vines and ivy tear through the floor of her father’s study only a few days prior, savage teacups might not be out of the question. Though if one did manage to sprout to life and spray Diana with tea, Blythe might think to thank it.

She’d invited Charlotte not only because she was close to Everett these days but also as an apology and out of a hope to mend their relationship. The woman was too good a friend for Blythe to let slip away due to her own stubbornness.

Eliza was invited because it seemed there was something going on between her and Byron. Diana, however, Blythe had invited for two

reasons: the first being that if she wasn’t, Diana would undoubtedly take offense and find something about the Hawthornes to spread gossip about, which was the last thing any of them needed. The second reason was that if Diana was there, news of this visit would spread throughout town by morning. Blythe figured it couldn’t hurt to help salvage the Hawthorne name a little more before the trial.

“It’s been ages,” Eliza crooned, sipping her tea. “When was the last time the four of us were able to take tea together?”

It had been well over a year. A year of her mother’s death, her own illness, and several months of a long, painful recovery that only Charlotte had cared enough to try to understand. Blythe had just begun feeling well enough to venture back into some semblance of her life the night the duke had passed.

“It’s been too long,” she said by way of answer, not caring to give them an exact number even if she had the months memorized. If she gave that number a voice, she feared it would somehow hold power over her. That she might suddenly fall back into the dark space she had clawed herself out of with every scrap of strength that she’d had.

“I’m surprised any of you were allowed to come,” Blythe said with a casual grace that didn’t match the way she scrutinized the group’s every motion in response. She was certain her being seen with the prince at the investiture had something to do with their availability.

“Your father hasn’t been tried.” Charlotte’s voice was as smooth as the springtime breeze, and just as calming. “And my father is wise enough to understand that the investigation is still ongoing, and that the papers will try to weave a story from anything these days.”

At least someone among them believed in her father’s innocence. Blythe hadn’t realized how much tension she’d been holding in her shoulders until it ebbed. She looked to Charlotte then, offering the smallest nod to signal that she was relieved to have her friend return.

Eliza didn’t need to explain her attendance—the duke had overseen her, and now Everett had filled the role. As busy as he was with his new role and taking over the estate, Eliza could very likely get away with anything these days. And that was if Everett even cared that Eliza was at Thorn Grove at all.

As for Diana, she’d still not said a word and had just taken her first sip.

It was tentative, testing it. She kept glancing behind each of the girls as well, as though expecting a ghost to pop out and frighten them.

Blythe had no doubt her family had forbade her from coming, and that Diana likely had to wriggle her way to tea. She would have clawed a path to Thorn Grove if it meant being at the very source of the town’s latest scandal.

“Will Miss Farrow be joining us?” Eliza asked, scanning the place settings in search of a fifth.

“She will not,” Blythe answered with every bit of composure she had. “Signa had to return to her own home rather unexpectedly.”

Charlotte flashed her a curious look, smart enough to understand that after their discussion, this could be no coincidence.

“And what of Percy?” Eliza pressed. “Has there been any word from him?”

“I’m afraid not—”

“Not even a location?” Eliza seemed a touch strained, her grip tight on her teacup. “Certainly someone must know something.”

Blythe left no room for rebuttal when she spoke again, “No one knows anything about Percy.” She forged ahead, unwilling to linger on the topic. “Regarding my father, however, his trial will take place at the week’s end.” Saying the words aloud was like picking up a dagger and slamming it between her ribs. She wasn’t above letting some desperation into her voice, nor was she above looking pathetically helpless as she set her teacup down and wrung her hands in her lap.

“I need to figure out who truly killed the duke, and my father will be released. Has”—she paused, her leg restless under the table—“has Everett mentioned any suspicions?”

Blythe hadn’t anticipated being quite so bold, but there was no going back. Eliza’s already fair skin paled until it was almost gray, purple shadows like bruises beneath her eyes.

“Heavens, Miss Hawthorne. If any of us had a suspicion, don’t you think we’d have shared it?” Eliza’s drew out her fan, fluttering it at herself until the pallor began to slip away from her skin. “No one has tried to reach out about money or the title. Everett has claimed everything without issue.”

“And no one has tried to come after him,” Blythe pressed, this time looking at Charlotte. “Right? You were there for him those first few weeks.

Did you see anything odd?”

Blythe had been careful with her words, but even so, Charlotte nearly choked on her tea, splashing a drop on the collar of her dress.

Diana leaned toward Charlotte. “You’re not still circling around Lord Wakefield, are you?” Blythe cared little for Diana’s voice in general, though there was a knowing edge to it that made Blythe despise it more than ever. “I never thought you brave enough to try that again.”

Again?

Charlotte’s eyes flashed darker than Blythe had ever known them. “That is quite enough.”

To her surprise, it wasn’t Diana that Charlotte glared at but Eliza, whose expression was flat as she sipped from her porcelain cup. “This is hardly a conversation for tea.”

On the contrary, it was exactly the sort of conversation that Blythe had hoped to have. Yet while Blythe wanted nothing more than to tear into the topic, Charlotte’s fast, shallow breathing kept her from pushing.

“Forgive me,” Blythe said for the sake of modesty. “It’s just that I’ve been so concerned for him these days that I’ve hardly been sleeping.”

“I’ve been feeling similarly.” Charlotte reached out to clasp Blythe’s hand and squeeze it gently. Blythe squeezed back, a silent apology that Charlotte answered with a smile. “Have the cook bring you some warm milk before bed. I’ll bring you some dried lavender to put in it. It’s not much, but it’s helped me.”

The thought of mixing anything into her drinks these days was something that Blythe wasn’t able to stomach. Especially something purple. She didn’t say as much aloud, however, not with Diana watching them from over the rim of her cup with skeptical eyes.

“Did you get that from an apothecary?” Diana’s words were so sharp that Eliza flinched. Her tea leaked over her fingers and down onto the tiny saucer beneath her cup.

Charlotte cut Diana a scathing look, all but rolling her eyes.

“No, Miss Blackwater, I got it from picking lavender from my garden and letting it dry out. Imagine.” It was perhaps the most snark that Blythe had ever heard from her friend. She sat up straighter, a little too proud. Even so, this conversation wasn’t nearly as fruitful as she’d hoped, and she needed to make this tea party worth the time spent sleuthing.

While it perhaps would have been safer to dance around the topic, Blythe’s fraying patience had her once again relying on the bold approach as she leaned toward Eliza and said, “I heard a rumor, Miss Wakefield, that my uncle has been seeking your favor.”

Diana’s cup stilled at her lips, eyes flicking toward Eliza. They all looked toward her, watching as the woman finished her sip and smoothed out her dress. She was a little flushed, but other than that and the tight press of her lips, she handled herself remarkably well.

“It seems you have good sources,” Eliza answered. “He’s been courting me for the past few months.”

Blythe’s palms burned with the memory of the emerald ring. It wasn’t unheard of for a man Byron’s age to marry someone in their early twenties, though someone of Eliza’s status could have had anyone. And Byron… well. He was Byron.

“My uncle has never had much luck with women.” Regardless of how she felt about the situation, Blythe did her best to keep any judgment from her voice. “If you’re entertaining him, I do hope that you’re serious.”

Blythe couldn’t be certain that she hadn’t imagined Eliza’s grip tightening on her teacup. “Byron is a good man, and I would never dare offend him. I am considering his interest the same as I’m considering every suitor’s this season.”

“Which is who, again?” Diana leaned in, her lips puckered as she took a bite of a tart that Blythe wouldn’t have minded her choking on. “I heard that you haven’t had a caller since you refused Sir Bennet.”

Blythe tried not to make a face as she recalled the ancient man that Eliza had been forced to dance with the night of the duke’s passing.

“He was an awful man,” Eliza acknowledged with perhaps more calm than Blythe had ever seen her capable of. “Though I believe it’s my uncle’s death that’s keeping everyone away, Miss Blackwater. Thank you for the reminder.”

“You really ought to have taken the rest of the reason off,” Diana mused as Blythe leaned back in her seat, picking up her tea only because she didn’t have a clue what else to do. It felt like an eternity of silence passed before Diana asked, as though she hadn’t just been horribly offensive, “Have any of you heard from the prince, lately? It’s been some time since I’ve had the opportunity to visit with him, though I do believe he’s interested.”

Charlotte’s jaw hung ajar at the gall. Blythe, however, was not so well suited for letting things slide.

“Has he sent you flowers?” she asked, smiling innocently when Diana flashed a look in her direction.

“I don’t need flowers to know that he’s interested—”

“Perhaps you’re right. I only asked because Signa received so many. They were the most luxurious I’d ever seen—the whole town was talking about it.” As tart as Signa’s name tasted, it was worth it to see Diana’s face pinch.

Eliza’s shoulders relaxed, as if grateful to have something else to discuss. “I believe the prince is joining us tomorrow, actually. Miss Blackwater is right that hardly any men have approached me this season, given all that’s happened. When I made note of that to Everett, he made a plan to invite all his top choices over. Little did I know that it would be for a fox hunt. However am I to flirt with men at a fox hunt?”

Charlotte soured her lips as she poured herself another cup of tea. “Hours of listening to the foxes cry out in agony… I don’t understand how a person could witness it firsthand.”

“Most women can’t,” Eliza said as she heaped butter onto a croissant, then some preserves. “That’s why it’s mostly a man’s sport.”

“‘Mostly’?” Blythe perked up. “As in women are permitted to participate?”

Eliza looked her over, seeming surprised by Blythe’s interest. “They are, though few choose to.”

“Would you allow me to come?” Blythe pressed, ignoring Diana’s upturned nose and Charlotte’s long sigh. “Not to flirt, I promise.”

“You would hate it, Blythe,” Charlotte said. “You wouldn’t have the stomach for such a distasteful sport.”

“But Eliza does?” Charlotte was right that fox hunting was the last thing she cared to participate in; Blythe didn’t have a lick of interest in the sport. Getting to the Wakefields’ manor, however? She couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity to get a closer eye on Everett or get Eliza alone, where she’d perhaps be more willing to explain exactly what that earlier look between her and Charlotte was all about.

“As a matter of fact, I’ve participated since I was a child.” Eliza set down her croissant. “Come, if you’d like to try it. Though if you’re in it for

the men, they get far too competitive to pay us any mind. I’ve no idea what Everett was thinking when he thought this would help me.”

“I’ll be there,” Blythe promised, biting back a grin. “If I’m going to be calling you my aunt soon, it’s about time we start bonding.”

While Diana spluttered on her tea and Charlotte covered her mouth midbite with a quiet choke, Eliza fixed Blythe with a fiery glare. “If you’re not careful,” she threatened, “then come tomorrow I’ll see to it that you’re the fox we’re all hunting.”