“I do hope His Grace is well,” Lady Wilhampton said, turning her full attention back to Eliza. “I have not seen him about town lately. He is not ill, I hope?”
“He is perfectly well. Simply occupied with estate matters.”
“Of course, of course. A duke’s responsibilities are never-ending, are they? Though I do hope he allows himself some leisure. All work and no play as they say.” She paused, her smile sharpening slightly. “But then, I suppose he has you to ensure he does notbecome too serious. A wife’s influence can be so important in these matters.”
Something cold settled in Eliza’s stomach. The way Lady Wilhampton emphasized certain words. The knowing look in her eyes. The too-perfect timing of her appearance.
Could she be behind the letters?
The thought crystallized with sudden clarity. Lady Wilhampton had been planting seeds of doubt from the beginning. The comments about the theater, the insinuations about mistresses, the careful suggestions that August might be seeking comfort elsewhere. And now, these letters, perfectly designed to make August doubt Eliza.
“I am certain he manages quite well,” Eliza said, keeping her voice level.
“I am certain he does.” Lady Wilhampton glanced at the sky. “Goodness, is that rain approaching? I should return home before I am caught in a downpour. Do enjoy the rest of your walk, ladies.”
She swept away in a rustle of silk, leaving a trail of perfume in her wake.
April waited until she was out of earshot before turning to Eliza. “That woman gives me hives.”
“She is plotting something,” May said. “I can always tell. She gets this particular look, like a cat watching a bird.”
Eliza turned to face them both. “I need to tell you something, but you must promise not to repeat it to anyone.”
They both nodded, and Eliza recounted the entire story. The first letter she had known nothing about. The second letter, more explicit and damning. August’s accusations. The argument that had left them barely speaking.
When she finished, April looked furious. “That absolute scoundrel. How dare he accuse you of such a thing?”
“To be fair, the letter was rather convincing,” Eliza said. “And someone did plant it among my belongings.”
“But to believe it without even asking you first—” April broke off, shaking her head. “I love my brother, but he can be monumentally stupid when he puts his mind to it.”
“The question is who planted the letters,” May said. “And I think we can all guess who has the most to gain from your marriage failing.”
“Lady Wilhampton,” Eliza said.
“Precisely. She was in love with August for years. Or obsessed with him, more accurately. When he married you instead of pursuing her, she must have been livid.” May tapped her fingeragainst her chin. “But how is she getting access to your things? She cannot simply walk into Wildmoore Hall and leave letters about.”
“Someone must be helping her,” April decided. “One of the servants, perhaps. Someone she has bribed or blackmailed into doing her bidding.”
Eliza felt her resolve harden. “Then I need to find out who.”
“How will you manage that?” May asked.
“I shall gather the household staff and question them. Someone must have seen something, noticed something unusual.” She turned to start back toward her waiting carriage. “Thank you. Both of you. For listening. For believing me.”
April caught her hand. “Of course, we believe you. You are family. And family stands together, even when certain members of said family are being absolute dolts.”
Eliza returned to Wildmoore Hall with new purpose, her mind already working through how to approach the servants. But when Denton opened the door, he looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“Your Grace,” he said, his usual composure cracking slightly, “I should inform you that His Grace has called a household meeting. All the staff are presently gathered outside his study.”
“A household meeting? Whatever for?”
“I believe it would be best if you saw for yourself, Your Grace.”
She removed her bonnet and gloves, handed them to a waiting maid, and made her way toward August’s study. Indeed, the hallway was packed with servants. Footmen, maids, the cook, the stable hands—everyone stood in a nervous cluster, whispering among themselves.
Mrs. Finch stood nearest the study door, her expression carefully neutral.