A knife pierced Annabel’s heart. That was one characteristic she loved as well. She’d couldn’t bear this story any longer. “I should return to my weeding.”

“You are worried for Jasper? Is he worse again?”

Again?

The word, combined with the concern in Claudette’s eyes, pricked Annabel’s conscience. “He is too stubborn to get worse. He’s likely prowling his room like a tiger in a cage.”

“He does that when he thinks,” Claudette said. “And the faster his feet, the faster his thoughts. Cela me donne le vertige.” She fastened her gaze on Annabel. “We all have our ways. I bake. You garden.”

And yet nothing was solved. Everything was still as confusing, as dizzying, as watching Jasper wear a path in the rug. “Mrs. Hughes, what is your relationship with my husband?”

Claudette inhaled deeply, held the breath for a moment, and then released it. “I am grateful that you asked.” She frowned. “That is the wrong word. Reconnaissante. Do you understand that word?”

Thankful. Annabel nodded, her heart thudding.

“Society sees a Frenchwoman who is dependent on a handsome man and assumes many things that are untrue. The more the hypothèse is repeated, the easier it is to believe. Even if it is painful.” Claudette briefly squeezed Annabel’s fingers. “There is more to our story than the superficial.”

Biting her tongue, Annabel forced herself to wait for the rest of the tale.

“All I have of Gareth is the letter he sent me from Cardiff, saying his family was still angry, and he was sailing for home. I don’t even have a grave where I can grieve.” Her fists tightened until her knuckles were white. “For the past year, they have accused me of killing him when he returned to Paris empty-handed. I, in turn, have been foolish enough to retaliate—accusing them of harming him when he refused to abandon me.”

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “Jasper and Kit have been infatigable in finding the truth, in convincing all of us that we were stronger together if we focused on the same goal. Without them, I would have lost my will to fight for Gareth. And for myself.”

Again, Annabel put herself in Claudette’s place. She had slept very little last night, and Jasper was still alive on the other side of the wall. How much would it torture her to know he was lost and might never be found? That she would never see him again, even if it was only to argue?

“That is the cause of your nightmares?”

Claudette shivered. “They are terrible. Jasper says I scream the house down, though I never remember it. All I know is his kindness when I wake.”

Is that what you think of me?

“I have misjudged you,” Annabel said, meaning every word. “I am sorry.”

“It is already forgiven.” Claudette dabbed her eyes and smiled. “I was often jealous of Gareth. When you find someone you love, it is easy to believe that everyone loves them in the same way. I am happy that Jasper has you.”

“Yes, well…” Annabel floundered for a topic that was not her marriage or the husband she had disappointed. “Have you been in Cardiff since we first met at Kennet Hall?”

Claudette nodded. “Jasper and Kit convinced me to stay, to see if villagers might talk to a widow more easily. That worked in two ways. The women were more willing to talk to me, but Gareth’s family also observed from a distance. I wrote them an apology, and we have met. Our friendship is fragile, though, and they look for any reason to doubt me.”

Which was why she couldn’t stay at Kit’s new home. A newlywed marquess and his wife were the perfect hosts. “Are you closer to finding the truth?”

“We have a name and a collection of stories, but we don’t know how anything ties to Gareth. It couldn’t have been his military service, not in Wales. He’d been gone so long that any grudges would have likely faded. That only leaves his father’s stables, but the family has no records of dealing with Mr. Collins.”

Annabel lost her breath. Mr. Collins from Wales. A body that would never be found. A scheme in danger of failing.

Spencer.

She pushed away from the table and fought to keep her chair upright. “Excuse me. I must speak with Jasper right away.”

*

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” Jasper demanded.

“I was distracted by your collapsing in my arms in a bloody heap,” Kit said around a mouthful of scone.

He made it sound far worse than it had been. “And after that?”

“You were unconscious for a good bit. I had to choose between watching you sleep or catching up on things at Warwick House.”

“You mean home, Cousin?”

It was odd to call Kit that, but it felt good to do so. And now that he was privy to the family secret, Jasper could see the resemblance between his best friend and the uncle he’d known all those years ago.

“Is that what it is?” Kit filled his coffee cup. “My staff hates me, the reading from Lords puts me to sleep, and there are calling cards piling up at the door. And tenants? Jasper, I have tenants.”

Jasper understood the feeling. Sometimes it seemed as though the only real privilege of a title was waiting to get it. Once you had it, the responsibilities fell heavily. Especially the care for those who had no privilege at all.

“You will be an excellent landlord.” He meant it. There was no one better at logical decisions than Kit.

“Thank you,” Kit said. “It will help that I have you to ask.” He drew a deep breath. “But to the matter at hand…”

Finally. Jasper rocked forward and put his elbows on his knees, only to straighten when his body protested.

“Collins is making the rounds to every mine. He goes to the nearest pub, finds the biggest groups, and feeds them money and alcohol while bragging about his new job as a foreman at a new concern. Better pay, better conditions, more opportunities.” Kit shifted in his chair. “The authorities there haven’t given him much thought. Bragging, even lying, isn’t a crime.”

“But murder is,” Jasper said.

“Which is where Claudette has helped. We know for certain where Gareth was, and at what time. We know Collins and some of his cronies crossed his path. We just don’t have a motive.”

Without that, they’d fail to give solace to Claudette and to Gareth’s family.

And if Spencer wasn’t tied to the scheme, they’d likely fail the queen.

The key in the lock turned, and Annabel stepped from her room to his. “We need to talk, right away.”

“Your husband and I are discussing matters not for public knowledge, Lady Ramsbury,” Kit barked. “Kindly leave—”

Annabel squared off to face him. “Do you mean trying to find an embezzler in the palace? Or finding a murderer in Cardiff?”

“Christ, Jasper. Do you ever stop and think?” Kit pushed himself upright. “Isn’t it convenient that you’ve never been set upon by highwaymen until you were traveling with her? And now your attacker was waiting outside a house that has been vacant for months?” He thrust a finger toward Annabel. “Perhaps she told him—”

“Oh yes, perhaps I told them so I could try to kill one of them in the dark. Or so I could have the joy of a dress covered in my husband’s blood while we raced home,” Annabel parried.

“It would be a wise move to thwart an assassination as part of your role—”

“Enough.” Jasper resisted the impulse to tighten the belt on his dressing gown. It was difficult to issue commands while dressed in silk, but perhaps if he acted like he was wearing trousers, he could bluff his way through it. “She is my wife, Kit. I trust her.”

There was a difference between that and disappointment that she suspected him of things far worse than being a traitor.