“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.
FIFTEEN
THE BELLADONNA BERRIES WERE PRUNED AND SHRIVELED AS SIGNA unfurled them from their wrapping. Only ten berries remained, and as she stared at them, she imagined Death’s voice in her head, telling her not to take this risk. That they would find another way.
For two weeks Byron had done nothing to prove himself the culprit, but if he was, then there was no time to waste. She’d waited hours for him to leave Elijah’s study, and there was no telling when he might be back. Byron had barely left the room even to sleep, and when he did, he never left it unlocked. If Signa wanted to know what he spent his days doing in there, this was her chance to figure it out.
As the temperature of her bedroom plummeted, Signa knew that while she may not have been able to see him, Death was there with her, watching as she palmed five of the remaining berries. The windows ripped open, frost icing their edges as a breeze tore into the room and knocked one of the berries from her palms. She glared behind her at where she hoped Death stood before she picked it back up and steadied her trembling hands, not wanting him to see just how afraid she was.