“The only thing Charlotte wants is a good match this season.” Signa was grateful that despite the abysmal turnout they were having on their visiting day, Byron still insisted on having fresh scones and hot tea readily available. Since summoning the reaper’s powers the day prior, an inexplicable tiredness had settled over Signa’s body, making her thoughts fuzzy and her body ache. She slathered a scone with lemon curd and hoped that the sugar might revive her. “What are your thoughts of Everett?”
Blythe’s face contorted, though she gave Signa no time to question the strange expression before she smoothed it away and answered, “I imagine he wants to find the killer as much as we do. Not to mention I’ve never even heard the man raise his voice.”
“Nor have I,” Signa agreed. “Though gaining the duke’s title does give him a motive.”
“Perhaps, but what benefit would that have to him now? He was always set to inherit, and it’s not as though he’s lacking money or status.”
“At least none that we know of,” Signa countered though it was a weak argument. There was always a chance that the murder had been random, though in all Signa’s years surrounded by the dead, when it came to murder, it tended to be those closest to the victim who were responsible.
It would be unwise to rule out Everett, even if all she could think of was his sheer devastation and the hollowness of his eyes as he wilted over his father’s corpse. Lord Wakefield’s relatives were not the only suspects in question, however.
Though Signa felt the prickling of anxiety along her skin, she forced out the next words in a whisper: “Byron has a motive, too, you know.” She slid him a sidelong look, ensuring he was still distracted by the newspaper. “He’s always wanted Grey’s.”
To Signa’s surprise, Blythe took the theory in stride.
“I know. But cold as Byron can be, he loves his family. Still… it would be silly not to consider it, which is why I sneaked into his study.”
Never—not even in the presence of Death—had Signa’s blood gone so cold. “Did you find anything interesting?”
Footsteps sounded down the hall just as Blythe grabbed Signa’s hand and opened her mouth to speak. Byron straightened as a maid came into the parlor with a single calling card set in the middle of a silver tray. His eyes flashed toward the girls.
“Right yourselves at once,” he hissed. “It’s the prince.”
Never had Signa imagined that she could feel so relieved by Fate’s arrival.
Blythe practically flew to the piano bench near the back of the room, but not before tugging at Signa’s bodice. She tried her best to lower it until Signa swatted her hand away and readjusted herself in time to hear the snap of Fate’s boots as he made his grand entrance.
He looked just as he did the last time Signa had seen him, which was to say that he was handsome by a majority vote, dignified, and as confidently pretentious as could be. Though the parlor itself brightened with his presence, Signa’s prospects for the day grew drearier by the second.
“A pleasure, Mr. Hawthorne.” Fate bowed his head, his hands too full of more ridiculous flowers to properly shake Byron’s.
“Prince Aris, the pleasure is all ours.” Byron ushered him forward. “Please, have a seat and let us get you some tea.” The girls shared a look. Never had either of them heard Byron be so… accommodating. “Blythe, why don’t you give your cousin some privacy?”
“I’m quite fine where I am, thank you,” Blythe said from her spot on the piano bench, close enough to listen to any conversation if she really strained. “I do think Mr. Worthington has his eye on me, and I wouldn’t want to offend him if he shows up today.” She didn’t turn to see Byron’s scowl and instead pressed her fingers to the piano keys, beginning a beautiful piece that Signa noticed was too soft, as though Blythe was not fully pressing down.
It truly was astounding how nosy she was.
Fate crossed the floor to take a seat beside Signa, wisteria once again draping from a bouquet in his hands. “Hello, Miss Farrow.” When he tried to hand it to her, she checked to see if Byron was watching. Given that he was, she accepted the bouquet, her knuckles white as she clutched it to her chest.
“Hello, Your Highness. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
“Is it truly so unexpected?” The room’s temperature had plummeted by the time Fate approached. Though Signa knew from the chill that Death was near, Fate didn’t betray where his brother stood with so much as a glance as he asked, “Do you like the flowers?”