Good God, there were more.
Blythe swept the hem of her nightgown into the air, bowing low. “Shall I curtsy when I address you from now on, cousin? I wouldn’t want to offend a princess.”
“Since when has a title stopped you from offending anyone?” Signa’s words cut off in a gasp as Elaine tightened the laces of her corset so severely that Signa worried her ribs might crack. Readying oneself in the morning truly was an arduous affair, and by the time she was dressed and ready, Elaine was sweating and Signa was breathless and a little sore, while Blythe watched from a chair in the corner.
“Did Lord Wakefield give any word of why he is here?” Signa asked as she slipped into her shoes, already starting out the door.
Elaine followed behind her. She was shorter than Signa and had to hustle to keep up. “Only that he came to speak with you.”
Signa had wondered every day for the past two weeks how Everett was faring. Unlike his cousin Eliza, he’d kept a low profile, never once leaving his estate. If he had, Signa would have heard the gossip. So why was it that the first time he left, he’d chosen to come to Thorn Grove of all places?
“Wait!” Blythe hissed as she followed them. She was still dressed in her robe and nightgown, hair undone as she bounded down the hallway. “I’m coming, too!”
Elaine spun to face her with a horrified gasp. “You most certainly are not! We’d need to get you dressed appropriately, and there’s no time—”
Blythe waved her away. “He’s not going to see me. I’m just going to listen. Speak loudly, cousin. Enunciate.”
Though Signa would have loved nothing more than to tell Blythe just how silly and nosy she sounded, there was no time to argue. They’d reached the top of the stairs, and Blythe at once drew a step back, ducking into a corner of the landing. Elaine remained there as well, leaving Signa to descend by herself.
The lady’s maid had been right—there were flowers everywhere. Giant arrangements of peonies and roses. Lilacs. Endless wisteria draping from massive marble vases. Saying that it was excessive was an understatement. Signa tried her best to ignore everything as she made her way toward the parlor, taking a moment to assess the situation while still unnoticed.
Byron and Everett sat across from each other, a tray of tea and untouched pastries between them. Everett was dressed from head to toe in mourning black, and he held his hat in his lap. His warm brown skin had gone ashy, and there were fine lines Signa had never noticed carved upon his forehead.
Though his every movement was sluggish, Everett made polite conversation and Byron was every bit as proper as Percy had once been, sticking to easy subjects and trying not to pry, though Signa was certain he wanted to. She didn’t hear any mention of Elijah’s name, nor the duke’s—and soon enough curiosity bested her. At the threshold to the parlor, she cleared her throat.
The two men rose to their feet. “Miss Farrow!” Everett drew the tiniest of steps forward, glancing discreetly at the flowers behind her. “Forgive me for once again arriving unannounced. I promise I will not make a habit of it. I would have sent a letter detailing my arrival, but…”
He didn’t need to say anything more. People were little more than piranhas these days, waiting for Everett to emerge so that they might tear into him. She stepped into the parlor, going immediately to his side. Improper though it was, she took one of Everett’s hands in her own. “There are no apologies necessary. Please, let us sit. I am sorry about your father, and while I know it’s not a fair question, I can’t help but to ask it.… How are you faring?”
“Miss Killinger has been most gracious with her time,” he said as he sat, drawing her down beside him. “She’s been helping me arrange everything. The funeral, the burial… the ceremony for my title. Truthfully, that’s why I’m here. I wanted to invite you and your family, and to apologize for my behavior that night. I’ve no idea what came over me when I said what I did about your uncles.” His gaze slid sideways to Byron, who nodded but watched Everett with keen eyes. It seemed they’d already had a discussion of their own.
“I wasn’t in my right mind,” Everett continued. “I want you to know that I spoke with the constable as soon as I got my wits back, and that I spoke on Elijah’s behalf.”
Signa straightened, ignoring a quiet thunk from the stairway, where Blythe was listening. “Are you saying that he’ll be released?”
The long delay before Everett spoke again was enough of an answer. Gently, he eased his hand from hers. “I don’t believe that your uncle had any reason to poison my father—but Mr. Hawthorne confessed to being the one to hand him the drink, and the constable believes he had a reason to want my father dead. They’re keeping him regardless of what I say. I just thought you should know that I never meant for this to happen.”
Were she in Everett’s shoes and the situation reversed, Signa probably would have hated him. The tactical side of her mind ventured at once to thoughts of potential motives. But then she remembered the letter from Fate that signaled his intent to prove himself. Could Everett’s reversal be a gift from him? The apology in Everett’s eyes was sincere enough that she could almost allow her body to be at ease. Almost but not quite, given that there was no telling whether Everett had come of his own volition or Fate had planted the seed in his mind.
“You speaking on his behalf at all is a great help,” she managed to say at last. “What happened to your father was horrible, Everett. The fact that you’re even thinking of my uncle right now is deeply appreciated, but you must take care of yourself. If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.”
“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.”