around and sat, reading the article about Mrs. Reynolds’ trial and conviction. “Somehow I knew how this was how it would go. Hardly anyone accused of magic is ever acquitted.”
“But she’s innocent!” Imogen cried. “I overheard. At the Westlakes’ ball. Mrs. Reynolds is an illegitimate cousin to the duchess!”
“Hush!” Evelina waved urgently. “Keep your voice down!”
Imogen put a hand over her mouth, realizing what she had done. When she spoke again, it was more quietly. “I was with Bucky when I overheard. The Gold King had been trying to help her, but he was warning her to stop. He said nothing was going to save Nellie Reynolds and it would just drag the duchess down if anyone found out she was helping.”
“He was probably right.” A cynical part of Evelina thought Jasper Keating could save or condemn anyone he pleased and was just pulling the duchess’s strings, but dwelling on that would only upset Imogen more.
Her friend was crying in earnest now, her slender shoulders shaking with distress. “We knew she was innocent and we didn’t say anything! Surely we could have done something. Why didn’t we?”
Evelina closed her eyes for a moment, feeling a pang of regret. She moved onto the bed, sliding her arm around Imogen’s shoulders. She didn’t speak. There wasn’t a lot she could say.
“Why?” Imogen whispered harshly. “Why is it so hard to object if something is unjust? Why isn’t the duchess allowed to support her cousin? She’s a
But the old aristocracy’s sun was setting, and a ducal coronet didn’t mean as much as it had in their grandparents’ day. The steam barons dominated the Empire now. It wasn’t as if Imogen didn’t know the facts, but these last few days would have been the first time she’d felt the full measure of her helplessness. “I’m sorry,” Evelina whispered. “How did you and Bucky hear this?”
Imogen bit her lip. “It was an accident. He said not to do anything, and to keep it all a secret because we should never have overheard. He promised to talk to me about it later.”
“He gave you good advice.”
“I thought somehow we’d find a way to prove her innocent—figure it out the way your uncle does. If Nellie Reynolds did nothing wrong, we should have been able to show that to a judge.”
“It’s very hard to prove a negative.”
“I know,” Imogen said bitterly. “In the moment it seemed a heroic idea. When I think about it now, it sounds incredibly naive.”
Evelina winced, thinking Imogen sounded very much like she had at the start of her so-called investigation of Grace Child’s murder. “Bucky is no fool and you read the papers, Imogen. Barely a month goes by without the trial of some magic user. If the steam barons keep everyone afraid of magic, no one will try to use it against them. And the betting just keeps the public appetite sharp.”
“I know,” Imogen said miserably. “I overheard Father tell Mother that he unexpectedly won a great deal of money on Nellie Reynolds’ trial. Enough to pay for my Season. He laughed.”
Evelina felt sick as Imogen turned even paler. How was any girl supposed to feel about her parties and dresses, knowing they were paid for like that?
“Worst of all, I haven’t been able to talk to Bucky.” Imogen turned her silvery eyes on Evelina. They were bright with tears. “There was no opportunity to decide what we could or couldn’t do, so our chance slipped away.”
Evelina pondered that, trying to catch up to the fact that Imogen’s heart was readying itself for more than a battle of wits with her brother’s best friend. “Where is Bucky?”
Imogen pulled out a dainty kerchief and mopped her nose. “Papa heard that I turned down Stanford Whitlock. He’s furious. Now, if I want to go anywhere without him or Mama on my heels, I’m going to have to climb out a window.”
That made no sense. “But the Penners have plenty of money, and Bucky is a hundred times more capable than Whitlock. Surely they can see that.”
“Whatever the Penners have, the Whitlocks have more. His father owns a bank. And Stanford isn’t the only prospect on Father’s list. The Westlakes’ son has a title. Buckingham Penner is very much a second choice by those standards.”
Evelina cursed under her breath. “This isn’t fair.”
Imogen’s eyes filled with tears. “I won’t marry someone I don’t like, much less love. I won’t.” Lord B probably had no idea how stubborn his daughter really was. They were in for a storm. “This is all my fault! I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t want to believe it!”
Evelina was bewildered. “What do you mean?”
“There is something going on between my father and Keating’s cousin, Harriman. I overheard them at the dinner party.” Imogen closed her eyes, as if recalling the scene. “Harriman said he’d done exactly as Papa instructed, no more and no less. That he had returned the crates to the warehouse and informed Mr. Keating of their arrival. And then he went on to say that whoever said there was a missing article was quite mistaken. Does that make any sense at all?”
Evelina had gone numb. “A bit.”
Imogen had known this for days. A feeling of betrayal swamped Evelina for a moment, but it didn’t stay. What daughter would want to believe her father was at the core of a crime? She couldn’t blame her friend.
But Imogen looked hollow with grief. “If I’d said something, maybe this would all be over by now. Maybe your uncle wouldn’t have been shot.”
Evelina’s chest ached with a brew of anger and sadness. “We can’t know that.”
Imogen took another shuddering breath. “This week has been so horrible! First Grace and then … everything. Then what Papa said about Grace. After last night, Mother won’t get out of bed.”
It was true. Lady Bancroft had retreated altogether. The revelation of her husband’s infidelity had been bad enough. That it happened at the dinner table, follow by a shooting, was intolerable. After the murders and the Disconnection, it had been the last straw.
“It all reminds me of my nightmares,” Imogen said, taking quick gulps of air in an effort to keep control of her words. “I’m trapped in the dark, and I can’t get away from whatever is coming.”
Then the dam broke. Imogen wept and wept, her heart breaking. Evelina held her, feeling unutterably sad, but she had nothing to offer. As long as she had known Imogen, she’d been able to protect her, but over the last week, she’d lost that ability. It felt strangely like exile.
“Oh, Evelina,” Imogen sobbed. “The worst of it is how little courage I seem to have. I thought I was braver. What if they had you on trial, instead of Nellie Reynolds? Would I still be too much of a coward to speak out?”
Evelina shivered and squeezed her tight. “Promise me that you’ll be that coward.”
Later, Evelina hovered at the door of the guest room. Wounded as he was, Holmes had been cared for overnight at Hilliard House. Evidently, one didn’t evict even the most provoking dinner guest after he was shot at the dinner table.
“Dr. Watson?” she called softly.
She slipped inside. The second-floor quarters were divided into a bedchamber and sitting room overlooking the back garden. They were meant for a male guest, with green walls and substantial leather furniture. A tiger skin rug sprawled in front of the fireplace.
Holmes was propped in a leather chair, an ottoman supporting his slippered feet. She looked around for Watson. He had collapsed in another chair, a frown darkening his deceptively benign face. Not that Dr. Watson wasn’t benign—he was one of the best souls in the Empire—but a man didn’t get to be her uncle’s right-hand man without a good uppercut and the stamina of a draft horse.
Just not enough to outlast her uncle. Watson had the look of a man at the end of his rope. “Stop talking nonsense, Holmes. You’ve been shot.”
Uncle Sherlock glanced down at the sling meant to hold his right arm still. “So I have. It’s a tremendously motivating factor.”
“For what?” Watson snapped. “Bleeding to death? The only motivation you should have is a desire to sleep.”
Her uncle subsided a little. “I want a report, niece of mine. What have you found out about last night?” After
