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There came a rustle of skirts and voices murmuring, and her sisters stood around her. Viola’s face was streaked with tears.

“I went for my swim,” she said. She had lost some portion of time.

“Oh, Cordelia,” Viola said. “You were shot, and it’s all my fault.”

Cordelia wanted to shake her head, but a pillow kept it in place. “Shot?” If she had been shot, that could hardly be any fault of Viola’s. Memory returned of the loud crack and sudden blow that had sent her under the waves. “I was shot in my shoulder. As I swam.”

“Yes,” Viola nodded. “And Graymont brought you here.”

Cordelia closed her eyes again. She hadn’t imagined him. He’d found her. He had called her love. They had talked, but the conversation eluded her.

“Did you see who shot you?” Viola asked.

Cordelia opened her eyes. “No.” Her right shoulder troubled her. She could move the fingers of her right hand, but she could not lift her arm. Her head was fuzzy. Someone must have given her laudanum.

“Never mind that,” said Mir. “We’re here to take care of you.”

“Lord Graymont says we may stay as long as you need us,” Roz added. “And Dr. Bradstock says you will make a full recovery.”

“You are not to worry about any of us,” said Mir.

Cordelia smiled. As if she ever could stop worrying about them. She would have a proper laugh, too, when her shoulder stopped hurting and her head cleared. She could feel herself slipping into another doze. It was not what she’d planned, but she had managed to get them back into the castle.

*

Gray might be the lord of the castle, but at the moment, women ruled the place. They had taken over the care of Cordelia even before Doctor Bradstock’s arrival. Gray had no claim on Cordelia that would allow him to be at her side. He was left to cool his heels with Winter and Finch in the dining hall. He occupied himself with sending an express to Cordelia’s brother Henry in town, and with Finch’s help, he questioned everyone in the castle. Most had been asleep. A few had been disturbed by the dog’s barking. The young porter, who saw to visitors entering and leaving, had been roused early by Lionel to open the door for Bernie’s servants. He had been called upon to help as they loaded the three carriages in the drive on the north side of the castle, away from the beach.

Finch wanted to know if the young porter had observed anyone or anything unusual as the servants loaded the coaches. The youth furrowed his brow, as if he could not understand Finch’s meaning. Then Finch asked who directed the loading.

“Oh,” said the youth, “that was his lordship’s brother. He came and went with a few small packages, things that have to travel inside for Lady Sydling’s comfort.”

Finch thanked the lad, and they returned to waiting for the doctor. He emerged from Winter’s office, sober but encouraging.

“It’s a bad business, your lordship, when someone goes about shooting a young lady. I trust you are endeavoring to discover who did this.”

“We are,” said Gray.

“Good. Well, this may be of some assistance when you speak with the magistrate,” Bradstock said.

Between his thumb and forefinger, he held the spent bullet. Gray extended his hand, and the doctor dropped the round lead ball into Gray’s palm. “It looks to me, gentlemen, as if Miss Staveley was shot by a dueling pistol, likely one with some scratch rifling in the barrel. Whoever shot her must have been a good hundred yards from her, and that was her good fortune. The bullet entered muscle, the supraspinatus. She has no broken bone, and the limpness of the arm is likely due to the pinching of a nerve from the swelling. I’ve cleaned the wound and elevated her shoulder. The women know what to do, so best to let them tend to her. And watch for infection. I will return tomorrow. Good day to you.”

Gray saw Doctor Bradstock to his gig, thanking him again, but thinking of a dueling pistol. He did not possess one, and to his knowledge, the only guns in the castle were hunting rifles in a locked cabinet. When he returned to the dining hall, it was plain that Winter and Finch had also been speaking of the doctor’s information. Finch suggested they examine the beach. Gray sent Winter down to the shore to mark the place where Cordelia had lain wounded. The tide had come in, so the distance was approximate. Then Gray and Finch walked along the cliffside, looking for signs of the place where the shooter had stood. A bit of crumbling hillside beneath a clump of spindly hazel trees struck Gray as a likely spot. The earth had been disturbed, though there were no clear footprints. He turned to look at Winter’s position and felt a chill. From where he stood, with Cordelia in the water, the distance was just under a hundred yards. Gray signaled Winter to come back.

Finch reached him first. “You found the spot?”

Gray nodded. “But why shoot Cordelia? She has no enemies.”

Finch held up Cordelia’s dark knit cap, the one she wore over her curls to swim. “Because the shooter thought he was firing at you. It was not yet day, and his target was simply a dark head in the sea, the head of a man who swam every morning.”

As soon as Finch said it, Gray’s meeting with Lionel on the stairs flashed in his mind. Lionel surprised to see Gray, Lionel wondering that Gray didn’t swim, Lionel explaining that he’d come from loading Bernie’s traveling coaches, Lionel keeping Gray on the stairs. Had his brother tried to kill him? It was nearly the world’s oldest sin, the killing of a brother. Gray never doubted that his brother hated him, but Lionel’s hatred had seemed a passive thing, more likely to hurt Lionel than to hurt Gray. Lionel’s sense of grievance, his feeling that he had been cheated out of his due, was the thing that had kept Lionel from making something of his own life.

Finch regarded Gray closely, one brow cocked. “Last night you announced your intention of marrying Viola Staveley. Until now you’ve showed no interest in marriage. Lionel remained your heir. No doubt Bernie and Lionel planned to prevent your marriage to Viola Staveley, but why trouble themselves? Lionel saw an easier solution. Eliminate you. You were the problem. If Lionel shot you as you swam, your body would wash out to sea and never be found. Why shoot Cordelia Staveley? Because he didn’t know there was a second swimmer at Delamere beach. With her wool cap she was simply a dark head in the sea. Lionel mistakenly assumed that dark head was yours. But what truly ruined his plan was that he didn’t know the tides. The tide washed Miss Staveley’s body into shore not away from it.”

Gray stared ahead blindly. Lionel’s mistaken attack on Cordelia had been calculated. Lionel had brought a pistol with him. He had given up waiting in the wings, relying on his prospects as Gray’s heir. Finch’s words made sense of the odd conversation on the stairs. The depth of Lionel’s malice shook Gray, as it had when he’d first discovered it. Gray, by his mere existence, had earned his brother’s hatred. Gray believed himself indifferent to his brother’s malice, but now that it had spilled over and threatened the woman he loved, he wanted Lionel stopped. He needed Lionel to be stopped.

Gray turned to Finch. He saw the rest of the plan, including the timing of Lionel and Bernie’s leaving. Lionel thought he could return to London before Gray was discovered missing. Their conversation had revealed Lionel’s mistake, but even when he discovered that he’d shot someone else, he had no expectation of a body being found. “Lionel brought a pistol with him, probably a dueling pair, and he’s not likely had time to clean the gun he fired.”

Finch nodded. “Our friend Jones of Scotland Yard can find that gun, I think. I’ll send another express.”