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“Me? How dare you accuse me!”

Gray leveled an uncompromising glance at his sister until, at last, she looked away.

“If Lionel had been ruled by me, this incident would never have happened. We would have … If he made a mull of things, it is only that he took matters into his own hands instead of listening to my counsel.”

“Perhaps, but I can no longer consider you my sister. You are the woman who looked the other way whenever Lionel acted against me; more than that, you encouraged Lionel to believe himself so wronged that even murder was justified.”

“You will cast me off? You will deprive your family of what we are owed? You remain as unnatural as ever.”

“Sydling is a good man, Bernie. Your children are well provided for. My nieces, who have had no part in this affair, will receive their portions when I am gone. But neither you nor Lionel will receive a portion of our father’s estate beyond what you have been granted. And Lionel will no longer receive an allowance from me. You must encourage him to make something of himself at last. In Paris.”

“You can’t do this. I will have my solicitor look into it.”

“By all means, do. And when he contacts my solicitor, we will lay all the evidence against Lionel before him.” Gray lifted his hands from the silk edge of the sofa. “And by the way, Bernie, I will be making a generous allowance to Tom Winter.”

“You will have no family, then. None of us will speak with you or seek you out ever again.”

Gray shook his head. The threat was a relief. He strolled away from the striped sofa. “You are wrong, Bernie. In marrying Cordelia Staveley, I gain three affectionate sisters, two decent brothers, and who knows how many cousins and friends. For the first time in many years, I will have a true family. Good-bye, Bernie.”

He turned and walked away, leaving Bernie to air her threats in the empty room.

*

Cordelia had quite lost track of the days when an unexpected visitor came to her in the garden. She was getting used to holding a sort of court, but Mr. Finch’s request for an audience surprised her.

He stood before her, tall and lean and fair, with his startling blue eyes that had caught Viola’s attention the first day he came to Clifton-on-Sea. He was every inch a gentleman, a cool and unsmiling one, with a soberness of demeanor at odds with his sunny appearance. The face of many a marble statue had more softness.

Cordelia stiffened in response to his cool manner. She had not forgiven his officiousness in speaking to Viola when Viola was most vulnerable.

They said their good afternoons, and she waved him to the shaded bench that she now thought of as her visitor’s seat. She was stronger. Her fingers could make a true fist, even if she could not yet lift her arm.

“Mr. Finch, do sit,” she said.

“Just ‘Finch,’” he said. “There is no ‘mister.’” There was a mixture of pride and defiance in the statement that Cordelia could not account for. He remained standing, looming over her. Apparently, he meant to be disagreeable.

“I bring a letter from Gray,” he said. He handed her the missive.

Cordelia took the letter in her good hand and settled it in her lap. She reminded herself that Finch, however cold and rude, was Graymont’s friend and that Graymont was selective in his friends, and so Finch must have some hidden good qualities. She guessed that Finch was younger than Graymont, but the gravity of his expression made him seem the older of the two.

“I owe you an apology,” he said.

“Me?” She could not contain her surprise.

He studied his highly polished boots. “For speaking to your sister as I did. It was not my place.”

Yet, Cordelia thought, you couldn’t help yourself.

He looked up then with the slightest of smiles. Cordelia wondered if he ever laughed, a true, genuine laugh, one that would release his face from its frozen disdain. “She acts without thinking. She says outrageous things. She knows no caution. She is so sure she’s right that she never considers another’s view or her own safety, or what will happen next.” He paused. “She vexes me,” he concluded. It was a most unusual confession from a self-contained man, who appeared beyond the reach of vexation.

“She has that effect on people,” Cordelia agreed.

“She needs a tight hand, but …” His blue gaze was troubled. “One would not want to crush her spirit.”

“One would not.” Cordelia could not decide what was truly troubling him in the behavior of a girl he barely knew. They were opposites in character, but it seemed unlikely that Finch would again encounter Viola.

He straightened. “I must not keep you.” He withdrew another envelope from the breast pocket of his coat. “I have an invitation for your sister from the Duchess of Wenlocke to visit the duke and duchess at their country home, Daventry Hall, as soon as she would like and for as long as she would like.”

“An invitation from the Duchess of Wenlocke?”