Page 27 of The Highland Heist
Grace’s jaw tightened. “I’m not exaggerating.”
“Of course not.” Lillias’ tone was smooth, infuriatingly placating. “I can see how inventing these little stories might help you adjust to such an unfamiliar role. After all, you were never raised for this kind of life, were you? Not asIwas.”
Grace studied her sister. Had Lillias always seen her as a simpleton? Yes, Grace adored stories—true, embellished, or entirely fictional—but her sister’s words twisted that love into something trivial, laughable. Was that how she saw Grace? Truly? And though stepping into her role as Frederick’s wife hadn’t been without its awkward moments, Lillias made it sound as though Grace had stumbled through it like a village idiot.
To be honest, Frederick’s staff had certainly suffered their share of shocks. And Frederick himself had as well.
But those looks of bewilderment had dwindled over the months—mostly.
Her shoulders dropped. Until today.
But that wasn’t Grace’s fault.
“I’m not making up stories, Lillias. And though being a countess certainly wasn’t in my plans, I’ve adored getting to be Frederick’s wife.” And how had the conversation gone from Lillias as a possible murderer to Grace as a misplaced countess? Had Lillias excelled in this type of deflection in conversation all these years, turning fault and blame elsewhere?
Air shook from Grace in a shuddered sigh. Did she even know her own family? “Everything I wrote to you was true,” she continued. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask Frederick yourself. In fact, Detective Miracle asked Frederick and me to join him on his last case a—”
“Detective Miracle? His lastcase?” Lillias cut her off with a humorless laugh. “Do you hear yourself? Grace, you are not a detective, and you certainly shouldn’t involve yourself in such dangerous nonsense. Poor Lord Astley. You’ve probably made him the laughingstock of all England.”
Grace opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. Her thoughts scattered like a flock of startled birds. She didn’t even know the woman before her.
It was only the crinkle of paper in her hand that brought her back to something solid. Something tangible. Something that mattered more than her sister’s insults.
The scene cleared in her mind. She’d never expected her sister to be a Lady Catherine de Bourgh, but … here she was! Incarnate!
Which meant that Grace would have to shore up her inner Lizzie Bennet, wouldn’t she?
She straightened, holding the letter aloft. “Please explain this.”
Lillias froze, just for a moment, before her expression smoothed into practiced indifference. “I thought you were going to deliver that letter to my former maid,” she said lightly, turning toward the window. “I see your need for adventure has led you to pry into private matters.”
“Private matters?” Grace fisted the paper, a little uncertain what to do with the growing anger inside of her. “You told us this was a letter to ask Miss Steen back into service, but instead, you offered her money to lie about your whereabouts.”
“And what if I was?” Lillias’ tone was airy, dismissive. She stood and moved toward the window, her back to Grace. “I hardly see how it concerns you.”
“It concerns me because you lied, Lillias,” Grace snapped and stood, this moment too similar to one of the last conversations she’d had with her sister, calling her out on her deception of attempting to marry Frederick under false pretense. “Don’t you see how that looks? It makes you suspicious.”
Lillias turned, her expression hardening. “You don’t understand anything, Grace. You never have. You’re too busy playing detective, running about with your ridiculous notions, to grasp the reality.”
Grace’s breath hitched, but she refused to falter. “Then help me understand. Why would you need Miss Steen to lie? Where were you?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Lillias waved a hand, as if brushing away Grace’s concerns. “I’m certain Miss Steen will see reason.”
“Reason?” Grace barked out a laugh so sharp it even surprised her. “She’s more than willing to give you up, Lillias. She told us of the fighting and the gambling, and she will happily tell the officers when they arrive tomorrow.”
Lillias’ composure faltered. “You think the officers will believe a gossiping maid over a lady of my standing?”
“They’ll believe proof, and right now the only person with proof of her whereabouts is Miss Steen.” Grace fisted her hand at her side, attempting to gain some composure … some understanding of what lay behind her sister’s behavior. “You very well could be suspect in your own husband’s death.”
Grace hadn’t meant to say things so plainly, but there it was.
And she didn’t regret it.
Lillias’ hand flew to her chest, but her chin remained high. “That’s absurd. I would never kill my own husband.”
“Would or wouldn’t, the officers will decide. They’ll examine the debts, the secrecy, the”—Grace hesitated, choosing her words carefully—”the disharmony in your home.”
Lillias laughed, brittle and cold. “Disharmony? We hated each other by the end!” Her voice cracked, her pale blue eyes glistening as she turned back to the window. “Do you think I wanted this life? A shabby townhouse, no money, no respect? A husband who gambled away everything while you”—she whirled back, eyes blazing—”while you prance about as a countess, married to the man who should have been mine.”
