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was his favorite. He refused to speak of it with me at all. Trenchard tended to speak the least of the things that mattered most to him."
    "Is it possible his daughter-in-law's family blamed him for her death?" Roth asked.
    Mary's finely arced brows drew together. "An interesting thought. Her father settled in London with his second wife after he left the army. We had them to dine. Pleasant enough people though we hardly moved in the same circles."
    "Losing a child is the most horrible thing a parent can go through," Suzanne said.
    "So I think whenever my children get a simple chill." Mary had never particularly seemed a doting mother, but the fear in her gaze was very real. "I tried to comfort Trenchard, but he—" She shook her head. "With Trenchard emotion was never simple. And of course for him it was also a question of succession. James was already in the House of Commons. He stepped into the role of heir to the dukedom, a role he is really much more suited for. Trenchard never had to worry about him." She set down the coffeepot. "Trenchard never seemed to think about him much at all."
    "And Jack?" Suzanne asked.
    "Trenchard never spoke of Jack. Once when Bobby said he used to have two brothers, Trenchard nearly bit his head off. My girls don't remember Jack at all." She shook her head. "They say tragedy can knit a family together, but sometimes I think it pulls them apart. Or in our case it simply created more space between us."
    "When did you last see your husband?" Malcolm asked.
    "Good heavens." Her brows lifted. "Am I a suspect? I suppose as his wife it's only natural that I am. But I assure you though I wasn't madly in love with Trenchard, our marriage was quite comfortable."
    "Merely trying to establish a timeline," Malcolm said.
    "Does that mean you don't suspect me?"
    "I have no reason to suspect you."
    Mary's brows drew together again, as though she were honestly considering. "I passed him in the hall when I was coming back from my morning ride. No, I saw him again on the half-landing when I was on my way to dine at the Grandisons'. He was dining at White's. I went on to the opera after dinner."
    "He wasn't back when you returned home?"
    "To own the truth, I'm not certain. We didn't live in each other's pockets, as I believe I've made abundantly clear. His rooms are across the house from mine, and he hasn't visited my bedchamber for some time." She clunked down her coffee cup. "Shocked? But this is a murder investigation, not a social call."
    Malcolm leaned forwards across the table. "Mary—"
    Quick steps sounded and the door was flung open. David Mallinson, Viscount Worsley, Mary's brother and Malcolm's closest friend from their days at Harrow, strode into the room. He paused on the threshold and took in the company, the dictates of civility warring with a brother's concern. Brotherly concern won.
    "Mary." He stepped forwards to embrace his sister without pausing to acknowledge the others. "I'm so sorry. I came at once."
    Mary returned her brother's embrace, though she seemed rather more guarded than she had with Malcolm, perhaps because she'd had time to recover, perhaps owing to the nature of their relationship. "That was kind of you. Don't tell me the news is all over Mayfair already."
    "Father sent word to me."
    She gave a tight smile. "As usual, Father's reach is both a blessing and a curse."
    "I thought you'd want—"
    She put out her hand. "It's kind of you, David. Truly."
    David looked at Malcolm. "I hear—"
    "Nothing is certain." Malcolm got to his feet. "We'll leave you to talk to Mary while we have a look at the study."

Chapter 4
    The smell of drying blood greeted them as they stepped into the study, taking Malcolm back to battlefields and the Cantabrian Mountains, and the salon in Vienna where he had found his sister's still-warm body. Blood glistened in the lamplight against the red and gold of the Turkey rug. It had pooled on the floor beside a drinks trolley. Shards of broken crystal glittered