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Or was he?

“You don’t understand.” Mrs. Harwood’s voice was low and accusing. “How could you, married to a wealthy lord as you are. Try being the pitiful wife of a destitute man. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Had I known, even suspected, I never would have tied myself to this family.”

The callous statement struck Audrey to the marrow. Perhaps Penelope had wished to marry for love because she knew Jessamin Harwood had not done so. To regret her marriage once the money had run out proved it.

“Penelope was your one hope,” Audrey presumed. “She needed to marry well.”

Mrs. Harwood’s lips pulled back into a sneer. “We spent nearly everything Sir Christopher had left on her coming out. All to make her season a success, to net her a good match. And what did we have to show for it? Nothing. Her paltry dowry tempted few suitors, and not one of the gentlemen who did come up to scratch met her standards. She always had reasons to turn them away.”

“All but Calvin Messinger,” Audrey provided.

Mrs. Harwood’s cheeks flushed with color. “Penelope confessed that they met early on at one of Lady Tenney’s balls. Lord Sinclair had been in attendance, and he and Calvin Messinger were close friends. Oh, but it wasn’t the duke’s brother whom Penelope chose to admire.” Mrs. Harwood gave a maddened shake of her head. “All those months of her rejecting suitable men, all that money spent, and she was deceiving us. She knew we would never approve of Mr. Messinger once we learned the truth of his financial standing. She knew how desperate our situation was. And yet, she gave herself to the very kind of man Morris and I forbade!”

Her voice rose to a shrill pitch, her temper escalating.

“When did you find out about Calvin?” Audrey asked, taking another step backward. She sensed the direction of Mrs. Harwood’s confession and began to regret her choice to come inside the house alone.

“I presumed the baby was Lord Sinclair’s,” she answered. “His lordship had come to call on her several times over the last few months. But when I heard her rejecting him, telling him to leave, that she would not have him because she loved Calvin Messinger, I…I couldn’t understand what I was hearing.”

Audrey’s breathing slowed as she put together what Mrs. Harwood was saying. Penelope had rejected Tobias on the night of the murder. “You heard them? You mean to say you were here?”

So, she had not been at her mother’s home for the night, as she had claimed? Hugh had sent Basil to check alibis for Tobias, Victor Messinger, and Morris Harwood, but not for Jessamin. She had left the house, the neighboring footman verified to Sir. However, apparently, she’d returned.

Mrs. Harwood’s eyes glazed with cold detachment. Instantly, Audrey knew what had unfolded.

“Once Tobias left, you confronted Penelope,” Audrey said. “She told you that Calvin was the father. He was the mysterious man Lady Susan had seen.” He had to have returned from the Continent. It was the only possible way…

“I asked why she would have kept him secret. And when she explained…when she said he was destitute…” Mrs. Harwood’s disgust pulled her lips into a sneer. “He’d already proposed. She showed me the ring. An ugly, cheap trinket.”

“You took it from her.” Audrey knew from her vision that Penelope had not been holding the ring at the time of her death—her killer had been.

“Yes,” she answered, eyes narrowing. “How did you know?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just as the value of the ring should not have mattered, not when they loved each other.”

Mrs. Harwood scoffed. “As if love matters. It fades, and it fades faster without money.” Her voice was too gentle for the hatred burning in her eyes. “The stupid girl was going to elope with him.”

Audrey could imagine the woman’s shock and fury, her unhinged despair, at learning the truth about her sister-in-law’s deception.

“You couldn’t allow her to do that,” she said. “Could you, Mrs. Harwood?”

“You don’t understand,” the woman replied, her voice cracking.

A shift in the air alerted Audrey to the peril she had unwittingly stepped into. Had Penelope felt it too, when the argument with her brother’s wife had plunged toward violence? Or had she trusted that a family member would never harm her?

Mrs. Harwood darted her hand toward the writing desk and had the penknife in her grip in the blink of an eye. The blade was short, no longer than the length of Audrey’s pinkie finger, but it was sharp. And she pointed it at Audrey.

Her heart thudded in ragged beats. “Mrs. Harwood, think about what you are doing,” Audrey urged, her throat tight as she held up one arm, palm out, while wrapping the other around her large belly.

But as she held the woman’s withdrawn and determined stare, Audrey knew that there would be no reasoning with her.

Three raps of the brass knocker slammed down on the front door. The sudden noise burst through the house, and gasping, Mrs. Harwood whipped her head in the direction of the foyer. Clutching at the woman’s momentary distraction, Audrey ran.

She would have gone to the foyer, had Mrs. Harwood and the penknife not been standing in her way. Instead, she fled toward the only other option—a door in the corner, which connected to another room. She was halfway there when Mrs. Harwood released a grating scream of frustration and came after her.

Awkwardly, Audrey hurried through what looked to be a study, reaching the exit just as Mrs. Harwood came for her from across the room. Audrey flung open the next door and slammed it behind her, hoping it would delay the crazed woman. Unluckily, the short hall in which she now stood did not lead to the front door, where more muffled strikes of the brass knocker rang out.

Straight ahead was the morning room to which Mr. Harwood had led her and Hugh two days ago. Audrey needed another exit, but she could not waste time searching for one. The only door leading outside that she knew of was in the glasshouse, which could be accessed from the morning room. She started for it, but a muscle in her abdomen twinged painfully, and she stumbled. Her hand flew out and connected with a marble table, topped with a vase. The table stopped her from falling, but the vase crashed onto the floor and shattered.