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“You wretched, wonderful man,” she whispered through tears as she clung to him again. Brendan had no notion what she was scolding him for, but he understood the depth of her relief and accepted it in silence.

Halmesbury followed more slowly, clapping him on the shoulder with a solemn nod. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, he gave another firm clap to Brendan’s back, twice, and simply stood beside him.

Then Briggs appeared on the threshold.

Brendan disentangled himself gently from the embrace and turned toward the runner, motioning to him before glancing back once more to ensure Lily remained surrounded by those who loved her.

She was safe.

He descended the stairs, leading Briggs to the library, where Richard and the duke had already gathered. The door clicked softly shut behind him.

Only then did he notice he was not alone.

Lily’s brother stood just behind him.

“I need to help,” Lily’s brother said quietly, his voice steady with purpose.

“What of Lord Moreland?” Brendan asked.

“My father preferred to remain upstairs with Lily. He asked that I gather the details and report back.”

Brendan studied him for a moment, then nodded and stepped aside, allowing him to enter.

Chapter

Seventeen

“For it is precisely when a force has fallen in danger that it is able to strike a blow for victory.”

Sun Tzu, L’Art de la Guerre (The Art of War)

“Where did you acquire the rifle?” Briggs asked, poised over his notebook, a stub of pencil balanced between calloused fingers.

Michaels sniffed with open disdain. “From the study. There is a collection of flintlock rifles mounted upon the wall, which I believe you have observed.”

Briggs continued his notes without responding to the subtle rebuke.

“Those rifles are decades old. How did you know they would prove serviceable?”

The butler’s irritation was no longer veiled. “I am responsible for their upkeep. As you are aware, my father served as gamekeeper at Baydon Hall. I was taught the proper care of such weapons from the time I could walk.”

Briggs’s pencil scratched faintly. “And yet, you had fresh powder at the ready? It would not have been advisable to fire a musket with powder that had sat undisturbed for thirty years.”

Michaels’s gaze turned stony. “I requisitioned a modest quantity through the household accounts shortly after Lord Filminster’s death.”

Briggs paused. “Why?”

“Because I concluded that someone within the household must have aided the killer … or perhaps was the killer. I deemed it my duty to safeguard this house, and those within it.”

“Did you suspect Wesley?”

Michaels sat straighter, his expression glacial. “Indeed. And while I understand you chose to investigate me, despite over three decades of loyal service, I could not help but notice that Wesley’s account of his return from Yorkshire did not align with the mail coach timetables. It seemed entirely possible that he reached London the very evening of the murder.” He gestured toward the room, the events of the morning implicit in his sweeping motion. “And so, I prepared.”

Brendan grimaced. “I regret that you must endure this questioning, Michaels. Please know that we are indebted to you for your swift and courageous action.”

The butler drew in a slow breath and gave a brief, dignified nod. “I was raised alongside Master Josiah. The notion that I could ever have harmed him—” His voice caught. He shook his head, and Brendan saw past the stern veneer of the man who had served him faithfully for nearly seven years.

Michaels had known the late baron as a boy at Baydon Hall, and it was evident he still thought of him that way. His gruffness had always masked a deep loyalty to the memory of the boy he had grown up with.