“Where have you two been?” His voice was icy and quiet, but every servant in the room seemed to hold their breath to listen. Even the house itself sagged like a bellows, as if every wall buckled under the effort of overhearing.

Wren stammered. “I asked Hannah to tell you—”

“Yes, indeed. Hannah told me your inane rationale,” he snapped.

“Lord Lowry,” Hal began, but Wren was in no mood for his politicking. “This was—”

“Inane?” she cut in. “He would have died!”

With one violent arc of his arm, Lowry dashed the glass he was holding against the floor. It shattered with a high, ringing sound. Glass shards skittered across the floor. Wine spattered Wren’s skirts. The silence that followed was broken only by her shaky exhale when she remembered how to relax her diaphragm. She did not recognize this man. There was nothing of the nervous, gracious host she had first met. Nothing of his easy charm or sugary promises.

There was no more pretense. He was a stranger, and he terrified her.

“I was … beside myself.” Lowry’s voice was quiet. “You didn’t tell me where you were going, and I didn’t know what to do.”

Wren tore her eyes away from his distressed face. At her feet, the wine stain spread across the floor like a pool of blood.

“Look at me. What a fool I am, already in mourning for you both. And worst of all, I’ve wasted a perfectly good vintage.” He glanced, dismayed, at the glittering mess of wine and broken glass. He placed a foot over the intact stem. It split in twain with the same neat pop of a tearing ligament. “I quite liked that one. It was the last bottle I had. Alas.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Wren said placatingly.

“Worrying me?” He rounded on her again. “You nearly killed me with fright. I feared the storm had taken you. What would I have told my guests? Or your aunt for that matter? I need you, Ms. Southerland. Do you understand?”

“No,” she said shakily. “I don’t. I’ve already done what you’ve asked of me.”

“Not yet,” he said, almost to himself.

Then he noticed Hal bristling beside her. Lowry’s emotions cycled too quickly for her to process them, but he settled on excitement. He clapped Hal on the shoulder. “Would you believe it? Henry, you’re alive and well. I’m positively thrilled.”

It made Wren’s skin crawl to hear such a blatant lie. You did this to him, she wanted to scream. So why did you send for me? Countless servants were dead. Their comrades were gone. But she and Hal were still here, still alive. For what dubious honor? For what scheme?

“I am,” Hal said tersely. “By the grace of Wren Southerland.”