“Mother and, um, Uncle Basil . . .” Camille wasn’t sure what to say or rather what not to say. Even now, this wasn’t her secret to tell. “Well, they wish to speak to you.”

Delilah peered around her to look into the dining room. “I see Beryl and her husband are there as well.” She straightened and met Camille’s gaze. “This is significant then, isn’t it?”

Camille nodded. “Very.”

“I did wonder . . . The moment I saw Uncle Basil, I suspected . . .” The younger woman sighed. “It’s past time I suppose.”

Camille stared at her sister. “What’s past time?”

“Oh.” Delilah hesitated then shook her head. “Nothing, nothing at all.”

Camille studied her closely. “You know, don’t you?” She glanced at the gathering in the dining room then looked back at her sister. “About Fat—”

“I don’t know anything,” Delilah said quickly. “I have always thought there were things about Mother’s life she did not wish to share. Things that might be too painful or too personal. If at some point she wishes me to know those things then she will tell me. As she hasn’t, I know nothing.”

“Then you do know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She sidestepped her sister and moved toward the dining room, paused and glanced back. “But when one spends a great deal of time locked in the attic one does tend to read anything one finds.” She nodded and stepped into the dining room.

Camille stared after her. Who would have imagined that all three sisters knew their parents’ secrets yet no one said a word for fear of upsetting someone else.

Fortesque cleared his throat. “Lady Lydingham?”

She’d almost forgotten he was there. “What is it now?”

“You’re needed in the attic.”

“The attic?” She drew her brows together. “Why?”

“I couldn’t say, my lady,” he said in a lofty manner.

She narrowed her gaze. “Couldn’t or won’t?”

“I have my instructions, my lady,” he said in a no-nonsense manner. “I am to escort you.”

“Are you?” What on earth was this about? The last time she was in the attic . . . She studied him for a long moment. His expression was as impassive as Clement’s would have been. The man really played the role of butler quite well. “Then we shall go to the attic.”

Fortesque didn’t say a word on the way up the flights of stairs. When they reached the foot of the attic stairs, he picked up a small silver tray with a single piece of chocolate on it and presented it to her with a flourish. “Chocolate, my lady.”

She raised a brow. “Swiss?”

“Of course.” He sniffed. “You are to enjoy that, and I shall return in a moment.”

“Very well.” She took the chocolate and popped it into her mouth. It was rich and sweet, but wasted on her at the moment. Anticipation sped up her heart.