Suspect Number One

Several days went by. The bassinet came. It had been hand-forged from rosewood, velvet-lined, and ominously pricey-looking. It occupied the corner of my bedroom like a monarch's writ, reminding me that I was still at considerable risk of dying in it.

So of course, I figured it was time to begin crossing names off The List.

The first name?

Marla.

The head maid.

In the book—at least the meager chapters I was able to suffer through—Lady Alexandra's staff wasn't fond of her. Which was understandable, given Book-Alexandra was a chilly, self-absorbed snob with a shoe-throwing issue.

But the real me didn't feel that way. I was a decent human being. I was even willing to fake being a good duchess, if it meant keeping my blood within the confines of my body.

So I summoned Marla.

She came in quickly, uniform sparkling, hair tied back into a tight, bullet-hurling bun. She wore a mask of calm, but her gaze went to my belly with undisguised distaste.

Strike one.

"Lady Alexandra," she replied, curtsying. "You summoned me?"

"Yes, I did," I replied with sugary sweetness. "I wanted to have a word with you… alone."

She blinked. She came closer.

I dropped my voice.

"I wanted to ask," I said, trying to look innocent, "if you've seen anything unusual lately. Anyone suspicious lurking around my quarters, say?"

Marla blinked again. Her jaw clenched. "Suspicious, my lady?"

"Yes. I've been… feeling anxious."

"You've always felt anxious, my lady."

Strike two.

I laughed. Breezily. Like a woman who had not just thought about drawing a knife.

"Maybe," I said. "But pregnancy makes one paranoid. Humor me."

Marla's lips pressed together. Then—casually—she said, "Well, the kitchen maid Ruth left early yesterday. Said she was feeling ill. But she had no fever. I'll speak to her."

Hmm.

That didn't match anything in the book, but maybe this world was rewriting itself. Or maybe Ruth was getting too close to something she shouldn't have. Either way—

"Thank you," I replied, folding my hands in a ladylike duchess's gesture. "You've been so faithful, Marla. Thank you for your attention."

She stiffened.

Then—slowly—curtsied once more.

"My lady," she whispered. "It's my duty."

As she exited, I followed her with narrowed eyes.

She hadn't inquired about my health.

She never acknowledged the baby.

But worst of all?

She abandoned the tea tray.

And I told her specifically not to.

I stared at the steaming teacup like it was a tiny, fragrant landmine.

It sat there on the silver tray. Perfect. Innocent. Smelling faintly of lavender and lemon balm.

But Rona's voice echoed in my head:

Never drink the tea they serve you in your ninth month. If you feel strangely tired after sipping anything—scream.

Was this it?

Was this my assassination attempt?

I gazed at it for another moment. Then picked up a silver hairpin off the vanity, dipped it very slightly into the tea, and waited.

Nothing happened.

Then I dipped it again.

Nothing.

"…Smart," I said to myself. "It's a slow poison, isn't it?"

I turned to the bellrope, but caught myself.

I couldn't accuse Marla without evidence.

No… I needed a witness.

I needed someone who would take me seriously.

And regretfully, the list of individuals who gave a whit if I lived or not was—

…just one person long.

I let out a sigh.

"Call for the duke," I instructed the closest maid. "Tell him I think somebody is attempting to poison me."

She gasped, spilled a tray, and ran in a whirl of skirts.

I glared at the tea once more and said, under my breath, "If I make it through this, I'm making decaf compulsory for all villainesses everywhere."