She saw my expression and set down the shears.

“What has happened?”

“I need to ask you about Daria.”

The color drained from her face.

For several seconds, she seemed unable to move.

Then she sat on the nearest bench.

“Who told you?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.” She folded her hands. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

“Your sister worked here.”

“Yes.”

“She left suddenly.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Mrs. Bellini stared at the glass ceiling above us. Rainwater ran down the panes in silver trails.

“She made a mistake.”

“What kind?”

“A serious one.”

“That tells me nothing.”

“It tells you enough to understand why I kept quiet.”

I took the bench opposite her.

“Did she steal from my family?”

“She was accused of stealing.”

“Was she guilty?”

Mrs. Bellini closed her eyes.

“I don’t know.”

The answer surprised me.

“You don’t know?”

“Daria worked in the west wing. She helped your mother with personal correspondence. One day, a sealed envelope disappeared from the desk.”

“What was inside?”

“I was never told.”

“And Daria?”

“She vanished before anyone could question her.”

“Vanished?”

“She left a note saying she was afraid. Your father sent people to find her, but she had already gone. After that, your mother refused to speak of her.”

“What does Vivien have to do with this?”

Mrs. Bellini looked at me sharply.

“That woman asked about Daria.”

“When?”

“Several weeks ago. She wanted to know where Daria had lived before coming here. She asked whether Daria had a daughter.”

A pulse began beating at my temple.

“Did Daria have a daughter?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mrs. Bellini.”

“I truly don’t know. Daria never spoke about her family. She was private.”

“Why would Vivien search for her?”

The housekeeper’s gaze lowered.

“Perhaps you should ask Vivien.”

“That is what I intend to do. But first, tell me everything you remember.”

She was silent for so long that I thought she might refuse.

Then she said, “Daria was not a thief.”

The conviction in her voice was unmistakable.

“She made mistakes, yes. She could be secretive. But she did not steal.”

“What happened to the envelope?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if it contained something valuable?”

“Then perhaps the value was not money.”

Her words echoed through me.

I thought of the receipt. The birth record. The sealed legal file. The message my mother had written.

Ask why Daria never came home.

“Did my mother know where Daria went?”

Mrs. Bellini looked toward the rain-streaked glass.

“Your mother knew more than she told anyone.”

“Why?”

“Because she believed silence protected you.”

“From what?”

Before she could answer, footsteps sounded outside the conservatory.

Vivien entered carrying a white umbrella.

Her eyes moved from me to Mrs. Bellini, then to the shears resting on the bench.

For the first time since I had known her, her expression revealed nothing at all.

“Lorenzo,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

I stood.

“Have you?”

She smiled, but the warmth did not reach her eyes.

“I wanted to discuss the wedding arrangements.”

“Of course.”

Mrs. Bellini rose quietly.

Vivien watched her leave, then closed the conservatory door.

“What is this about?” she asked.

“Daria Bellini.”

The change in her face was subtle, but I saw it.

A brief tightening around the mouth. A flicker of recognition. Then composure.

“I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“Your private investigator searched for her.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“You purchased a birth record and a sealed legal file from the city archive.”

Her lips parted slightly.

“Lorenzo—”

“Do not lie to me.”

The words came out sharper than I intended.

Vivien looked wounded, but she did not retreat.

“Then ask me what you really want to know.”

“Who is Daria?”

“I told you, I don’t know her.”

“Why were you asking about her daughter?”

She went still.

That was answer enough.

I stepped closer, though I kept my voice calm.

“Who is she?”

Vivien looked past me toward the rain.

When she spoke, the confidence had left her voice.

“I didn’t come here to hurt anyone.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“No.” She folded her arms as if holding herself together. “You asked who Daria’s daughter is.”

“Who?”

Vivien’s eyes returned to mine.

Then she said the one thing I had not been prepared to hear.

“Elena.”