Chapter Eighteen
The rumours reached Ashworth on the seventh day.
Cecilia was in the morning room, writing letters—correspondence that still felt strange, as though she were borrowing a life that did not yet belong to her—when Sebastian appeared in the doorway, his expression thunderous.
“What is it?” she asked, setting down her pen.
He crossed the room and held out a letter. “This came from London. From Lord Jones—an old friend of my father’s, and a man whose opinion carries regrettable influence.”
Cecilia took the letter and read, her stomach sinking with every line.
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