"Why did you change the doctor, Mama?" Anne asked, her voice sharp with suspicion as she entered her father’s dimly lit bedchamber. A new, unfamiliar doctor was packing his dical bag, having just finished his examination of the still, silent Baron Henry.
"All done, Baroness," the new doctor said, turning to Augusta with a respectful bow. He looked down at the comatose man in the bed. "There is still no sign of recovery, I am afraid."
Augusta nodded, her face a perfect mask of sorrowful acceptance. The doctor, seeing his work was done, quietly left the room. Augusta then turned to her daughter.
"I was suspicious of sothing, my dear," Augusta explained, her voice a low, confidential whisper. "The old doctor seed too... complacent. I wanted a second opinion, just to be sure we were doing everything we possibly could for your father. I had another, more renowned doctor co in to confirm my suspicions, but I suppose I was just overthinking things. His diagnosis was the sa."
Anne nodded, accepting her mother’s plausible, and entirely false, explanation.
"Anne," Augusta said, her tone shifting. "I am going to be very busy for a while so you won’t be seeing at ho more often and I will be coming ho late."
"Why?" Anne asked.
"I am running the Ellington Textile Establishnt in your father’s place now," Augusta replied, a hint of triumphant pride in her voice. She reached out and patted Anne’s hand. "And you will help , won’t you, my sunshine?"
Anne’s eyes, which had been dull and listless for days, suddenly lit up with a new, ambitious fire. "Then can I run the other part of the business with you, Mama?" she asked, her voice now full of a new, eager energy. "The fashion and design departnt?"
Augusta looked at her, surprised. "What?"
"That was always the plan, anyway," Anne continued, her words tumbling out in a rush of newfound purpose. "I know I can do a good job. And when Father sees how well I am doing later, when he wakes up, I will finally make him realize that I am capable. That I am worthy of his praise and he won’t hesitate to give it all to ." She looked at her mother, her expression a desperate plea. "I will do a good job, Mama. Please."
Augusta smiled, a genuine, proud expression finally replacing the fake, practiced ones. She saw her own ambition, her own ruthless drive, reflected in her daughter’s eyes. She hugged her tightly. "When did my dear daughter beco so very mature?" she said, her voice full of a real, fierce love.
Anne hugged her back. "Mama," she asked, her voice now a little muffled, "you will make that happen for , right?"
"Of course, Anne," Augusta replied, her voice a firm promise. "Of course. No one can look down on us now. From this day on, everyone will have to look up to us."
Anne smiled hearing her mother’s words. " Yes," she thought to herself. "Everyone will have to look up to us. To . And Delia will forever be beneath ."
~ ••••• ~
The carriage wheels crunched over the gravel of the dark country road. The only light ca from a single, swaying lantern hooked to the driver’s seat, casting long, dancing shadows across the two n sitting opposite each other. The carriage slowed, the rhythmic clatter of the horse’s hooves softening as it ca to a stop in the shade of a large oak tree. It was a short distance from the Ellington manor. In the distance, a few warm lights glowed from the windows of the grand Ellington manor.
Prescott stared out the small window, his face unreadable in the dim light. He could see the silhouette of the large house against the night sky. He looked away and closed the curtain.
Aiden, the Duke’s trusted aide, sat across from him. The interior of the carriage was dark, the curtains drawn, creating a space of complete and utter privacy.
"My master, His Grace, wanted to be sure," Aiden began, his voice a low, professional monotone, "that you are working with him one hundred percent. He needs to know that your loyalty is absolute."
Prescott, his own face a mask of calm professionalism, simply nodded his head.
"Good," Aiden continued. "His Grace also said that he agrees with your suggestion. From now on, we will only use written letters for communication, rather than you visiting him at his residence. It is the best way to avoid arousing any suspicion from the Baroness."
Prescott nodded again, his gaze then falling on a heavy, little pouch made of dark leather that was sitting on the seat beside Aiden. "What is that?" he asked.
"Open it," Aiden replied.
Prescott took the pouch. It was surprisingly heavy. He untied the leather cord and opened it. Inside, a hoard of gold coins glittered in the dim light of the carriage.
"His Grace wants you to find Baroness Augusta’s greatest weakness," Aiden said, his voice now a quiet, serious command. "He is willing to provide as much funds as you need to accomplish this task. This is just the beginning."
Prescott closed the pouch, the soft clink of the gold coins a satisfying sound in the silent carriage. A slow, rare smile touched his own lips. "Noted," he replied, then looked at Aiden. "And my reports?" He asked. "Where do I send the letters?"
"There is a small post office in the village of Stonebridge, two towns over from here," Aiden explained. "Rent a post box there under a false na. Send your letters to a second box, number seventy-two. Address them to a Mr. Smith. We will check it regularly. In your letters, tell us of your progress. If you need more funds, state the amount you need. The money will be left for you in the sa post box you use to send the letters."
Prescott nodded, absorbing the details. He looked down at the pouch again, then back at Aiden. "And what is the tiline? How soon does he expect results?"
"He is a patient man, but he does not like to have his ti wasted," Aiden said. "He expects regular updates. He wants to know that you are making progress, even if it is slow. He wants to see that his investnt in you is a good one."
The carriage was silent again. The only sound was the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze outside. Prescott tightened his grip on the pouch of gold. "I understand," he said, his voice firm.
Then, he stepped out of the carriage and lted into the darkness of the trees. The door was closed, and he was left alone in the shadows.
The carriage began to move, lurching forward as it pulled back onto the road, heading away from the Ellington manor.
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