If you are willing—only if you are willing—we would like the chance to explain. Not to excuse our behavior but to give you the entire truth about your sister’s fate.
We have already lost one daughter to our cold hearts. We pray we have not lost another.
With all our love and deepest regret, Mother and Father
Sybil read the letter twice, searching for hidden meanings or manipulations. But the words seemed genuine, painful in their simplicity.
Things I don’t know. What things?
“Well?” Hugo’s voice seemed to come from very far away.
“They want to meet. To explain what really happened to Emmie.” She folded the letter with careful precision. “Apparently, there are details I’m unaware of.”
Details that might change everything. Or nothing.
“And?”
“And I’m going to see them.” The decision surprised her with its clarity. “Tomorrow afternoon if they’re available.”
Hugo’s expression shifted, protective instincts clearly warring with respect for her autonomy. “Are you certain that’s wise?”
Wise? Probably not. But necessary.
“Wisdom hasn’t served me particularly well lately,” she said with a wry smile. “Perhaps it’s time to try something else.”
Perhaps it’s time to try courage instead of caution.
The Keats townhouse looked exactly as Sybil remembered—imposing Georgian facade, perfectly manicured front garden, the sort of understated elegance that proclaimed their ancient roots and older respectability.
Home. Once upon a time, this was home.
Standing on the familiar front steps, she felt like a stranger. Eight years had changed her in ways that went far deeper than appearance though she suspected her parents would barely recognize the confident woman she’d become.
Confident. If only they knew how terrified I am right now.
The butler who answered her knock was new—younger than Matthews, who’d served the family for decades. Another small change in a world she’d thought was immutable.
“Your Grace,” the young man said with perfect deference. “His Lordship and Her Ladyship are expecting you in the morning room.”
Your Grace. Not Miss Sybil, not the Earl’s daughter. I’m someone else now, someone they have to treat with respect.
The morning room was flooded with afternoon sunlight, exactly as she remembered. But her parents, rising from their chairs as she entered, looked older than she’d expected. Grayer, more fragile, as though the weight of their choices had aged them prematurely.
“Sybil.” Her mother’s voice broke slightly on the name. “Thank you for coming.”
Mother. Still beautiful, still elegant, but there are lines around her eyes that weren’t there before.
“Your letter mentioned explanations,” Sybil said without preamble, taking the chair across from them. “I’m here to listen.”
Her father cleared his throat, his hands trembling slightly as he poured tea from the service between them.
“As you wish.” He cleared his throat, taking a few minutes before speaking. And when he did, his eyes looked lost to memories she was not privy to. “After Emmeline left our house,” he began, his voice carefully controlled, “I did something I’ve regretted every day since.”
Something he’s regretted. What could be worse than throwing out a pregnant daughter?
“I challenged Lord Hartwell to a duel.”
A duel. Father challenged Emmie’s seducer to a duel?
