“My family stands with us. They will continue to do so, because they know who you are.” His hands tightened at her shoulders. “We will not retreat. We will meet this head-on. I have already sent for my solicitor.”
“Your solicitor?”
“To investigate. To gather evidence. To destroy these accusations at their root.” His expression turned grim. “If Lady Ashwood wishes to persist in this course, I shall make certain she regrets it.”
***
The solicitor, Mr Hartley, arrived two days later.
He was a precise man in his middle years, with steel-rimmed spectacles and an air of quiet competence that inspired confidence at once. He had served the Ashworth family for decades, Sebastian explained, and could be trusted absolutely.
“Your Grace,” he said, bowing to Sebastian, then offering Cecilia a deeper, more formal bow. “Miss Ashwood. I understand there are matters requiring investigation.”
“Lady Ashwood of Thornfield,” Sebastian said. “My fiancée’s former guardian. She has been spreading falsehoods aboutMiss Ashwood’s character throughout London society. I wish to know everything about her—every secret, every vulnerability, every piece of information that may be used to discredit her accusations.”
“I see.” Mr Hartley produced a small notebook and a pencil. “Miss Ashwood, if I may—I must ask you several questions about your time at Thornfield. The more detail you can provide, the more effectively I may proceed.”
Cecilia nodded, bracing herself for what she already knew would be an uncomfortable conversation.
“How long did you reside with the Ashwood family?”
“Five years. Since my father’s death.”
“And in what capacity did you reside there?”
“I was—” She hesitated, uncertain how to name what she had been. “I was a dependent. A poor relation, taken in after my father’s estate passed to its male heir—Sir Horace Ashwood.”
“But you were not treated as a member of the family?”
“No. I was given a small room on the upper floor. I dined with the family only when convenient—otherwise with the servants. I dressed their daughter’s hair, kept the household accounts, taught the younger children. I performed the duties of several servants—without pay.”
Mr Hartley’s pencil moved swiftly across the page. “Without pay. For five years.”
“Yes.”
“Were you ever offered wages? Or granted an allowance of any sort?”
“No. Lady Ashwood said my room and board were payment enough—that I ought to be grateful for their generosity in taking me in.”
“I see.” His expression remained composed, though something flickered behind his spectacles. “Miss Ashwood, do you know what became of your father’s estate after his death?His personal effects, investments—any provision that might have been made for your care?”
Cecilia hesitated. “I was told there was nothing. That my father’s debts had consumed everything, and that I was fortunate my uncle was willing to provide for me at all.”
“You were told this by whom?”
“By Lady Ashwood. And by the solicitor who handled my father’s affairs—though I never met him. Lady Ashwood said there was no need.”
Mr Hartley made another note. “Do you recall the solicitor’s name?”
“Grimsby. Mr Arthur Grimsby, of Grimsby and Associates.”
“I know the firm.” His tone was carefully neutral. “I shall make inquiries.”
The interview continued for nearly an hour, touching every corner of Cecilia’s life at Thornfield—the duties she performed, the restrictions she endured, the slow erosion of her status from relation to unpaid servant. By the time Mr Hartley closed his notebook, she felt drained—wrung out by the effort of laying those years bare.
“I will have preliminary findings within the week,” he said, rising. “In the meantime, I advise discretion. Do not answer the rumours, do not communicate with Lady Ashwood, and do nothing that might be twisted against you.”
“And if the investigation uncovers nothing?” Cecilia asked. “If there is no evidence of wrongdoing?”
