“What do you propose?”
“I wish to speak with her—face to face, with this evidence before us. I will give her the opportunity to set matters right before we turn to the courts or the newspapers.”
“You would grant her a chance—after all she has done?”
“I would grant myself one,” Cecilia said quietly. “The chance to act with dignity, rather than descend to her level. For five years, I had no power. Now I do—and I intend to use it wisely. If she refuses, we shall proceed legally. But I will not begin with destruction when negotiation may suffice.”
The Dowager, who had been silent until now, gave a curt nod.
“The girl is correct. Vengeance is satisfying—but disorderly. A negotiated settlement, with restitution and formal retraction, would answer our purposes without scandal.”
“And if Lady Ashwood refuses to negotiate?” Sebastian asked.
“Then we destroy her,” the Dowager replied, calm and unflinching. “But we shall offer the alternative first. It is the civilised course.”
Sebastian looked at Cecilia for a long moment, then exhaled.
“Very well. We shall do it your way. But when you confront her, I go with you.”
“Thank you. I would not have it otherwise.”
***
They travelled to Thornfield three days later.
The journey felt almost unreal—she returned now as a guest rather than a captive, to the house that had once been her childhood refuge and, later, her prison. Cecilia gazed through the carriage window as the familiar countryside unfurled before her, recalling the girl she had once been.
She was not that girl anymore.
Sebastian helped her down from the carriage, his hand steady around hers.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“No. But I shall do it nonetheless.”
They were admitted by a servant who stared openly—astonished to see the poor relation in grey returned as a well-dressed lady on the arm of a duke. The housekeeper was summoned, then at last, unwillingly, Lady Ashwood.
She appeared in the doorway of the drawing room, her expression a mask of brittle composure.
“Cecilia. Your Grace.” The words were courteous; the tone was not. “I was unaware that you intended to visit.”
“We did not send word,” Sebastian said coolly. “We thought a surprise might prove—informative.”
“Indeed. You must forgive the state of the house. We were not prepared for callers.” Lady Ashwood moved farther into the room, positioning herself behind a chair as though it were a rampart. “To what do we owe this… honour?”
Cecilia stepped forward and drew several folded papers from her reticule.
“I know what you did,” she said quietly. “I know of the trust. Of my father’s three thousand pounds. Of the quarterlypayments you received while assuring me that I ought to be grateful for your charity.”
Lady Ashwood turned white.
“I have no notion what you mean.”
“Then allow me to clarify.” Cecilia laid the documents upon a nearby table. “Bank records. Correspondence with Mr Grimsby. A full accounting of every penny taken from my inheritance while I was employed in your household as unpaid labour.”
“Those papers— you cannot have obtained them lawfully—”
“They were obtained by the Duke of Ashworth’s solicitor in preparation for legal proceedings,” Cecilia replied, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. “Fraud, Aunt. Guardians who plunder their wards’ resources are not regarded kindly in court.”
