Lady Ashwood’s composure cracked.
“I did nothing wrong. That money was used for your support—your lodging, your food, your clothing—”
“My servant’s room? My meals taken below stairs? My grey gowns, all purchased second-hand?” Cecilia gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Three thousand pounds over five years is six hundred a year. Do you truly expect anyone to believe such a sum was spent upon me?”
“I provided for you. I took you in when you had nothing—”
“You took me in because you wanted free labour and access to my inheritance. You exploited a grieving girl. You stole her future and made her thankful for scraps.”
Lady Ashwood’s expression shifted to naked desperation.
“What do you want?” she whispered. “Money? I can arrange repayment—given time—”
“I want three things.” Cecilia raised one finger. “First: full repayment of the three thousand pounds, with interest. The solicitor will provide the precise figure.”
“I cannot command so large a sum—”
“Then you will sell something. The estate has assets.” She raised a second finger. “Second: a written retraction of every falsehood you have uttered about me. You will write to each correspondent—Lord Jones among them—and acknowledge that your accusations were false and born of spite.”
Lady Ashwood’s mouth tightened. “You would have me humiliate myself—”
“I would have you speak truth—for the first time in years.” Cecilia lifted a third finger. “Third: you will never speak of me again. No gossip, no insinuation, no whispered speculation. I shall be as invisible to you as you tried to make me for five years.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then we proceed to law.” Sebastian spoke for the first time, his voice cold and precise. “The full weight of Ashworth’s resources brought to bear against you and Mr Grimsby. Criminal charges for fraud. Civil suits for damages. A very public trial in which every detail of your treatment of Miss Ashwood will be laid before the court—and the world.”
“You cannot mean to carry matters to such an extremity—”
“I would relish it.” Sebastian’s smile was thin and dangerous. “But my betrothed is more merciful than I. She offers you an opportunity to preserve what remains of your dignity. I advise you to seize it.”
Silence followed—long, heavy, suffocating. Lady Ashwood looked from Cecilia’s composed expression to Sebastian’s unyielding one, and something in her seemed to fracture. Realisation, at last.
“Very well,” she whispered. “I accept your terms.”
“Excellent.” Cecilia gathered the papers with steady hands. “The solicitor will arrange the repayment schedule. The retractions must be sent within the week. And Lady Ashwood—”
The older woman lifted her gaze; her face looked years older.
“I pity you,” Cecilia said softly. “For five years, I feared you—believed you held power over me. But you have none. You never did. You are only a bitter woman who could not bear to see anyone rise where you could not. I hope, someday, you discover what it is you lack—what emptiness you have tried to fill by making others small.”
She turned and left the room—left the house—left the life that had tried to diminish her.
Sebastian joined her on the steps, offering his arm with quiet reverence.
“That was magnificent,” he said.
“That was terrifying.” She released a breath she had not realised she was holding. “But it is done. At last, it is done.”
“How do you feel?”
She considered the question as they crossed the gravel toward the waiting carriage.
“Free,” she said at last. “I feel free.”
***
They returned to Ashworth Hall that evening, weary but lighter in spirit.
