The house felt like a prison. I stood by the window, peering through the gap in the heavy velvet curtains at the crowd gathered outside. Their faces were twisted with curiosity and judgment—vultures waiting to feast on my downfall.
I let the curtain fall back into place, blocking out their prying eyes. My hands trembled as I stepped away from the window.
"They're still there," I whispered to myself, wrapping my arms around my body. "Why won't they leave?"
Three days had passed since I'd last ventured outside. Three days since the news had spread through Lockwood that I was no longer Lady Clara Beaumont, just Clara—a disgraced woman whose title had been stripped away like old clothing.
The guilt gnawed at me, sharp and relentless. Mother had gone to court alone. I should have been there. I should have stood beside her, shown solidarity instead of cowering here like a frightened child. What kind of daughter was I?
