The Next Day…
The morning sun was muted, filtered through the high, arched windows of the Austen manor drawing room. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light, swirling in the stagnant air that smelled of old wood polish, lavender potpourri, and the quiet desperation of a family clinging to fading glory.
Ashlyn sat on a velvet sofa, her hands folded primly in her lap, but her foot tapped a nervous, erratic rhythm against the polished floorboards. She was dressed in a gown of dark blue wool, a color meant to convey seriousness and stability, a stark contrast to the crimson velvet she had worn for her failed banquet. She had arrived early, slipping out of the Thompson estate before the servants were fully awake, driven by the pressing weight of Marissa's deadline.
Twenty days. That was all she had. Twenty days before Marissa came for the debt. Twenty days before she lost everything.
She thought about the closed door of her parents' bedroom upstairs.
