CHAPTER 61: CHAPTER SIXTY ONE

Beatrice, who had been bracing for a terrible, unresolvable conflict, was the first to speak. Her voice was a shaky, relieved whisper. "Suicide? She... she took her own life? What exactly happened, child? Tell me."

Nora, seeing the new path she had so brilliantly provided, clung to it as a drowning man clings to a rope. She pressed her face to the floor, her shoulders shaking with practiced, believable sobs. "That day," she wept, "I went to the dark room, just as you ordered, Dowager. I was bringing her the water and bread you mercifully provided."

She paused, as if gathering the strength to recount the horror. "It... it was so dark. I... I saw her. She had... she had smashed the water jar you sent. She was on the floor... she had used a sharp, broken piece... I tried to save her, I truly did! I tried to stop the bleeding, but it was too late."

This part, at least, was a masterful lie, twisting the real, broken jar into a tool of self-destruction.

"Before she died," Nora continued, her voice dropping to a tragic whisper, "she... she said it was all Her Grace’s fault. She said the Grand Duchess had ruined her, taken her power, her honor, her whole life... and that she couldn’t live with the shame of it."

She looked up, her eyes wide and overflowing with tears, a perfect picture of a woman traumatized by what she had witnessed. "So I... I just... I lost my mind. I was so angry. Miss Lorena had been kind to me. And I saw Her Grace’s earring on the floor, the one she lost... and I... I took it. I... I wanted... I wanted justice for Miss Lorena! I wanted the Duchess to feel the same pain, to be accused, to suffer just like Miss Lorena had!"

She bowed her head again, her confession complete. "All of this... the torn cloth, the accusation... it was all my doing. My doing alone. I was just so angry."

It was a brilliant, flawless lie. It explained Lorena’s death. It provided a motive for Nora’s framing of Marissa. And most importantly, it sealed the entire investigation, leaving no loose ends, and completely removing Ashlyn from the narrative.

Marissa stared, her mind cold and sharp. She looked at Ashlyn, who was standing by Carlos, her hand to her chest, her face a look of horrified shock, as if she were hearing this for the very first time.

What a performance, Marissa thought, a flicker of cold, grudging respect for her sister’s ruthlessness. She has closed every door.

Beatrice let out a long, ragged sigh. It was a sound of weary relief. This was an ending. A tragic, ugly ending, but an ending nonetheless.

But Derek was not satisfied. He had remained by the fireplace, a silent, menacing shadow, his expression unreadable. The slow, rhythmic sound of the cloth on his sword had never stopped. Now, it did.

He dropped the sword, the heavy blade clattering loudly into the metal stand beside his chair. The sound made everyone jump.

"A very moving story, Nora," he said, his voice a low, cold growl. He did not look at her. He looked at a small, ornate box on the table beside him, one the guards had placed there earlier. "My men were very thorough when they searched your room last night, after they found you."

He picked up the box. It was a beautiful, lacquer-and-pearl case, far too expensive for any servant.

"This box of jewelry was found hidden under the mattress of your cot," he said, his voice flat, his eyes still on the box. "It’s quite valuable for a simple maid who just wanted ’justice’. Who gave it to you?"

Nora froze. Her blood, which had been warming with the relief of her successful lie, turned to ice. Her eyes, wide with a fresh, new panic, darted instinctively to Ashlyn. It was a look that lasted only a second, but it was a look of terror, a look that screamed "Help me."

Marissa, who had been watching Ashlyn, saw the look. She saw the way Ashlyn’s face went completely, utterly white.

Marissa stepped forward, her voice calm and curious. "This box..." she said. "It looks very familiar." She walked to Derek and took the box from his hand, her gaze never once leaving her sister’s pale, frozen face. "This carving... the mother-of-pearl inlay... it’s from my sister’s dowry."

She walked slowly across the room, each step a hammer blow in the silent room. She stopped in front of Ashlyn, holding out the box like a death sentence.

"Your mother, Lady Anita, gave you this as part of your wedding gift, didn’t she, Ashlyn?"

All the air, all the relief, all the cunning, seemed to vanish from Ashlyn’s body. Every eye in the room—Beatrice’s, shocked and confused; Carlos’s, his face a mask of sick suspicion; and Derek’s, cold, knowing, and utterly merciless—was on her. She was trapped.

A direct lie, claiming it wasn’t hers, was impossible. It was too easily disproven.

She did the only thing she could. The thing she did best.

She collapsed.

Her legs seemed to give way, and she sank to the floor in a heap of fine silk, her body wracked with sudden, violent sobs. "I... I admit my mistake!" she cried, her voice a perfect, heartbreaking wail of confession. "Yes! The jewelry box is mine! I... I gave it to Nora a few days ago!"

Carlos, his face pale, stared at his weeping wife. "Ashlyn," he breathed, his voice full of a pained confusion. "Why? Why would you do this?"

"Because I pitied her!" Ashlyn sobbed, her words a torrent of calculated, emotional honesty. "Since I first entered this estate... Miss Lorena, I know she... she committed terrible crimes... but she was always so kind to me! She showed me so much care! When she was... when she was stripped of everything... her title, her dignity... and thrown into that terrible, cold, dark room... I... I just felt such pity!"

She cried, her performance so convincing that even Beatrice’s hard expression began to soften. "I couldn’t bear to think of her suffering! So I... I gave some of my jewelry to Nora... I asked her to secretly help Miss Lorena... to bribe the guards for food, for a blanket, just to make her days in the dark room is more comfortable!"

She looked up, her face filled with naive innocence. "It was a foolish, sentimental mistake! I know I shouldn’t have! But I didn’t know she would... she would take her own life! And I never knew Nora would take my act of kindness and twist it into this... this wicked, terrible plot to frame my sister! I just wanted to help!"

She had provided a new, "innocent" reason for her connection to Nora.

Nora, who had been kneeling, frozen in terror, saw the new path Ashlyn had just carved for her.

"Yes!" Nora immediately cried out, her voice filled with a desperate, corroborating relief. "Yes, that’s what happened! The Second Lady is a kind, gentle soul! She just wanted to help Miss Lorena! She knew nothing of my plan! I... I just... I took the jewelry for myself after... after Miss Lorena died... I... I was just going to keep it... Lady Ashlyn knew nothing! She is innocent!"

The story was complete. It was plausible. It was emotional. And it left no one to truly blame but the dead woman and the hysterical, "grief-stricken" maid.

Beatrice let out a long, heavy sigh. She wanted this to be over. This was an answer she could accept.

But Derek was not moved by tears or "kind hearts." He was the Duke. And his direct orders had been disobeyed.

His voice, when he spoke, was as cold and sharp as the sword he had been cleaning. "I said this before," he said, his gaze fixed on Ashlyn’s kneeling form. "When I had Lorena confined, my order was clear: No one is allowed near her. Did you take my words as wind in your ears?"

Ashlyn flinched, her sobs catching in her throat. She bowed her head, her shoulders shaking, the very picture of a chastised child. "Please, Your Grace... forgive me," she whispered. "My only mistake was feeling sympathy. It was a woman’s foolish, soft heart. I was wrong. I’m so sorry. I... I will accept any punishment."

This was Carlos’s cue. He had been standing by, an expression of pained confusion on his face, watching his wife be humiliated. He had to act. He stepped forward, his expression grave, and grabbed Ashlyn’s arm, helping her to her feet. He positioned himself between her and his brother, a protective, husbandly shield.

"Ashlyn does have faults, brother," he said, his voice firm and respectful. "She was foolish. Her sympathy made her defy your order. But her heart was in the right place." He bowed his head to Derek. "If my elder brother is displeased, and a punishment is required, then I am willing to take it for my wife. Please, do not blame her."