Lucy's POV
I watched with barely disguised disgust as Mary Simpson paced back and forth in her expensive heels on the perfectly manicured gravel driveway of Murphy Estate, hurling accusations at the door that refused to open for her.
"How dare they? I am William's daughter!"
The carefully selected gifts now lay scattered across the ground where she'd thrown them in her rage. Such waste. Such stupidity.
Mary had never truly understood her position. Yes, she was born a Murphy, but she had married into the Simpson family. Murphy wealth had elevated George from a nobody to someone of consequence. William and Phillip had given him connections, and this was how Mary repaid that generosity— burning bridges when she needed them most.
I maintained my concerned, loyal expression as I bent down to pick up the gifts. My dress might get dirty from the gravel, but appearances mattered more than clothing right now.
