The sharp knock on my door came far too early in the morning. I'd barely slept, my mother's letter still clutched in my hand, the shocking revelations about my parentage swimming through my troubled mind. For a brief, hopeful moment, I thought perhaps Isabella had reconsidered—that she'd come to explain herself, to make things right.
I smoothed my rumpled dress and tried to compose my features before opening the door.
"Master Marcus Wilkerson," I said, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears. "Have you come with more devastating news?"
His stern face betrayed nothing as he handed me another official-looking envelope. "A formal invitation to your mother's judgment day, Lady Clara. Though I suppose it's just Miss Beaumont now."
The correction stung, but I accepted the envelope with trembling fingers. "I don't understand. I thought she was already sentenced."
