Chapter 2

My head goes blank. Like someone struck a bell inside my skull.

"Leave?" I repeat the word like I'm chewing gravel. "Where?"

"Away from here." Grace's eyes burn in the dark. "Somewhere they can't reach us."

I stare at her. I cannot connect this woman — jaw set, eyes like flint — with the one who smiled her way through that feast just hours ago.

"Why?" My voice comes out dry, cracked.

"Don't ask why." Her tone shuts the door on the question. "This family has been rotten to the core for years. Today isn't the first time, and it won't be the last. How long are you planning to wait? Until Agnes gives him an heir and they move you to some back room to rot?"

Her words hit like a spike driven straight through my chest.

I flinch.

She's right. What am I still hoping for? William's guilt? Richard's kindness?

Grace lets go of my wrist and walks to my dressing table. She pulls open the drawer.

She sweeps every brooch, earring, and bracelet into a cloth bundle she's already prepared. Her hands move fast, not a second of hesitation.

"Stop standing there." She looks back at me. "Your dowry deed. Where is it? Everything valuable — land titles, shop leases, coin. Take it all. Leave nothing."

I snap awake. I rush to the bed, press a hidden panel in the headboard, and pull out a small oak box.

My dowry deed. My mother put it in my hands the day I married. Every item, listed in her careful handwriting.

Grace takes the box, opens it, scans the contents, and pulls out several sheets with the precision of a woman who knows exactly what she's looking for.

"The townhouse on South Street. The textile shop on West Lane." She nods. "Good. These bring in rent." She tucks the deeds inside her bodice.

"The rest?" she asks.

"Locked in the main storeroom."

"Foolish girl." She mutters it under her breath, but there's no venom in it. "You should never keep your things in a shared space. Never mind. Too late for that now."

She hands me the bundle of jewelry. "Go. Pack clothes — nothing fancy, pick things that are sturdy and won't show dirt. And any ornaments, silverware, anything you can sell."

She pulls out a ring of keys from her own cloak.

Her ring is twice the size of mine. Far more complex.

"Mother, what are those?"

"The household keys." Her voice is flat. "I've managed this estate for twenty years. I know every shilling in this house better than Richard does. He runs his wars. I run the money. Tonight, I'm taking it all with me."

I stop breathing.

I thought Grace just wanted to get us out. Away from the hurt.

I didn't realize she was planning to strip Ashworth Manor to the bone.

"They'll find out." My voice shakes.

"Find out?" Grace lets out a cold laugh. "By the time they find out, we'll be a hundred miles away. I've spent twenty years building loyalty among every servant, every tradesman, every contact worth having. Richard thinks commanding soldiers makes him powerful. I'm about to teach him that running a household is harder than running an army."

She presses one of the keys into my palm. "This one opens the outer storeroom. His war spoils are in there — the gold, the silver — take it. The east wing has a hidden room full of Flemish tapestries and silver plate the family's been hoarding for generations — take it. Under the west stables, there's a cellar I spent three years digging in secret. That's where the real money is. Not the kind that shows up in the ledgers. Take it."

I hold the cold key. My palm is slick with sweat.

This is enormous. This is ripping Ashworth Manor up by its roots.

"You afraid?" Grace tilts her head, studying me.

I meet her eyes. I shake my head.

Afraid?

The moment William's eyes landed on that girl, my heart died. And when your heart's already dead, what's left to fear?

"No." I say it, and I mean it.

Grace's face softens. Just barely. Like the first crack in winter ice.

"Good girl." She pats my shoulder. "Remember this. The only things a woman can count on are the money in her own hands, and another woman who's been through the same hell. Men? They think they're God's gift. Let them float up there in the clouds. We'll stay on the ground and live better than they ever could."

She straightens up.

"Your maids. Can you trust them?" she asks.

I nod. "Bess and Meg. They grew up with me."

"Bring them in. Tonight, if we pull this off, they come with us — set for life. If we fail, we all go down together. Let them choose."

I open the door. Bess and Meg are right outside, worry written all over their faces.

I tell them everything.

The two of them look at each other. Not one heartbeat of hesitation. They drop to their knees.

"Wherever you go, my lady. We're with you."

"Good." Grace nods. "Bess — go to the outer courtyard. Find Holt, the steward. Give him this." She hands over a worn silver pendant. "He'll know what it means."

"Meg, you're with me. Clara, stay here and pack everything you can carry. Move fast. We have two hours."

The night is thick and black.

The whole manor is drowned in drunken sleep.

Grace, me, and two maids — four women moving through the dark like mice, stripping the place clean.

I open every chest and trunk. I find my mother's gold coins, every piece she hid for me, and stuff them into a pouch strapped against my body. Then the clothes, the jewelry, anything worth a penny.

I even glance at William's prized ivory chess set in his study. And the mounted stag's head above his desk — his first kill, his pride and joy.

No. Too heavy. Let his precious Agnes dust those.

I only want the money.

Two hours later, Grace and Meg come back. Behind them, two silent, heavyset servants. Each one loaded down with bulging sacks.

Grace looks tired, but her eyes are brighter than ever.

"It's done." she says. "Holt has every cart and horse in this house lined up at the back gate. The rest of the servants have each been given a purse of silver and sent away. By morning, this manor will be an empty shell."

I look at her, and something close to awe rises in my chest.

Every detail. Every angle. Covered.

The beloved Countess. The woman everyone trusted and admired. Twenty years she played the perfect, dutiful wife. How many moves has she been hiding?

"Let's go."

One word from Grace, and we move — five women, loaded with bundles, slipping through the dark courtyard toward the back gate of Ashworth Manor.

We don't meet a single soul.

The whole estate is as silent as a grave.

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