The carriage door flew open before the footman could even reach for the handle.
Ines stepped down onto the gravel driveway of the Hamilton estate, her movements sharp and jerky. She did not wait for assistance. Her boots hit the ground with a force that sent a small spray of pebbles skittering across the courtyard.
She was not just angry. She was consumed by a cold, burning rage that made her hands shake and her breath come in short, sharp gasps.
The footman looked startled. He rushed forward, his hand extended.
"My Lady?" He asked, his eyes wide. "Is everything—"
Ines walked right past him. She did not hear him. All she could hear was the echo of Priscilla's whisper in her ear. Retire Arthur Pendleton or leave Carcel. The audacity. The sheer, cruelty of it.
She marched up the stone steps to the front door. Her heavy velvet dress, which had felt like armor only an hour ago, now felt stifling. It felt hot and heavy, dragging behind her like a lead weight.
