Chapter 69
Autumn passed, winter came, and just as quickly, it was gone. Now spring had arrived, bringing with it the inevitable reminder that in a season's time, I would be twenty-four. I had not enjoyed autumn, nor had I found any delight in winter. Spring, I imagined, would offer just as little reprieve. The good mornings and the good days had long since abandoned me.
"Alright, young lord, our time is up. I shall take my leave now," I announced, rising from my chair.
"Wait, Mrs. Woodstone!" Benjamin banged his hands against the desk, eyes wide with desperation. "You must at least tell me what happened to the princess after she was rescued! You cannot leave me in suspense!"
I cast a glance at the clock. Two in the afternoon. Why should I, little man? I am not paid for overtime. Do understand.
Before I could offer my polite refusal, a knock sounded at the door, and it swung open to reveal Baron Fondy himself. The moment our eyes met, he inclined his head in greeting, far too low, far too respectful. My gaze sharpened in immediate suspicion.
"A pleasure to finally greet you properly, Your Ladyship," he said with a smile.
I narrowed my eyes further.
What?
At his silent command, the maids behind him swept into the room like a well-rehearsed troupe, ushering Benjamin and Jim away.
"Wait, Mrs. Woodstone and I still have things to discuss!" Benjamin protested as he was quite literally dragged from the room.
The door clicked shut, leaving me alone with the baron.
He smiled at me, genuinely polite, but with an unmistakable glint of anticipation. "Please, after you," he said smoothly, gesturing towards the chair I had just vacated.
I considered him for a moment before sinking back into my seat.
Very well. Let us see what sort of nonsense this man has planned.
He took the seat across from me and retrieved a letter from within his suit jacket.
"I must admit," he began, unfolding the parchment, "I never imagined that you are the rightful heir to Marquess Lorynthall."
Heir? What heir? More like I am air. A wisp, a fleeting nuisance, entirely disregarded. Anthony would sooner let his wealth rot in the earth before allowing it to pass into my hands.
I took the letter he offered and immediately froze.
My gaze lifted to Baron Fondy, who nodded as though reading my thoughts.
"You read that correctly," he smiled. "Your father's lands have been claimed by the Duchess of Ivoryspire. They now fall under her jurisdiction and, as such, have officially become part of Ivoryspire. And, as its ruler, Her Grace has passed them down to you, along with your father's title and wealth. You are now a Marchioness."
I stared at him. I stared some more.
"Of course," he continued, entirely undeterred by my obvious state of shock, "for the transfer to be formally recognized, you must depart to Ivoryspire and undergo the official investiture ceremony."
Still, I remained silent, my mind scrambling for comprehension.
He reached inside his jacket once more, producing a sealed envelope. "A letter from Her Grace," he said, placing it gently before me. "I shall leave you to collect yourself. No doubt this has been quite the revelation. I will be in my study should you require anything, Your Ladyship."
With that, he rose, bowed slightly, and exited the room.
I tore open the envelope. My heart lurched as my gaze fell upon the elegant, familiar strokes of Millicent's hand. Her penmanship was as poised as ever, each letter meticulously formed, each curve a whisper of the past.
"To Ann Woodstone,"
Ann Woodstone. Not Florence Lorynthall.
I swallowed hard. I should have felt relief, was this not what I had wanted? For her to finally accept that Florence Lorynthall was long dead? Yet, inexplicably, the sight of it carved through me, sharp as a blade. I loathed that wretched name, yet hearing Millicent forsake it felt like mourning an old wound that had never quite healed.
"I do not know if you will even spare a glance at this letter, but if you do, I hope you will read it to the end.
First, I would like to offer my belated congratulations on your marriage."
My fingers clenched, creasing the fine parchment.
Congratulations.
An emotion I could not name swelled in my chest. How cruel. She, offering congratulations on my marriage to another.
I forced my eyes forward.
"Secondly, I have secured the title and lands that were meant to be yours. If only it were as simple as pen to parchment, but by law, a formal ceremony is required for you to be officially recognized as Marchioness. I do not doubt that the process will be disagreeable to you, but it is the only course by which you may rightfully claim your title.
There was no alternative but for me to claim your father's lands under the domain of Ivoryspire. Only as its ruler could I ensure they would pass into your hands. If you wish to sever them from Ivoryspire in the future, you may do so at your discretion. However, I implore you to delay such a decision. So long as they remain tied to Ivoryspire, they shall be afforded the full protection of the duchy.
Regrettably, I was unable to alter your name in the eyes of the law. By legal decree, only one bearing the Lorynthall name may inherit your father's holdings.
Lastly, I know you despise me. I know you wish to cast my existence from your thoughts entirely. Rest assured, I shall not intrude upon your life. When you arrive in Ivoryspire for the ceremony, I will not be present. Issac Beltmore will bear my seal and act in my stead.
Wherever you choose to go once it is done, I wish you peace and happiness. Should you ever find yourself in need, for any reason at all, Issac Beltmore will see to it that your request is fulfilled.
With respect,
Millicent Vaneeri."
A dreadful certainty settled in my chest. This letter, it felt final. As though it would be the last I ever received from Millicent.
The title. The lands. The wealth.
They felt like a farewell, an unspoken goodbye wrapped in legal formalities. The final traces of her lingering presence before she vanished from my life entirely.