Page 72 of The Duchess’ Little Miracle

Lady Byron turned back around slowly, her eyebrows rising. “Oh? Then pray enlighten me. Why have you invaded my home?”

“We are here because threatening letters have been sent to my residence in London,” Seraphina said, knowing she couldn’t keep the truth hidden anymore. “Letters threatening to expose my column. Letters stamped with the crest of the Duke of Norwyn’s family. William’s inquiries have led him directly to this address.”

Lady Byron did not flinch. Not a single muscle in her face twitched. “Threatening letters?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I am sorry that I am only telling you so late that I was being blackmailed. But I had a handle on things and did not want to disturb you.”

Seraphina turned to William, skeptical to continue. “The letters were sent by a woman named Amanda Higgins,” Seraphina pressed, watching her eyes intently, desperate to see a flash of denial that would prove William wrong. “A woman who went off the public registers decades ago. William is convinced that Amanda Higgins resides within these walls.”

Lady Byron blinked slowly. “Amanda Higgins? I have never heard a more mundane name in all my days. Is she a housemaid you suspect of pilfering your stationery? Because I assure you, my staff is entirely honest.”

“I know that,” Seraphina said. “I told him the notion is absurd.”

William stepped forward then. “I do not think now is the time to play the ignorant dowager with me, Lady Byron,” William said.

“William!” Seraphina whispered to him.

“I am a thorough man,” he continued. “When I set my mind to investigating an anomaly, I do not stop until I have unspooled every thread. Amanda Higgins was the daughter of the Earl of Fenwick. She vanished from London following a scandal involving my father, the late Duke of Norwyn. Coincidentally, remarkably so, her disappearance aligns precisely with the period in which a young unknown woman arrived in this northern valley, married an ailing Viscount, and assumed the title of Viscountess Byron.”

Seraphina’s breath hitched in her chest. She looked sharply at Lady Byron, waiting for the outrage that ought to follow such a claim.

Lady Byron merely stood there. Her expression remained entirely smooth, a porcelain mask of perfect calm.

“You are an Earl’s daughter?” Seraphina whispered. “Lady Byron... is that true?”

“It would be exceptionally easy for me to bring the parish records, the registry of the Fenwick estate, and three living witnesses who can identify you from Mayfair to this room within a week,” William added coolly, crossing his arms. “If you know something, I think it is best to tell us.”

Lady Byron remained still, fiddling with the vase on the side table. Then, slowly, the posture of her spine relaxed just a fraction. A strange sound escaped her lips. It sounded like a dry, bitter laugh that was hollow.

She shook her head, turning away from them to walk toward her armchair near the window. She sat down, refusing to look at them.

“Fine,” Lady Byron finally said.

Seraphina felt the room tilt slightly beneath her feet. “Fine? What do you mean, fine?”

“I mean, fine,” Lady Byron repeated, looking up at Seraphina with an expression that was devoid of remorse. “Yes. I sent the letters. But it was not blackmail, Seraphina. Don’t be so ridiculously melodramatic. It was a test.”

“A test?” Seraphina repeated, her voice cracking slightly.

“A test of your fortitude,” Lady Byron said, waving a hand dismissively. “I wished to see how you would handle true pressure. You have spent years hiding behind your intellectual hubris, writing your clever articles, convinced of your own absolute invulnerability. I wanted to see if you would fold the moment a real threat presented itself. I wanted to see if you possessed the resilience to protect your work, or if you would run whimpering to a corner the moment London society bared its teeth.”

Seraphina stared at her, utterly speechless. She felt as though the air had been knocked from her lungs. “A test... You put me through weeks of terror, you made me think my life, my reputation, my very identity was about to be destroyed, to test me?”

“You passed, did you not?” Lady Byron remarked coolly. “You did not burn your manuscripts. You did not cease writing.”

“That cannot be the entire truth,” William interjected, stepping between Seraphina and Lady Byron. “If this was merely a trivial trial of her character, why was my family’s signet ring involved? Why drag my name and my estate into your game?”

Lady Byron looked up at William, her eyes hardening.

“Who is Amanda Higgins?” Seraphina also asked. “I take it that part is true as well? You are not who you say you are?”

“I was Amanda Higgins,” Lady Byron corrected and let out a sigh. “Over two decades ago, before I buried that pathetic, foolish girl in the shadows of the countryside and assumed the title of a dead Earl’s widow. I stripped away that name, that identity, and every miserable memory attached to it.”

“Why?” William demanded. “Why abandon your name entirely?”

“Because your father ruined me,” Lady Byron snapped, her composure suddenly shattering into a venomous spark. She stood up from her chair, her hands fisted. “Your father ruined my name, my standing, and my future. He whispered promises of marriage while I was a young, naive girl in society. He used me for years; he disgraced me, and then he tossed me aside like a worn glove. I was cast out of society. My own family could barely look at me. I could not remain in London as Amanda Higgins, a ruined, pity-object for the ton to mock.”

She took a shallow breath, her chest heaving before she forced her composure back over her features. She sat back down, turning to the window.