Lord Philip Ashbourne's future wife, they thought. The realization settled unpleasantly between them both.
Before another word could be exchanged, a servant entered swiftly carrying a silver tray. "My lady," He announced toward Penelope, "a delivery has arrived."
Penelope blinked faintly. "For me?"
"Yes, miss."
The servant stepped forward carefully and presented a single ivory envelope sealed with dark green wax. With one look, they could already tell it was the Ashbourne crest.
The moment Celia saw it, something hardened almost imperceptibly in her expression. Penelope accepted the letter slowly. Her pulse quickened unexpectedly as she broke the seal.
Inside rested only a single folded page written in precise black ink.
Miss Anderson,
The jeweler shall arrive at noon for the fitting. You are not to exhaust yourself entertaining callers all day.
Rest.
— P. Ashbourne
