The encounter with Fredrick Garrison had left a poisonous seed of doubt in Anne's mind. His smug, knowing smile and his strange, unsettling words about her mother had haunted her through a long and sleepless night. She needed answers. She needed to hear a sensible explanation that would chase away the dark thoughts that had taken root. And there was only one person left who might tell her the truth.
The next day, she rode in a hired carriage to Baron Edgar's new residence. She felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach as she walked up the clean stone steps. She raised her hand and knocked three times.
Knock…
Knock..
Knock.
After a moment, a familiar voice came from the other side of the door, clear and formal. "State your business."
It was Prescott. Baron Edgar's butler.
"It is Lady Anne," she replied, her own voice sounding small and uncertain. "I came to see my grandfather."
