Eleanor Croft stared at the photograph in her hands, her brow furrowing in confusion. The elegant woman in the picture wore an outdated dress, her posture regal, her expression stern but dignified. Everyone in the room held their breath.
"Who is this supposed to be?" Eleanor finally asked, looking up at Lyra.
Lyra's heart pounded. "Your mother. Lady South. This is proof that I'm—"
"No," Eleanor interrupted, shaking her head firmly. "This isn't my mother."
The words hit Lyra like a physical blow. She felt the color drain from her face.
"That's... that's not possible," she stammered. "Mr. Gallagher confirmed—"
Mr. Gallagher stepped forward, his expression grave. "Mrs. Moreau, are you certain? Our sources indicated this was Lady South from Clance."
Eleanor handed the photograph back, her movements deliberate. "I'm quite certain. My mother had a distinctive birthmark on her neck. This woman doesn't have it."
