Marquise stood from his chair by the wall. “Madame?”

I glanced at him, throwing a condescending smile. “Don’t interrupt two women talking. If she can’t handle a silly little Weaver, then she has no right to pretend otherwise.”

“Sit down, Marquise.” Bonnie breathed hard, glaring at me. “I’ve never met someone so unrefined and uncouth.”

“You obviously never paid close attention to your granddaughter then.”

She’s rough as sandpaper and tough as steel.

Jasmine could lie like the best of them, but beneath that silk and satin façade, she outweighed me in strength of temper ten to one.

Why tell Bonnie that then? Shut up.

Bonnie shoved her finger in my face. “Don’t talk about her. Jasmine is a woman of eloquence. She knows how to speak three languages, play the piano, stitch, sing, and run a time-worn estate. She outranks you in every conceivable way.”

She has you fooled as wonderfully as she did me.

My respect for Jasmine increased a hundred-fold.

If any of us were playing the game best—it was her. She was the true chameleon, pulling the wool over not just her grandmother’s eyes but her father’s and brother’s, too.

She’s a powerful ally to have.

I couldn’t stop pride and annoyance from blurting: “Shame you’re delusional as well as decrepit.”

Bonnie’s papery hand struck my cheek. Her palm didn’t make a sound on my flesh, merely a swat with no sting. She might have the power of speech and ferocity, but when it came to physical threats—she was brittle and weak.

“My family eclipses yours in every way. It’s a shame you didn’t have such an upbringing. Perhaps you would be more pleasing company if you—”

I couldn’t listen to her cackling drone anymore.

“You’re right. It is a shame I didn’t have someone there to teach me how to do my makeup or bake cakes or learn an instrument. I’m sure I would’ve been happier and more rounded if I grew up with a mother. But she was taken from me by you. Don’t twist my past and make it seem like I’m some underprivileged girl who’s here by the grace of your family because I’m not. I’m your prisoner, and I hate you.” I backed away from the table. “I hate you, and you will pay for what you’ve done.”

Her face twisted with rage. “You ungrateful little—f”

“I agree. I have been ungrateful. I’ve been ungrateful for falling in love with a good man only for it to be too late. I’ve been ungrateful for a brother I adore and a father who’s been lost since his wife was taken. But I’m not ungrateful for this. I’ve found a fucking backbone, and I mean to use it.”

Marquise stomped forward. “Madame. Just give the word.”

I threw a caustic look at both of them. “You’re proving Bonnie’s too weak to discipline me herself.”

“Enough!” Bonnie brought her walking stick down onto the table with a resounding thwack. “Don’t you dare use my name without my permission!”

“Tell me what you want then, so I don’t have to look at you. I don’t want to be here another minute.”

Don’t go too far.

Bonnie convulsed. Her face turned puce, and for a second, I hoped she’d die—just keel over from exploding blood pressure or ruptured ego.

Don’t get yourself killed over pettiness.

I had a lot more to achieve before that day.

Swallowing hard, Bonnie clasped both hands on her cane. Her thick skirts rustled as her ancient carcass bristled. “Fine. I’ll take great pleasure in doing so.”

God, I feel sick. I don’t want to know.

“Just let me leave. I’ve had enough.” Storming to the door, I tried the handle, only to find it locked. The air turned thick, the heating too hot. I’d drenched my system in too much adrenaline and now paid the price.

Pacing in a circle, I ran my hands through my hair. “You hear me? You make me sick, and unless you let me out, I’ll just vomit all over your precious study.”

Vertigo swooped in, throwing me to the side.

Jethro’s alive.

He’s alive.

I need to stay that way, too.

I gulped, needing fresh air. I’d never been claustrophobic, but the walls loomed closer, triggering another vertigo wave, forcing me to bend forward to keep the room steady.

Bonnie limped closer. “You’re not going anywhere. You want to know why I summoned you? Time to find out.”

Every cell urged me to back away, but I held my ground. I refused to be intimidated. Swallowing back nausea and dizziness, I gritted my teeth.

Bonnie pointed at the wall behind me with her walking stick. “Go on. Look over there. You want me to get on with my point? The answers are there.”

Suspicion and rancour ran rampant in my blood, but I found the courage to turn my back on her and face the wall. My skin crawled to have her behind me—like some viper about to strike, but then my eyes fell on a few grainy sepia-toned photographs. The pictures’ time-weathered quality hinted that they were old. Older than Bonnie, by far.

Drifting closer, I inspected the image. In browns and sienna, the fuzzy photograph depicted a man in a fur coat with a pipe furling with smoke. Snow banks hid parts of Hawksridge, making it seem like some fantastical castle.

There’s something about him.

I peered harder at the man’s face and froze.

Oh, my God.