Page 94 of Surrender Your Grace
“You can’t know if you suspect it was me,” she argued. “I was in the box at the opera with Mama and others when she fell, and nowhere near the bookshop and her modiste’s for the other incidents.”
“You didn’t have to be,” Andrew said, eyes locked on hers with contempt. “You paid Finian Lowell twenty pounds to do the deed for you."
“I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“Thin, twitchy, carries a pearl-handled cane.” Duncan’s voice cut through. “Does that jog your memory?”
For the first time since entering the study, Elizabeth’s expression faltered. “I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about.”
“It doesn’t matter. He knows you.” Andrew supplied. “We have his signed confession, which makes you an accessory to his crime of attempted murder.”
Silence filled the room like smoke, until Cici whispered, “Why?”
Suddenly, Elizabeth laughed—a brittle, broken sound.
“Why?” she repeated. “Because all I ever heard growing up was ‘Cici is more talented. Cici is sweeter. Cici is cleverer.’ Never was it ‘Cici is the most beautiful, a diamond of the first water.’ It was all a lie. No one has chosen me. Beauty didn’t lay the world at my feet, as I was promised. My ugly-duckling sister gets a dukedom—and a parade of praise—while I’m left to beg for scraps.” Her eyes snapped to Andrew. “I would have given you so much more: grace, admiration, envy from the ton of the match you made.”
“I never wanted that,” he said quietly. “I wanted someone who was loyal, loving, who had wit and charm as well as beauty. That was never you.”
Elizabeth flinched then her spite surged. “I could have given you heirs, at least.”
Outraged and furious, Cici stepped toward her, ready to claw her eyes out. “I would have given him an heir if you hadn’t had me pushed down a flight of stairs!”
Andrew caught her at the waist, halting her steps—but not the accusation that flew from her lips. “You killed our son,” she said, her voice cracking. “You’re a murderer.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Lord Benton said, dropping the damning proof as if it burned.
The papers fluttered down, settling in silence. He stared at his elder daughter, face grim.
“You tried to harm your sister,” he said, each word deliberate. “And in your thirst for vengeance, you’ve ruined your mother and me. Did you think it would help your cause—that gentlemen would scramble to wed the daughter of a cuckold and a strumpet?” He stepped closer. “You’re selfish, vindictive, and cruel. That such venom could spring from my loins is a torment I’ll carry to my grave. You are no longer welcome in my house.”
“But, Papa—"
“Silence,” he demanded, his tone turned to iron. “You will leave London tomorrow and reside with your Uncle Alfred and Aunt Beatrice in Alston—permanently.”
Elizabeth stiffened, color draining from her face as the enormity of her exile took root. “But… he raises cows. In Cumbria.”
“Exactly,” Lord Benton said. “Far from here, where you can’t hurt your sister or this family.”
“You can’t—”
“I can,” he said, his voice like iron. “And I will. Your behavior is beyond forgiveness.”
Cici watched, her heart thudding.Alston.The name landed like a stone in water—heavy and final.
She’d been there once as a child. A scattered market town buried deep in the North Pennines, famed for cutting winds and bitter winters, where snowfall swallowed rooftops and daylight felt scarce.
It was the antithesis of Mayfair’s glitter. And for Elizabeth—someone who worshiped attention and status—it was the perfect punishment.
Cici pictured her now, trudging through mud, flanked by cows and bleating sheep. No balls. No parties. No suitors. Just wind, wool, and regret. The kind of place where society forgot you existed. Her breath trembled in her chest. Despite allElizabeth had done, and the comeuppance long past due her, Cici didn’t feel triumphant.
Andrew did not share her feelings. He stood tall, fury still simmering. “I should have you charged. But a trial would only torment your sister further. This sounds like a fitting punishment. If you ever return without permission, I swear I’ll follow through.”
Elizabeth’s gaze darted around the room—but found no allies. Not even Mama, her staunchest defender, offered a shred of sympathy.
Then, chin lifted, she turned and walked out.
One brittle footstep at a time. The sound was smaller than the silence she left behind.
