A few days had passed since Richard and Aurora's supposed wedding. From that time, the winds of misfortune had blown fiercely against Marquis Reylson one by one. Whispers of his downfall rustled through the halls of society, painting him as a figure of ridicule rather than respect after his daughter's misconduct.
The manor, once a fortress of nobility, now bore the marks of neglect, its once-proud façade peeling and tarnished, much like its owner's reputation.
As she walked through the estate, Barbara noted the faded grandeur of the manor. The gardens, once meticulously tended, lay overgrown with weeds, their colours dulled and lifeless. The once-gleaming windows were now clouded and grimy, filtering the afternoon light into a dull, oppressive haze. There was no shadow of passing servants. The stillness and the silence surrounded her.
