The morning was precisely as Amelia Ashford had expected it to be: damp, gray, and entirely uninspiring. The breakfast room, with its faded wallpaper and slightly wobbly chairs, seemed to absorb the dreariness of the outside world and amplify it tenfold. Amelia sat at the table, her back straight and her expression carefully neutral. She always sat here since The Incident as her subsequent punishment, dictated by her father, as if the act of presiding over this empty table might lend her a sense of redemption. 

The clock on the mantel ticked with maddening precision, each sound a tiny hammer driving nails into her composure. Seven o'clock, she has been waiting at this table for over an hour. Her father could have been home hours ago, or could stumble through the doors in another hour from now. One never knew. Except Amelia was expected to be waiting here. The footman gave her a look of pity as he refilled the hot water for tea. Amelia was accustomed to these vigils, though her patience for them had long since worn thin. She only kept this up so the threats of ruining Charlotte's future would stop. 

The tea in her cup had long gone cold, but she made no move to refill it. Instead, she stared at the pale porcelain, her thoughts circling the same bitter truths that visited her every morning. How did it come to this? Waiting on a man whose mood rose and fell with the roll of a die, whose affections were doled out in proportion to his winnings. The vigil was never for her benefit. If he returned—when he returned—it would be to deliver a lecture on propriety for some other sin she had not yet committed, though in her father's eyes she might as well have. A pity she was still as pure as the snow, Amelia could have at least had some fun before The Incident. 

Amelia's lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smile. Propriety, indeed. Her father's moral compass was as reliable as his luck at the gaming table. And yet here she sat, dutiful and poised, as if any amount of her own virtue might absolve the Ashford name.

She was still mulling over this bleak thought when a sharp knock interrupted the ticking clock. Amelia started, her teacup rattling against its saucer. No one called at this hour unless it was to deliver bad news, and instinct told her this knock heralded nothing good.

"Come in," she called, her voice as steady as she could manage.

The door opened to reveal two figures: a uniformed officer whose grim expression was impossible to ignore, and William Thornton, whose presence was as unwelcome as it was intrusive. Thornton stepped inside first, his mouth curving into a smile that did not reach his eyes. William was new to his Earldom and the rumors of how his childless uncle met his untimely demise didn't sit well with Amelia. 

"Miss Ashford," he drawled, his voice oily enough to grease the hinges on the door he had just walked through. "I trust you are well this morning?" 

Amelia rose to her feet, her stomach twisting with unease. "What is the meaning of this visit, Mr. Thornton? And who, pray, is your companion?"

The officer stepped forward, his hat in hand. His eyes glanced at the door, then the window, his hat turned into a crumpled mess in his hands. "Miss Ashford, I regret to inform you that your father has met with… an unfortunate incident."

Amelia's breath caught, but she refused to give in to the wave of panic threatening to crest. "What sort of incident?" The pressure of a million thoughts raced in her head, she struggled to take a grounding breath. Could her own negative thoughts this morning manifested themselves into the world?

The officer hesitated, casting a sidelong glance at Thornton. "There was an altercation at the -uh- gaming house last evening. Your father was assaulted. I… I am afraid he did not survive the night. He was found earlier in the morning by a maid going to work." Again he looked back at the door. 

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. For a brief, irrational moment, Amelia wanted to laugh. Of course her father would meet his end at a gaming house. It was as fitting an epitaph as any.

"I see," she said, her voice colder than she intended. "And what, precisely, does Mr. Thornton has to do with this tragic affair?" 

Thornton's smile widened, his teeth flashing like a predator who had just spotted an easy meal. "I happened to be nearby when the constable was called. I took it upon myself to ensure that your family's interests were protected in the wake of… unfortunate events. We wouldn't want you or your sister's reputations to be hurt by your father's untimely death."

"How very noble of you," Amelia replied. "Though I fail to see what interests you might mean."

Thornton stepped closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. "There is the matter of your father's debts, Miss Ashford. Significant debts, I'm afraid, owed to me. And with no immediate male heir… well, it falls to you to settle them. But I heard that your dowry was taken away. So you can't settle them, perhaps your sister…?"

Amelia's hand tightened around the top of the table, her nails digging into the wood. "Charlotte has nothing to do with this. Whatever debts my father owed are his alone." The pounding in her head came back. Amelia spent the last 7 years since their mother's death protecting Charlotte from anything that would dim her smile. She would be damned if this man ever got near her sister. 

Thornton shrugged, the gesture infuriatingly casual. "Debts rarely disappear, Miss Ashford. They are merely… inherited."

The officer, clearly uncomfortable with the turn in conversation, cleared his throat. "Miss Ashford, I will leave you to… discuss matters with Mr. Thornton. Should you require any assistance, please do not hesitate to send for me."

Amelia barely inclined her head as the officer departed, leaving her alone with Thornton. For a moment she thought to call in the footman or a maid for propriety's sake, but realized it didn't matter. William knew Amelia didn't have a dowry, another mystery to be looked at, so ruining her wouldn't get him anywhere.

"What is it you truly want, Mr. Thornton?" she demanded once the door clicked shut.

His smile vanished, replaced by a calculating look. Amelia felt a chill race down her spine. For a heartbeat, the room felt colder. "What I want, Miss Ashford, is justice. Your father took something very dear to me, irreparably so. And if I must take revenge through your sister's marriage and inheritance just so your father rolls in his grave, so be it. The man owed me more than money, and I intend to have it returned in full."

Amelia's breath hitched. Justice? Irreparable? The word hung in the air like a storm cloud. This was more than gaming debts.

Her chest tightened, but she refused to let him see her falter. Men like Thornton thrived on weakness. "You will not touch Charlotte. Do you hear me?"

Thornton's chuckle was low and menacing. "We shall see, Miss Ashford. It's a dangerous world out there for two ladies on their own. No immediate male family to protect them. A pity, really. I imagine the scandal will be unbearable, the disgraced, poverty-stricken daughters of a gentleman who died outside a notorious brothel. A brothel that catered to men who's tastes ran…young. The officer was kind enough to shield you from the real truth, but I won't."

Amelia's blood froze, her mind racing to piece together what he was implying. But Thornton wasn't finished. He leaned closer, his tone a poisonous whisper. "Your father, as charming as he was reckless, left more wreckage in his wake than you realize. His debts may be financial, but my grievance is personal. You see, he stole something from me. A future I planned. He took something precious away in one night, and it seems only fair I return the favor."

Her nails dug into the wood of the table as fury and disbelief coursed through her. "You speak of debts and grievances, Mr. Thornton, but it is you who comes here with threats and poison. My father's sins are not Charlotte's to bear."

Thornton shrugged, his casualness more enraging than any shouted accusation. "Like I said debts rarely disappear they are merely inherited. Just as your father took what was mine, I will take what he held dear."

The room pressed on her, suffocating in its silence once more as Thornton straightened and smoothed his coat. He offered a final, cutting smile. "Think of your sister."

And with that, he turned and left her standing in the breakfast room. Amelia's mind whirled at the events. She sat back down and realized she was finally free of her morning vigils. Her body felt lighter at the realization but the threat of scandal and her sister's future threatened to sink her down again. She wouldn't have that, Amelia had waited long enough to take an action, any action. The ticking clock once again the only sound in the suffocating silence.