Ashes of Devotion

The First Suspicions

The evening had been grand, a spectacle of wealth and indulgence, carefully orchestrated to uphold the Winchester name. The ballroom had been filled with laughter, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the graceful notes of violins that carried through the night like a dream. Every guest had been entertained, the wine had flowed endlessly, and the air had been thick with praises for Lady Winchester’s impeccable hosting and Lord Winchester’s powerful presence.

Emilia had played her part perfectly. She had smiled, she had danced, she had laughed in all the right places. But beneath the surface, a quiet storm was brewing.

As the night wore on, guests began bidding their farewells, draping their cloaks over their shoulders as they prepared to return to their estates. Servants moved about swiftly, offering final glasses of champagne, collecting empty plates, and ensuring that no guest left without a proper farewell. Emilia stood near the grand entrance, offering pleasantries and words of gratitude as each guest approached her.

"Lady Emilia, your speech was most unexpected but truly inspiring," a nobleman commented as he pressed a polite kiss to the back of her gloved hand. "I daresay your father must be immensely proud."

Her smile didn’t falter. "Thank you, Lord Ainsley. I’m pleased you enjoyed the evening. Safe travels."

Behind her, she could feel the weight of her father’s stare. Every so often, she turned her head ever so slightly, only to catch him looking at her from the corner of the room, his expression unreadable. Her mother stood beside him, her lips pursed, her gloved fingers clutching her shawl a little too tightly.

They were watching her. Studying her.

Something had shifted after her speech.

She had sensed it the moment the applause had died down. The pride that should have been in her father’s eyes had been absent, replaced by something else, calculation, uncertainty, perhaps even fear. And now, as the night came to a close, she could feel their growing suspicion thickening the air around her.

Colette had noticed it, too.

Her sister had spent most of the evening pretending to be engrossed in conversation, but Emilia had caught her watching their parents more than once, amusement dancing in her eyes as though she had been expecting this.

Emilia took a deep breath, her fingers brushing over the silk of her gown. The night had been too perfect, too well executed until she had spoken. And now the facade her family had worked so hard to maintain was beginning to crack, ever so slightly.

She felt a hand on her arm, gentle but firm. Turning, she met the gaze of an older woman, one of her mother’s closest friends, Lady Rosamund. "My dear, you have certainly stirred conversation this evening," she said with a knowing smile, her eyes glinting with something unreadable.

"Is that so?" Emilia replied lightly, though her heart pounded. "I had no intention of causing a stir."

"Of course not," Lady Rosamund said, her smile never faltering. "But you see, people in our circles prefer their comfort. And comfort does not always pair well with… honesty."

The words sent a chill through Emilia. She glanced once more toward her parents, who were now whispering between themselves, their expressions severe.

“Darling,” Lady Winchester’s voice broke through the chatter, slicing through Emilia’s thoughts, “be sure to personally thank Lord Ashford before he departs. He has been most generous with his time tonight.”

Emilia nodded, offering a last smile to the departing guests before turning to where Lord Ashford stood, deep in conversation with another gentleman. As she moved across the floor, she could feel her parents’ gazes burning into her back.

She paused, catching sight of her father signaling one of his trusted advisors to his side. The exchange was brief, but the way the man nodded and left the ballroom sent another pang of unease through her.

By the time she had made her way to Ashford, her mind was no longer focused on the conversation but on the growing certainty in her heart: her parents suspected her. And if they suspected her, then she was in far greater danger than she had ever imagined.

As the last of the guests took their leave, Emilia watched her father take her mother’s hand, leading her toward the far end of the room where a side door led to his private study. He did not speak to Emilia, did not even glance in her direction. But she knew that whatever discussion they were about to have would be about her.

The ball was over, but the real game had just begun.