The afternoon sun was hot, beating down on the manicured lawns of the Austen family estate. The garden felt restless. The flowers seemed to droop under the weight of the shouting.
"ASHLYN!!!!"
Lord Malone's voice roared across the garden. It was a sound of pure, unbridled fury that shook the leaves on the trees.
He collapsed into a white iron garden chair, his legs too weak to hold his rage. He slammed his fist onto the small round table next to him. The teacups rattled, and a silver spoon fell to the grass with a soft ching.
"Come here!" Lord Malone bellowed, his face turning a dangerous shade of purple. "Look at what you have done!"
Lady Anita stood beside him. She was trembling. She held Ashlyn, who was weeping uncontrollably, burying her face in her mother's silk dress. Anita looked terrified. Her eyes darted around the garden, checking if the servants were watching, checking if the neighbors could hear.
