Silence.
"I'm not offended." he said flatly.
"Then you should be happy. I'm still pretty, I'm sure there'll be many men wanting my hand. No matter how crazy I am."
Ryneal hissed slightly and turned away, leaving alone once more.
She stared at the balcony for a second.
He wasn't just strong.
He was the best man, the ideal type.
That was why the previous Thessine worked her butt off to get him to love her.
But to no avail.
He only ended up hating her.
She didn't like him. There was no point for her to keep chasing her.
She would find a new purpose here in the world.
Morning came quietly to the Montserrat manor.
Light filtered through the heavy curtains in thin pale strips, falling across the unfamiliar guest room in a way that was almost peaceful. The rain from last night had completely cleared. Outside the windows the estate looked washed and fresh and entirely unbothered by the events of the previous evening.
She lay there for a moment staring at the unfamiliar ceiling.
Right. Montserrat manor. Guest room. Still in a novel.
She sat up.
The first order of business was the letter. She found paper and ink at the small writing desk by the window and sat down, staring at the blank page for a moment.
Then she started writing.
---
Dear Father,
I will not insult your intelligence by pretending I don't know why you made the decision you did. You were right to do it.
I have spent too long behaving in ways that have brought nothing but shame to the Beaumont name and I have no defense for that. I am not writing to ask you to take me back or to make excuses for my conduct.
I am writing to tell you that it stops here.
I don't expect you to believe that immediately. I wouldn't either. But I intend to prove it through action and not words and I hope that one day you will see that for yourself.
I am sorry Father. For all of it.
Your daughter,
Thessine
---
She read it over once.
Then folded it cleanly.
No dramatics.
No begging.
Just accountability.
He Shu had written enough legal letters to know that the most powerful thing you could put on paper was the truth kept short.
The second order of business was more complicated.
The Hartwell incident.
She leaned back in her chair and thought about it carefully the way she used to think about difficult cases.
Lay out the facts. Remove the emotion. Assess the damage.
The original Thessine hadn't meant for it to happen. She was certain of that much.
It had been one of those disasters that started small and avalanched into something catastrophic before anyone could stop it.
Wrong place, wrong words, wrong moment, wrong everything.
But intention didn't matter in situations like this. What mattered was perception.
And right now the perception was that Thessine Margot Beaumont had humiliated the Hartwell family publicly and walked away without so much as an acknowledgment.
That needed to be fixed. Personally. Not through a letter.
She would have to go herself.
Which meant flowers. You don't show up to apologize empty handed. That was just basic human decency.
Third order of business — accommodation.
She drummed her fingers lightly on the desk.
She couldn't stay here indefinitely.
She had told Rynael a few days and she intended to respect that.
So she needed somewhere stable to land after this. The Beaumont name was damaged but not completely destroyed — there had to be options somewhere.
Plan A. Plan B. Plan C. All the way down the alphabet if necessary.
She filed it away for later and went to get dressed.
The servant had laid out a dress while she slept. Deep red, well fitted, clearly borrowed from someone else's wardrobe but close enough to her size that it worked. She dressed and let her hair down, using pins to keep it away from her face.
She looked in the mirror.
Not bad.
One of the younger maids passing in the corridor did a double take when she stepped out. She chose to take that as a compliment.
She found a servant and handed over the letter with clear instructions for delivery to the Beaumont estate. Then she went to find someone about the flowers.
The garden in the morning was even prettier than it had been at night.
Everything still carried the freshness of last night's rain. She walked the paths slowly, selecting carefully. Nothing too extravagant. Nothing too sparse. Enough to communicate sincerity without desperation.
She was arranging them under her arm when she walked through the courtyard and nearly collided with Rynael.
He was dressed and clearly on his way somewhere, and he stopped when he saw her. His eyes moved over her once. The red dress. The flowers. The general impression of someone with a destination and a purpose.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Where are you—"
"I'm not following you." she said before he could finish. "I have my own business to attend to. It doesn't involve you."
She didn't wait for a response.
She passed the flowers to the footman waiting by the carriage, stepped inside, and pulled the door shut behind her.
The carriage rolled forward.
She sat back against the seat and exhaled slowly.
One letter delivered.
One apology to make.
One accommodation problem to solve.
Small steps He Shu. Small steps.
Outside the window the Montserrat gates passed by and the city opened up ahead of her.
She had work to do.
After her carriage had left.
Ryneal got into his own.
He was quiet for a few seconds before turning to the man beside him.
"Follow her. Whatever she does, report it to me. She's been acting strange for a while, who knows what she might do today. My reputation is already in the drain."
The man nodded carefully and turned to the door "Yes sir, I'll get to it right now."
The Hartwell estate was not far from the Montserrat manor. Twenty minutes by carriage through the better part of the city, past wide clean streets and tall iron gates belonging to people who had maintained their reputations carefully and intended to keep it that way.