The sky over London was a soft, bruised purple, hovering somewhere between night and morning. The street lamps were still flickering, casting long, dancing shadows against the brick walls of the Hamilton mansion.
The house, usually silent at this ungodly hour, was buzzing with activity. It was the break of twilight, but for the Hamilton household, the day had begun hours ago.
The front doors were thrown wide open. A line of footmen moved like ants, carrying trunks, hatboxes, and heavy leather cases down the stone steps.
"Careful with that blue trunk!" Mr. Simmons, the butler, hissed, pointing a gloved finger. "It contains Her Grace's books. If you drop it, you will have to answer to me."
Ines stood in the center of the courtyard. She was wrapped in a thick traveling cloak of dark green wool, lined with velvet to keep out the morning chill. She held a small muff to warm her hands, though her fingers were cold from nerves, not the weather.
She watched her life being packed away.
