"She will not eat today," Hannah said, breath sharp against the morning air. "Very well," Justine answered. Her voice did not rise. "Let her make a show." Julianne sat on the garden stone bench like a painted statue, one hand pressed to her throat, the other palm flat against empty cloth. Her dress stayed immaculate. Her eyes promised a public scandal. "You can't mean that," Hannah hissed. "She's—she'll faint. People will see. Penn will crow." "Let them look," Justine said. "Then they will know what that look is worth." Julianne stood like she might strike. "You can't deny me. You know what my father promised. The Manor has rules." "I know enough," Justine said. "You are not starving to convince him. You are starving to force me into giving you what you demand." "My father promised," Julianne repeated. "Desmond promised a dowry. He promised—" "Your father promised to keep the household solvent," Justine cut in. "Promises without money are paper. Paper burns." Julianne's laugh came hard and loud. "That's cruelty. You're cruel." "You're dramatic," Justine replied. "Drama can be staged. Food cannot." Servants clustered on the path beyond the yew, pretending to tend roses while listening. A cook shuffled closer with a tray covered in cloth. She stopped when Justine's eyes met hers. "Leave it," Justine said. "But—" the cook began. "Go to the pantry and fetch the ledger," Justine ordered. "And a pen." Hannah's fingers closed on the