In my previous life, the moment I heard Finn had become the Marquess of Eastholm, I bundled up my daughter and traveled a thousand miles to find him. Edith killed us both with poisoned pastries.
My last thought before the darkness took me was regret. Not for dying, but for severing ties with my father, the Duke of Northwall, all for the sake of marrying Finn Acevedo.
This time, the moment I opened my eyes, I sold the house, packed what little money it brought, and set out for the capital.
But I was not going to the Eastholm estate.
I told the driver to take the long way around, and the carriage rolled to a stop before the gates of the Donaldson Ducal Estate.
The driver took one look at us, my daughter and me in our threadbare rags, shuffling toward the duke's gates like a pair of beggars, and let out a snort.
"Takes all kinds. Now even beggars have the nerve to show up at the Duke's door claiming to be family."
I ignored him. I took Hildegarde James's small hand in mine, walked to the gate, and knelt.
"Father. Your daughter knows she was wrong."
My father was the Duke of Northwall, the most powerful lord on the northern frontier. My mother had been a princess of the Kingdom of Valdoria.