CHAPTER ONE

A brawl had broken out in the inn—again.

As Amelia stared at the stoic faces of the contenders, she sighed in dismay. She could guarantee that she would be saddled with another hour of cleaning tonight because of them.

The fancy lords who lived in manors that touched the sky were often dignified. Often. They ruled over their estates and lands with an iron fist, exerting their power without a care on the less fortunate masses—people like Amelia. They treated their wives with dignity, and if they did not, their wives hid their bruises well. They were supreme, untouchable.

Except for when they came to the inn.

At the inn, the fancy lords let loose of their inhibitions and became basic, basal men, obsessed with exerting their physical prowess over each other. Amelia had seen lords smashing tankards of ale over other men’s heads, had seen gentlemen rid other lords of their teeth, and once, seen a man walk out of the inn with a fractured skull. All of this culminated in extra hours of work for Amelia.

And now, it seemed another brawl was about to start.

Amelia knew one of the contenders: Baronet Payne. He often came to the inn, boasting loudly about his many victories at the racetracks. Amelia had to admit he was handsome, with jet-black hair and green eyes that reflected all shades of colours. But Sir Payne was also the most self-absorbed man Amelia had ever come across in her life. She was certain of it.

Now it seemed he wanted a fight with another gentleman, someone with a scar across one cheek that Amelia had never seen before.

“Are you questioning me, sir? Did you just imply that I am a liar?” Sir Payne said, his loud voice rattling off the walls of the inn.

“He means no disrespect, sir,” the innkeeper said, bustling forward.

Amelia bit back a smile. When the fancy gentlemen fought, the common people had to suffer for it. The last time a fight had broken out at the inn, the lords had walked out with nothing but bruised egos, while the innkeeper had had to pay for the damages out of his own pocket.

Sir Payne raised up a hand to stop the innkeeper. The innkeeper halted respectfully, looking around for help. However, all the men in the inn seemed to be static, their gazes fixed on the two men in the middle of the room.

“I have no wish to quarrel, Sir Payne,” the man with the scar across his cheek said. A smile was twitching at the corner of his lips. “Word has reached me of your prowess in the boxing ring. Why, a famed pugilist like you could cut me in two while trimming his nails.”

There was a bark of laughter from the rest of the men at the inn. Amelia, looking around, understood why. Everyone knew Sir Payne’s stories were more fiction than fact.

Amelia saw Sir Payne’s fingers inching towards the walking stick that everyone knew would have a blade in it as his face reddened. Amelia felt her chest fill with foreboding. This was not going to end well.

“What are you implying, sir?” Sir Payne asked, a vein pulsing in his head.

“Why, that your stories are bilge,” the man with the scar said bluntly.

Amelia’s heart missed a beat. Now it begins.

Sir Payne’s hand closed around a tankard of ale. He grabbed the tankard and smashed it down on the table with such force the container shattered. Rivulets of ale trickled down the table, spilling on the floor. “Sir, I will not have you question my honour.”

“I’m not questioning your honour as a man,” his antagoniser said. “I’m saying you have no honour.”

Sir Payne’s face reddened even more. There was total silence in the inn, broken only by the fragile whimpering of the innkeeper.

Suddenly, Sir Payne let out a hollow laugh. Amelia turned to him, certain she had misheard.

“You make cruel jokes, sir,” he said.

The man raised his brows. Apparently, he was confused by Sir Payne’s sudden about-face. Amelia hoped he would see Sir Payne’s subtle acquiescence and take the hint. The fight was sure to break more than a few bones, if it went on.

Thankfully, the man took the hint.

“Those are the jokes that hit,” the man said.

Sir Payne let out a bark of laughter. He reached across the table and enclosed the other man in a brief, one-armed hug. “You, my friend, are a rascal.”

The man gave a tight-lipped smile.

Amelia sighed in relief. She wasn’t going to spend the night on all fours cleaning up after two crazy lords who wanted a brawl.

“Girl, clean this up,” Sir Payne said, gesturing to the mess made by the tankard he’d smashed.

“Yes, sir,” Amelia said with a curtsy. Going up to the table, she started to pick up the pieces of the tankard. The silence in the inn gradually faded as conversation broke out once more, Sir Payne’s voice prominent amongst the rest.

Amelia resumed sweeping the inn floors, half-listening to the conversations around her. She was listening to Sir Payne’s story of his altercation with another gentleman when the innkeeper’s wife materialised in front of her.

“Amelia,” the woman said. She was holding on to a covered tray.

Amelia smiled at her. She had been working at this inn for several years, and Sarah, the innkeeper’s wife, was the woman who made the job almost bearable. Having taken Amelia under her wing, the woman treated her like a daughter. Amelia loved her for it.

“The lady in room two says there was a long black hair in her pudding,” the innkeeper said, rolling her eyes.

Amelia laughed. “Ladies and their complaints,” she muttered under her breath. Even if gentlemen were wont to break anything they saw, the highborn ladies that frequented the inn were always the worst customers. Fussy and easily irritable, they would complain about the colour of the walls if they had the chance. The inn was located a safe distance from London, and many nobles took their rest there before heading north. So, Amelia dealt with the ladies often.

“I’ve made a fresh plate of pudding for her. I’m sending you up there with it,” the innkeeper said.

Amelia sighed. She would rather clean up the inn after a fight than apologise to some fancy rich lady who was fussy about dinner.

“Do this for me,” the innkeeper’s wife said with a slight wink.

Amelia nodded. She would do anything for Sarah, and Sarah knew it.

Amelia abandoned her broom and held out her hands for the tray. She carried the tray gingerly up the stairs. When she got to the room, she knocked once, as silently as she could.

“Enter,” said a flowery voice that sounded vaguely familiar.

Amelia entered the room, her head bowed. “I apologise for the inconvenience, my lady,” she said, her eyes on her feet. Once, a highborn lady had flung a plate of food at her when she dared to look the woman in the face, and her eyes had smarted for weeks. Amelia had learned the hard way to not look up at highborn ladies while they spoke to her.

Someone approached Amelia and took the tray from her. Amelia chanced a glance at the person. The woman was older, matronly, and looked to be wearing the clothes of a servant.

“Do you still want supper, Your Grace?” the maid said. Amelia felt her eyebrows raise at the realisation that this woman was a duchess.

“Not at all, Mary,” the flowery-voiced woman said. “I’ve rather lost my appetite. Eat it, if you wish. I shudder to think what I would do if I found another strand of hair in my pudding.”

“I apologise, Your Grace lady,” Amelia said, correcting herself and curtsying. The woman sounded frightful. Amelia had grown up on food scavenged from bins. If she had gotten a daily supply of food with hairs in them, she would have been eternally grateful.

“Do you work here?” the flowery voice asked with a light cough. The cough went on for a while, and Amelia, through the corner of her eyes, saw the maid reach for a glass of water.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Amelia said, her eyes never leaving the floor.

“There is absolutely no need to look that petrified. Look at me, girl,” the flowery voice said.

Amelia looked up at the woman, one quick glance.

And then she did a double-take.

Because the woman on the armchair, whose face was extremely pale and who was coughing into her napkin, looked exactly like Amelia.

Amelia stared at the woman in confusion. “Your Grace, you are…”

There was no need to complete the statement. The woman looked every bit as stupefied as Amelia felt.

How was it that they looked exactly alike?

Well, not exactly, Amelia corrected herself. The woman was dressed in a carefully embroidered blue gown that Amelia was certain had taken someone years to make. Her blond curls were done up in the most fantastic of hairstyles, with loose curls framing her oval face. Her blue eyes were rather paler than Amelia’s, and Amelia was certain the woman had more freckles than she did.

In addition, the woman’s every movement spoke of sophistication and elegance, with hands that had never seen the harsh realities of scrubbing a floor or emptying a chamber pot. But Amelia was certain that they were almost exact mirror images of each other. If the woman were to stand up, they would even be of the same height. And if Amelia were to be in a fancy dress, with her hair in a fancy hairstyle, Amelia was sure they would look exactly the same.

“Is this a trick, girl?” the woman said, her voice sounding like a lash. She waved her hand for Amelia to come closer, and Amelia saw a large ring sparkling on one of her fingers. It was the largest ring Amelia had ever seen.

Amelia started. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. Please forgive me.” She was not sure what she was apologising for. Was it abominable for a commoner to look like a duchess?

Amelia looked to the maid for help. The maid seemed to be frozen with shock, as her eyes roamed between the two of them.

“Leave us, now,” the woman said.

Amelia hurried to the door and slammed it shut. Outside, she took deep breaths to calm herself. Behind that door was a woman, a highborn woman, who looked exactly like her, and she had no idea why.

Amelia stumbled down to the dining room in a daze.

“Did the lady give you a fright?”

Amelia stared at Sarah, unable to form words. Waves of shock were still radiating through her body. Somewhere up there was a woman who was the spitting image of her.

“Did she give you grief about the meal?” Sarah asked.

Amelia nodded. She did not know how to tell Sarah what had happened.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah said.

Amelia nodded again, backing away from the innkeeper’s wife and heading for her quarters. Her head was filled with fuzzy images, images she did not want to examine too closely.

Her chamber was a small room that hosted a narrow bed and a chamber pot. Amelia sat on the bed, wondering about the woman. Who was she? She had to be a new visitor at the inn, or Amelia would have met her before. Was there any possibility that they could be related?

Amelia shook her head to clear the thoughts away. There was absolutely no way she was highborn. She had grown up with poor parents, had slaved away for mere pennies when they’d died from consumption. Highborn women did not give their children up to be taken care of in a workhouse.

Amelia cast the thoughts out of her mind as she lay down on the bed. It did not matter why the woman looked like her. All that mattered was making sure they never crossed paths again. She’d enough to deal with and did not need to add rude noblewomen who bore a startling resemblance to her to the list.

*****

It was morning, and Amelia was hard at work sweeping the floors of the inn, when she saw Mary, the maid from the night before, making her way over to her.

“Good morning, girl. Her Grace would like to see you now,” Mary said.

Amelia swallowed. “I am rather busy. If…”

Mary cut in with a sardonic smile. “Her Grace is not someone who appreciates being kept waiting. She has a short temper, you see.”

Amelia felt her heart contract with something close to fear. She cast her broom away and walked with Mary up the stairs. Mary knocked on the door to room two before she entered.

The woman who looked like Amelia was propped up on the pillows. She was coughing into an embroidered napkin as she ushered Amelia and Mary in.

“Your Grace,” Amelia said, curtsying.

“Here, take a seat,” the woman said, gesturing to the stool beside the bed.

Amelia’s eyes widened with shock. She had never—never—been asked to sit down by a highborn lady.

She took the stool, her gaze on the floor.

“I am Lady Christiana Gillingham, the Duchess of Roxburghe,” the woman said. “And who are you?”

“I’m Amelia.”

“Where did you grow up, Amelia?”

“In a cottage about three miles from here. My parents were farmers. They died before I turned sixteen. Afterward, I lived on my own before I started working at this inn.”

“It is amusing how much we look alike, would you not say?” Lady Gillingham said musingly. “I reckon you could look exactly like me if we dressed you up in one of my gowns and did your hair in a more appealing hairstyle.”

Amelia looked up at the woman. Did Lady Gillingham want to pass her off as a long-lost twin?

“I have a proposition for you,” Lady Gillingham said.

“A-a proposition?” Amelia croaked.

“No need to look so scared, girl. I’m not asking you to go on a murdering rampage for me.”

Amelia swallowed. “Of course not, Your Grace,” she said. Lady Gillingham might be rude and condescending, but she did not come across as a murderer.

“I assure you that you will be quite pleased with my plan,” Lady Gillingham said.

“Plan?” Amelia asked. Lady Gillingham had a plan? Amelia felt a thrill of foreboding.

Whatever Lady Gillingham was planning would not be good news for Amelia, she was sure. She would bet anything on that. Ladies never did anything except for their own gain.

“What’s your plan, Your Grace?” Amelia asked, holding her breath.

“It’s quite simple, really. I would like you to become me.”

CHAPTER TWO

Amelia blinked. That was not what she’d expected to hear.

“Become you? I’m afraid I do not understand, Your Grace.”

Lady Gillingham coughed into her napkin before she threw her covers aside and stood up. She was as petite as Amelia was, but her movements exuded a powerful force Amelia was certain she lacked. The woman circled Amelia as she explained herself.

“I propose you take my place as the Duchess of Roxburghe. You would be well fed and well taken care of. You would attend balls you only dared to imagine in your dreams, and you would sleep in a chamber the likes of which you have never seen before.”

“Your Grace, but… why?”

Lady Gillingham let out a tinkling laugh that made the hairs on Amelia’s arm stand. “My life is rather dull, I’m afraid. I have grown weary of my lord husband and climbing all those stairs in the estate grows weary after a while. I want to spend a few weeks alone at my father’s estate, bereft of those things that I am supposed to hold dear. Surely you understand the need to want to escape from your life from time to time? You are a maid, are you not?”

Amelia stared at the woman in confusion. Could she mean her words? Did she want Amelia to take her place as a duchess, live in a huge manor and rule over the land with her husband—a duke? It was a life Amelia had never dared to imagine for herself.

The life was idyllic, yes, but the stakes were too high.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Amelia said. “I don’t think I can.”

“And why not?” Lady Gillingham said, and Amelia could detect in her eyes a spark of anger.

“I have been a commoner all my life. I cannot fool people who have known you for years.”

Amelia saw the flash of anger vanish in Lady Gillingham’s eyes. “You need not worry. I assure you I will school you in all things concerning me.”

“Still, Your Grace, I don’t think I can.”

“Why is that?”

“It seems… too complicated.” Amelia’s life was difficult, yes, but her life was hers to live. She would not throw her sane, stable life away for a whirlwind jaunt into Lady Gillingham’s life that would only last a few months.

“I don’t think you understand what you want to give up,” Lady Gillingham said. “I urge you to reconsider.”

Amelia shook her head. “I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

The flash of anger was back in Lady Gillingham’s eyes. “I refuse to let you ignore this proposal.”

Amelia stood up. Her fear was a knot buried deep inside her chest, but she faced the woman squarely. Highborn or not, no woman was going to order her to do something she had no business doing.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I have to reject your offer.”

Lady Gillingham moved closer to Amelia and took her hands. Her touch was surprisingly soft. “Amelia, you have a chance at a life that only exists in your dreams. Any minute concerns you might have are just that: minute.”

Amelia closed her eyes, conjuring up images in her head. Images of her wearing a beautiful ball gown, or ordering servants around as she lay on a featherbed, surrounded by warmth and comfort. And of her in the arms of a handsome man, swirling across the dance floor, never having to work or worry about where her next meal was coming from.

But that wasn’t her life. It was Lady Gillingham’s, and even though the woman seemed desperate to escape the confines of her life, Amelia had no business getting involved.

“I don’t think it is right to fool the people in your life, Your Grace,” Amelia said. She heard the maid draw a sharp intake of breath. Perhaps it was unwise, speaking to a duchess in that manner, but Amelia was past caring. She had work to do. Lady Gillingham had only to lie down on a bed and order her maid around.

Lady Gillingham’s eyes grew cold. “Are you sure that’s your final answer, Amelia?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Then leave us,” Lady Gillingham said.

Amelia hastened towards the door.

“And Amelia,” Lady Gillingham added as Amelia turned the knob.

“Yes, Your Grace?” Amelia asked.

“I assure you, I always get what I want in the end.”

Amelia swallowed as she shut the door behind her. What did that mean?

*****

The Duchess of Roxburghe was the worst lady Amelia had ever come across.

Over the past few hours, she had voiced several complaints, all delivered downstairs by her patient maid. She had asked for a change of sheets, less lumpy pillows, a breakfast prepared specially for her. And now she was asking for total cleaning of her chamber.

“Her Grace says the chamber is too dusty. It worsens her cough,” Mary said, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

Amelia stopped herself from sighing out loud. What was it with highborn ladies and their excessive demands? Perhaps Amelia would have been less irritated if she hadn’t had the distinct feeling that Lady Gillingham was only going to these lengths because Amelia had refused to accept her offer.

Amelia returned to the room, for the fifth time that morning, with her handy broom. Lady Gillingham was on the bed, bright-eyed and smiling as Amelia walked in.

“Your Grace,” Amelia said, curtsying.

“Amelia, have you been considering my proposition?” Lady Gillingham asked without preamble.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Amelia said. “I have to inform you that my former answer still stands.”

“I think you will change your mind very soon,” Lady Gillingham said, smiling.

Amelia felt unsettled by that statement. What did the woman mean?

She shook her head. It would not do to bother about the esoteric nature of highborn women. Amelia bustled about cleaning the room, dusting the stools and tables, and emptying the chamber pot. Finally, when the room was as clean as it could be, she made to leave.

“Stay,” Lady Gillingham said.

“Your Grace, I have a lot to be getting on with…”

“It is bad manners to refuse a lady’s invitation,” Lady Gillingham said, her eyes flashing.

This time, Amelia could not stop the sigh. She sat down, her head bowed.

“You fascinate me, Amelia,” Lady Gillingham said, standing up. She brushed past Amelia on her way to pick up a hand mirror from the table. “Not many common girls would turn down the opportunity to be a duchess, albeit for only a few months.”

“I suppose I don’t think it is right,” Amelia said.

“And why is that?”

“I lack the social graces you’ve been taught all your life, Your Grace. Even the best teacher in the world couldn’t teach me all of that in a few days. And what would happen to me if I were found out?”

“You underestimate me, Amelia,” Lady Gillingham said, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I am a very good teacher. Besides, neither my lord husband nor my servants would be expecting you. They would very much assume that you are me.”

“I suppose so, Your Grace, but I think your lord husband would be hard to fool.”

“I doubt that,” Lady Gillingham said, with the slightest edge to her voice. “My lord husband is easy to fool.”

“Your Grace?”

“Our marriage is nothing, a mere sham. We have not even consummated it. He hardly knows the first thing about me.”

Amelia was intrigued by this. She had never glimpsed any insight into a highborn marriage.

“Is that why you want me to take your place, Your Grace?” Amelia asked. That was a forward question, she knew, but she was interested in the answer.

“Hardly,” Lady Gillingham said as she returned to the bed. “My lord husband is nice enough. There just isn’t any spark between us. He tries his hardest, but I cannot simply conjure up feelings that aren’t meant to exist. And his family is simply dreadful.”

Amelia could not believe her ears. Lady Gillingham had everything anyone could ever want; a doting husband, an estate to her name, and a relatively easy life. Yet she complained as though she was a boy in the workhouse. Fancy people would never cease to amaze Amelia.

“So, Your Grace, why do you want this?” Amelia asked.

“I want out of all of it,” Lady Gillingham said. “The balls, the estate, my lord husband. A bit stifling after a while, as I said before. That’s not the life I want. I want more. I want an adventure.”

“Would you like to swap places, Your Grace?” Amelia asked before she could stop herself. She held a hand to her mouth. Her words were going to be the death of her.

Surprisingly, Lady Gillingham let out a burst of laughter, impeded only by a cough. “Why, Amelia, that is exactly what I propose. For you to take my place while I disappear into oblivion for a few months.”

Amelia sighed again. Those few months sounded like a slice of heaven. But something was stopping her. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Lady Gillingham’s life was not as perfect as it appeared to be. Also, what if it was perfect? Would Amelia find it easy, returning to her real life after spending months in an estate being a duchess?

And what would happen if they were found out? Lady Gillingham, of course, would be spared. She was a highborn lady, after all. But Amelia knew the punishment would fall solely on her shoulders. She could be be hanged for impersonating a member of the peerage. And Lady Gillingham, who seemed to like playing with people, would not offer any help whatsoever, she imagined.

Amelia put her thoughts into words. “What if we’re discovered, Your Grace?”

Lady Gillingham smiled. “I assure you that will not happen. No one in my estate can claim to know me well, except Mary, who, of course, would be let in on the plan,” Lady Gillingham gestured to where Mary stood, and Mary nodded. “My lord husband barely visits me. He has no idea what I’m like. I assure you he won’t find out. In a few months, when the weariness has left my bones, we will swap places again, and it will be like nothing happened.”

Amelia shook her head. Lady Gillingham sounded like the most selfish, arrogant highborn lady she had ever met. “Your Grace, it sounds wonderful. It sounds like everything I ever dreamed of, but…”

“Sadly, you have morals and cannot accept my proposal,” Lady Gillingham said, a strange smile playing at the corner of her lips. “I understand, Amelia.”

“I don’t think this is the right thing for me to do, Your Grace,” Amelia said.

“I assure you that this would benefit both of us.”

“How, Your Grace?”

“I get to put my life aside for a while. You get to enjoy the comforts of being a noblewoman before you return back to your regular life. It benefits the both of us tremendously.”

“I see what you mean, Your Grace, but I have several doubts. I don’t think this is honorable. Besides, this is a crime. I would hate to get caught because I am not as elegant as you are.”

“As I said before, I am a very good teacher. Besides, Mary would be there every step of the way.”

“She would?” Amelia asked, turning to stare at Mary.

Amelia stared at Mary. The woman was smiling at her, the same enigmatic smile she’d had on each time she’d gone downstairs to table another of Lady Gillingham’s complaints. Amelia had the vague feeling the woman knew a little more than she was letting on.

“What if something goes wrong?” Amelia said. “I am particularly wary of your lord husband, the duke.”

Lady Gillingham waved away Amelia’s concerns. “I am certain we can fool the duke.”

Amelia stood up. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but you are asking for too much. I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

Lady Gillingham sighed. “Very well. I won’t persuade you to do what you have no interest in.”

Amelia sighed in relief. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said as she headed to the door.

“Wait,” Lady Gillingham said suddenly. “I seem to be missing my ring.”

Amelia turned to her, confused. “Your ring?”

“It’s a prized possession of mine. It was one of the first gifts my lord husband bequeathed onto me. I never go anywhere without it.”

Amelia recalled the ring she had seen the day before. “I’ve seen it, Your Grace. It was on your finger yesterday.”

“It’s missing now,” Lady Gillingham said.

The maid sprang into action, overhauling the covers on the bed and shaking loose the embroidered gowns that hung on the rack beside the door. She searched underneath the bed, underneath the stools, on top of the table. Amelia helped her, her eyes roving over the chamber, searching for a glint of the ring. It was to no avail, however. The ring was missing.

“I’m going to have to search you, girl,” Lady Gillingham said.

Amelia’s heart missed a beat. She had been half-expecting this to happen. Highborn ladies were naturally suspicious of commoners. She felt a flash of irritation.

“Why, Your Grace?” Amelia asked, careful to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

“Are you questioning me, girl?” the duchess asked. Her voice made Amelia jump.

“No, of course not, Your Grace,” Amelia said, backtracking quickly. “I just… we’ve been talking for the past several minutes. I wouldn’t have had time to steal a ring.”

“You cleaned this chamber beforehand. Surely you might have seen the ring and decided it would fetch you a good sum.”

“I assure you, I did not,” Amelia said, taking an involuntary step backward.

“Do you have any qualms about us searching you?” Lady Gillingham said.

Amelia shook her head. The maid stepped forward. Though the woman said nary a word, Amelia thought she could detect an apology in her eyes. Mary patted her down, and Amelia found herself holding her breath.

“Did you find anything?” Lady Gillingham asked.

“No, Your Grace,” the maid said.

“Check her pockets,” Lady Gillingham said.

Mary exchanged a glance with Amelia before she thrust her hands into Amelia’s pockets.

And brought out the ring.

Amelia was frozen where she stood. “What?” she croaked.

“You stole my ring,” Lady Gillingham said, her eyes flashing.

Amelia was as shocked as she had ever been. She had no idea how the ring had fallen into her pocket. It had not occurred to her to even take the ring. She had admired it, yes, but as a vague, distant thing, not as something that could become hers. She had been taught to not steal something of someone else’s, and it had been a rule she had abided by for as long as she’d been alive.

“You saw the ring, girl, and thought it would look good on your finger?” Lady Gillingham said.

Amelia fell to her knees. The world was spinning around her, making her lose her balance. “I swear to you, Your Grace, I did not take your ring.”

“Why should I believe a word you say?” Lady Gillingham said.

Amelia’s head was still spinning. How had the ring gotten into her pocket? Except…

She remembered trying to leave the room and Lady Gillingham asking her to sit down. She remembered Lady Gillingham standing up and brushing past her.

That had to be it. Lady Gillingham had put the ring in Amelia’s pocket.

Amelia stared at the woman’s face, feeling a fresh wave of fear. This woman was deadly.

“I could announce to the innkeeper that you were caught trying to steal my ring. Of course, you would be taken to the block and you would be hanged. Your life would be over within the hour.”

Amelia was speechless with shock.

“Unless…” the woman said.

“Unless?” Amelia said, her heart twisting in fear.

“Unless you agree to accept my offer.”

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