Eleanor Croft stared at the torn marriage certificate in her hands, her delicate fingers tracing the damaged edges. The tears on her face had dried, leaving salty tracks down her pale cheeks. Her husband, Lachlan Moreau, stood watching her with growing impatience.
"It's just another one of her tricks," Lachlan said dismissively. "Put it away, Eleanor. You're wasting energy on that girl again."
Eleanor looked up at him, her eyes filled with something he couldn't quite read. "This is a legal document, Lachlan. You can see the official stamps."
"Forged, obviously." He waved a hand. "She learned that from Colette."
"What if it isn't?" Her voice was soft but steady. "What if she really is married to Percival Covington?"
Lachlan scoffed. "A man like Covington wouldn't look twice at Lyra. She's nothing but Colette's bastard."
Eleanor flinched at his words. "Don't call her that."
