For a moment, she said nothing. Her grandmother didn't strike her as the type of person who sent letters without something being severe.
"And the letter?" Penelope asked.
"It was still in Mother's hand when I last saw it," She said.
"Did you see who delivered it?"
Francesca shook her head. "No. It was brought into the breakfast room by one of the footmen. Mother seemed surprised when she saw the seal."
Penelope's expression tightened. "And what did this seal look like?"
Francesca considered the question. "Dark red, I think. There was some sort of crest pressed into the wax."
Penelope's thoughts immediately returned to the few memories she possessed of Lady Howe.
The woman had always been particular about appearances. Everything about her had been deliberate—from the way she dressed to the way she spoke, even the manner in which she arranged the flowers in her drawing room.
