CHAPTER 27 PLAIN MARY FITZWILLIAM

Mrs. Fitzwilliam sat in the back of the carriage, her brow furrowed with worry and irritation. "I don't know what she's done," she muttered, her eyes fixed on the passing countryside. "But I know it's something. That girl has never been able to keep herself out of trouble." Mr. Fitzwilliam, a stout, ruddy-faced man, gave his wife a sidelong glance. "Now, now, my dear," he said, his voice laced with indulgence. "You're always so quick to jump to conclusions. Perhaps the lad was just busy." Mrs. Fitzwilliam's eyes narrowed as she turned to her daughter, her voice sharp and insistent. "Mary, I will not tolerate your silence," she said, her gaze piercing. "If you've done something to offend that boy, you will confess to it right this moment. "You may think you're being clever, but you're only digging yourself a deeper grave. So speak, girl! What have you done?" Mary's cheeks flamed, her eyes wide with fear. "Mother, I swear, I didn't do anything. I just... "I just went to see him last