As two hundred masked guests filtered down the sweeping stone staircase into the subterranean crypt, their low chatter and the rustle of evening gowns fading into the lower depths of Highclere Hall, Adrian and Tessa slipped behind the heavy Flemish tapestries lining the rear gallery. The service stairwell was silent, illuminated only by recessed brass sconces casting long amber shadows against the bare limestone masonry. Tessa gathered the emerald velvet…
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