Sunlight filtered through Charity's closed lids, turning her waking world red. The next thing to reach her consciousness was the sickly-sweet taste of laudanum. Smacking her lips in distaste, she opened her eyes. They were promptly squeezed shut when blinding rays hit them.
It took some time for her to wake and Charity blamed the drug for her befuddled state. Her servants knew of her intense dislike of laudanum, causing her to wonder who'd dosed her. It didn't take long, even with her mind dulled by the drug to place the blame at Lord Wrotham's door. "I cannot trust him. Or his fine eyes," she muttered to herself.
A new memory emerged. Charity recalled Cook pressing her to drink a toddy after she woke from her faint. The older woman told her that she'd added something for the pain. With a sense of betrayal, she deduced Mrs. Anders had added laudanum. Someone must have kept dosing her after that, for she couldn't say with any accuracy how long she'd been kept abed. Fuzzy memories of being awakened during the night, helped to the chamber pot and put back to bed flitted past. Then more of the opiate-laced toddy was given.
With a renewed sense of resolve, Charity forced her eyes to open. After becoming accustomed to the bright light, she saw the sun was past its zenith. That meant her forced stupor had lasted at the very least a full day.
Sitting up, Charity threw back the covers. Her cheek ached and throbbed in time with her heartbeat. Ignoring the pain as best she could, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and rose on shaky limbs. A wave of dizziness nearly sent her back onto the mattress. Once her head stilled, she carefully made her way to her vanity.
The first thing Charity noted as she looked at herself in the mirror were the dark circles under her eyes. Gaze lifting, she saw her hair was a mess, not having been properly braided before she was dosed. It stuck out at odd angels and looked to be quite ratted. With a sigh, her eyes flicked back to her face. Against the dark half-moons and wan cheeks, she appeared deathly pale.
With that thought echoing in her head, Charity's angled her wounded cheek for a better look. It was covered by a piece of linen, and she saw that some blood had seeped through since its last changing. With shaking fingertips, she gently felt her injury. When a shudder coursed through her, she winced. The quaver of her hand caused the digit to press too hard.
Sucking in a steadying breath, Charity pulled back the edge of the cloth. It adhered to her cheek with a smear of salve. A red gash was soon revealed as she continued to draw on the linen. Some of the ointment stuck to the wound, making it appear even more grotesque.
Turning more, Charity looked out of the side of her eye. The bullet had grazed along her cheek for about an inch. From this angle and with the salve plastered over it, she couldn't decipher how deep it was. She wasn't a vain woman, she knew others considered her to be quite plain, but she still hoped it wouldn't scar.
The laudanum-laced toddy rioted in her stomach. Pressing a hand there, Charity tried to calm her thoughts. Had the shot's angle been just right, she likely wouldn't have survived.
A soft knock sounded on the door. Before Charity could call out an answer, Mrs. Rogers came bustling in with a maid close on her heels. Various types and colors of cloth spilled over the latter's arms.
"Ah good," Mrs. Rogers' no-nonsense manner came through in her tone. "'Tis good to see your ladyship up and out of bed."
There was no missing her housekeeper's wince when the older woman spotted Charity's uncovered cheek. Or, come to that, the quickly recovered look of horror on the young maid's face. Sticking the scrap of linen back on, she gave Mrs. Rogers a small, one-sided smile.
Snapping her fingers, the housekeeper had the unknown woman come closer to stand before her mistress. "This is Miss Jane Wilcott. She is to be your lady's maid."
It took a moment for the words to sink in and for Charity to greet the maid. For many years, she'd had to do without and never thought to have a personal servant again. It would be nice to have help with her hair at the very least she thought, recalling the current state of her rioting locks.
Suspicion suddenly clouded Charity's initial joy as a thought flitted into her head. Why had Lord Wrotham, for it must be he, hired the young woman? Did he think to place Miss Wilcott close to the wife he thought had cuckolded him to find further proof of her misdeeds? That he still believed Charity to be in contact with her fictitious lover was evident. It had been what they'd argued about before she'd been shot, after all.
As Mrs. Rogers led Miss Wilcott to the bed, Charity examined her. She was a few years younger and quite pretty. Her new lady's maid possessed the blonde hair and blue eyes Lord Wrotham seemed to favor.
With a slight shake of her head, Charity dismissed the uncharitable thought. Although she'd remain cautious, she'd not convict the young woman for crimes she hadn't yet committed.
After Mrs. Roger swiftly smoothed the bedding, Miss Wilcott, or just Wilcott now Charity corrected, laid the clothing out on her bed. The pretty maid noticed her watching their actions and beamed. "Lord Wrotham sent his valet to order you a new wardrobe. These are but three of the dresses we finished for your ladyship."
Frowning, Charity thought she hadn't been abed for that long. Mind clearing, she realized these must have another's commission. Uncharitably, she hoped they'd come from Miss Middleford's order.
Wilcott held one up for inspection. It was a morning dress made of light blue muslin. The simple gown was light, airy and easily more beautiful than anything Charity had previously owned. "It is lovely," she said after it became apparent the other two women expected some comment. They must have been the right words, for broad smiles wreathed their faces.
Laying down the blue dress, Wilcott picked up a primrose yellow day gown made of silk from the bed. Although beautiful, Charity couldn't help feeling it was a bit much for the country. Truth be known, she'd never owned anything so beautiful. Twin, expectant faces yearned for another comment. "This too is lovely," she murmured.
"Here is the last." Wilcott carefully laid the yellow dress down and picked up the only one remaining. This one was more of an ivory and blush pink, sprigged muslin. The color wasn't near as bold as the day gown, yet it was still lovely.
"Which shall you wear today, my lady?" Wilcott asked after smoothing the muslin out beside the silk.
Charity was tempted to choose neither and to don one of her old dresses instead. Although she might not yet know Lord Wrotham's game, she knew he played one. Were she to go along with his plot with her eyes wide open, perhaps he'd reveal his plan. As long as she didn't spring the trap he laid, all would be well.
Sighing, Charity had to admit the new clothes were lovely. Moving toward the bed, she assured herself it was the least Lord Wrotham should provide for his Viscountess. The timing of it all was suspicious, but that wasn't the fault of the dresses. They deserved to be worn.
Biting her lower lip, Charity decided to wear the sprigged muslin. A knock sounded on the door, and Mrs. Rogers went to answer. The housekeeper left with the footmen after they placed a hipbath and buckets of steaming water in the middle of her room.
With her new maid's help, Charity bathed. It was a quick, no-nonsense washing yet she felt refreshed afterward. With action and warm water, it seemed the laudanum was leaving her system.
"You worked for Mrs. Brown?" Charity asked as Wilcott brushed out her dried hair.
"Yes, I've been making dresses for five years now," Wilcott readily answered. "But I've also taught myself how to style a lady's hair," she continued. "Miss Middleford said as I might become her lady's maid one day." The young woman cut off her explanation and clamped her lips together.
"Instead you became mine." Charity's smile in the mirror was small as she didn't want to pull on her wound. But she made sure it was kind.
"Oh indeed! I'd given up hope after Miss Middleford chose a London girl to help with her first season." Wilcott bit her lip, whether in concentration or consternation, Charity couldn't say. "I won't make you regret giving me this chance," she solemnly vowed with a twist of her deft fingers.
Charity gave another small smile. She wasn't surprised to hear Baron Middleford's pretty daughter played Wilcott false. Although the younger peeress was of lower rank, she was still the belle of the district. Charity met Josephine shortly after her arrival at Shepridge End. The young miss had been a child of eight and well on her way to being overly spoiled. These past few years, Miss Middleford had shown a cruel streak. It became a sort of game to make Charity feel lower than a shopkeeper whenever they chanced to meet.
"There," Wilcott announced once she finished styling her mistress' hair. "What do you think?"
The first thing that became apparent was Charity's hair's color. When it was pulled tight, it was a nondescript brown. Now, with this softer style, and wispy ringlets dancing about her neck, it took on a nearly golden hue. It was still dark but seemed to have gilt highlights. The softer style also made her features appear less sharp.
"Brava, Wilcott. You've worked a miracle," Charity praised. The young woman glowed with happiness at the heartfelt words.
Leaving her new lady's maid to pick up the bedchamber, Charity made her way downstairs to the dining room. As there was nothing to hide, she was comfortable leaving Wilcott alone in there. Were she indeed a spy for Lord Wrotham, there'd be nothing for her to report back to him. With their birth mother gone, there was no proof of her daughters' parentage. And the lover Lord Wrotham worried about didn't exist.
With a tsk, Charity checked herself. Everywhere she looked, she saw spies for his lordship. Wilcott lacked the guile one would assume was necessary to be successful in that line or work. The maid seemed honest and innocent.
There were more new faces, Charity noted as she descended the stairs. Footmen and maids were busily cleaning away years of neglect. It was a sight she hadn't seen in years.
For a time, upon Charity's arrival a Shepridge End, they'd been fully staffed. Then servants began to leave when rumors about Lady Wrotham began to circulate. Inevitably, as was the case in many a small community, talk of scandal attached itself to her name after it became apparent she'd been cast off and exiled. As a result, fewer and fewer townsfolk were willing to work at the End.
On a positive note, the lack of staff helped Charity to pocket their wages. Mrs. Rogers, Mrs. Anders, Rogers, and she had done well enough on their own. There'd been few visitors at the End, so there weren't many rooms that needed to remain open or used.
As she passed one maid in the hall, Charity's stomach rumbled. The sound startled the girl. Feeling her cheeks burn as the servant ducked her head, no doubt to hide her smile, Charity continued on to meet Lord Wrotham for luncheon.
While bathing, Wilcott had informed Charity that Lord Wrotham requested her presence at the meal. Although she would have preferred to eat in her room, she was done playing the coward and invalid. With her new clothes and hairstyle, it was as if she wore armor, and was now ready to battle her dragon of a husband.
"His lordship reopened the dining room." Rogers sounded as if this were an act worthy of condemnation. He stood rigid and as tall as his stooped frame would allow. The butler's glare was directed at those closed doors as if he could see through them and pin his target with his ire.
Thanking Rogers for the information, Charity changed course and walked to the original dining room. Although she knew her old butler was loyal to her, she didn't wish for him to be in the middle of her war with Lord Wrotham. It wouldn't be fair to the faithful servant.
Jimmy stood on the left with an unknown footman on the other side of the double doors. They opened them, and Charity stood, momentarily transfixed by the change within. Everything had been washed and waxed. The wood shone in the afternoon light, and not a speck of dust could be seen.
Lord Wrotham sat at the head of the table. Surprisingly, he had Catherine on his right, babbling at him in her unintelligible way. Phoebe sat next to her sister and wore a look that could only be described as mutinous.
Familiar with Lord Wrotham's high-handed ways, Charity sympathized. He'd not bothered to consult her about hiring more servants. Could he have not waited one day? Added to that, she didn't care to be summoned to dine with him. The man hadn't considered her health.
"I hope I didn't keep you waiting," Charity intoned as way of greeting. All eyes came to rest on her.
"Mama!" Phoebe, the elder by eight minutes, shouted and made to toddle off her chair.
Julian's gaze lifted from the chattering babe at his side. Miss Hollings was taking her lunch in the kitchen with some of the other staff. He'd felt it would be an easy enough task to relieve her for but an hour. Their nurse seemed to think it would be a near impossible one. He couldn't see how it could be and felt Miss Hollings was being an overly emotional female.
The girls and Julian had spent some time together during the three days his wife was convalescing in her bedchamber. He felt he'd come to know them both. He'd been wrong. Merely seating them while they awaited their mother had him clenching his teeth and taking deep, calming breaths through them.
"You will remain in your seat like a proper, young lady," Julian barked as he rose from his own. His tone seemed to startle his wife, but the child, Phoebe, did as she was told. Ignoring the scowl sent his way from that quarter, he waved off a footman. Taking a few steps, he pulled out the chair on his left for Lady Wrotham.
The lady was wearing one of the new gowns Julian had purchased. His wife's hair was artfully arranged, no longer in its typical, hideous schoolmarm bun. With the new style, she didn't appear as unbecoming as she had at their first meeting. A pinch of guilt stabbed his gut as he noted her sallow complexion and the covered wound.
"My chair!" Phoebe pouted and pointed toward her sister. The child addressed her mother, no doubt sensing an ally in this battle.
"It was her place," Julian interjected. "However, I swapped them," he explained when Lady Wrotham sent him a look of askance. He didn't miss the narrowing of her eyes and had to wonder if she were an overly indulgent parent. With a pleading look, he all but begged her not to undo the little progress he'd made in these past ten minutes.
Once assured of his wife's silence, Julian turned his attention back to his opponent. "You 'no like' me if you'll recall," he reminded Phoebe. "Why would you want to sit by my side?" It felt silly trying to reason with the small human. Yet, she had repeatedly uttered that refrain since taking the seat on his right. Finally having had enough, he'd placed the more biddable Catherine next to him.
The miniature termagant's arms crossed over her chest. "I sit Mama." That said, she made to climb down once more.
Lady Wrotham caught Julian's gaze. It was nigh on impossible to look away from those demandingly beautiful orbs. "Where's the harm in her dining next to me?"
Breaking eye contact, Julian contemplated her question. Where was the harm indeed? He instinctively felt that to give the little amazon her way in this would mean she'd all but win the war of wills being waged between them. Still, to countermand his wife's query would make him appear to be an unreasonable bully.
There'd be time in the future to see the twins trained properly, Julian decided. It would do him no favors to push Lady Wrotham at this moment. They needed to reconcile, he reminded himself.
"Cook has promised a veritable feast," Julian said to fill the silence while the seating was being rearranged.
"Hmmm," Charity made the noncommittal sound in answer. She'd sent Jimmy for supplies, but there hadn't been enough coin to provide a "veritable feast."
Julian couldn't blame his wife for her skepticism. He was well aware the cupboards were bare. While in town ordering her wardrobe, he had his valet, Henderson, and Mrs. Rogers pick up some much-needed supplies. They'd had to pay as no merchant would accept credit.
That, coupled with the missing funds Lady Wrotham had tucked away were worrisome. Julian meant to discuss them with his wife at the first opportunity. The thought that perhaps she was being blackmailed by her lover came to the fore once more. He needed to know if this were the case. It was a point of honor. No Lyons should be dealing with such an underhanded bastard.
Relaxing his fisted hand, Julian cleared his throat. "I sent for provisions. The larder is no longer bare."
"It would seem we owe you thanks." Charity couldn't meet his eye when she said that. Lord Wrotham likely wondered about the state of Shepridge End and his wife living like a pauper. Were he to find out why then he'd learn the truth of her daughters' parentage.
Lord Wrotham's head dipped in a regal nod. "It was the least I could do," came his smarmy reply.
Charity had to bite her lip from voicing a caustic retort. It was indeed the least he could do. Lord Wrotham's magnanimity had come much too late. Did he expect her to thank him further for doing what he should have done since the beginning of their sham of a marriage?
With a start, Charity mentally chided herself. She'd been softening toward his lordship since the arrival of Wilcott and her new clothes. Fortunately, his address and tone snapped her back to reality. Lord Wrotham remained unforgiving in his manner toward her.
Rogers entered, followed by Jimmy and a couple of other footmen. The covers were raised to reveal green pea soup, stewed trout, and a puree of grouse. Charity's mouth watered even as she thought it a bit much for luncheon.
After everyone was served, Rogers paused beside his mistress' chair. "May I say 'ow 'appy we are t'see yer ladyship up and about?"
"Thank you, Rogers," Charity told him with a small smile. "I am feeling quite well. 'Tis only a scratch."
"I've seen men lose limbs from improperly cleaned wounds," Lord Wrotham murmured after Charity's butler left to stand by the sideboard. "Don't make light of your injury or their worry." His gaze narrowed as he studied her. "Do you not recall your fever?"
"Fever?" Lord Wrotham's reprimand stung. Charity felt her ire rise. "Nay, I was too drugged with laudanum to be aware of much of anything," she shot back uncharitably.
Ignoring the accusation in Charity's tone, Lord Wrotham continued as if they were having a pleasant discussion about the weather. "You were quite ill." He picked up his wineglass and took a swallow as she tried to recall the missing gaps in her memory. Could she have been ill and not known?
"For how long?" Charity asked.
"It's been three days since you were shot."
A gasp escaped as Charity realized she'd been abed much longer than she thought. "How could you force laudanum on me for so long?"
"It was necessary," Lord Wrotham bit out sternly. Turning away, he helped Catherine with her pate.
Quietly seething, Charity felt as if she'd been dismissed. Her motions were jerky as she assisted Phoebe with her trout. A hard and heavy silence came over the room as they helped the children to eat their meals. Most of the food did not end up in either girl's belly.
In the end, neither adult had much time to eat their own meal before the second course arrived. Their used dishes were swept away by footmen. Then, Rogers appeared with cold pheasant pie.
After the old butler poured wine and moved back to his position overseeing the meal, Julian broke the silence. "Perhaps it was overambitious of me to think young children should eat with adults." His eyes followed a piece of pheasant pie that missed Catherine's mouth and landed in her lap.
"We usually have Nurse Hollings to help." Was that criticism Julian heard in his wife's voice? It seemed he was always stepping wrong with her.
"It is improper for a servant to dine with her employer." Julian watched Lady Wrotham's eyes narrow before she turned her head to feed Phoebe. "Just as it is for their children to dine in the kitchen with the staff." His wife's shoulders stiffened, and he prepared for her next scathing remark.
It didn't come. Silence descended once more as Charity bit her tongue. She didn't point out that the girls could have supped in the nursery with Nurse. But their presence at the table this afternoon was a small piece of normalcy in the chaotic changes Lord Wrotham made. Added to that, she speculated that he used the twins as a buffer, not wishing to be alone with her. Well, she was glad for it; she had no desire to be left alone with him either.
Turning her attention to Rogers, Charity said, "This is as delicious as the previous course." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Wrotham stiffen. No doubt he wished to further chastise her for addressing a servant in the middle of their meal. Naturally, she added, "Cook is to be commended."
"I'll relay yer praise, m'lady," Rogers replied in his booming, overloud way. It caused Lord Wrotham to look daggers at Charity in warning. After giving him her new, one-sided smile, she turned her attention back to Phoebe.
Julian knew he was glowering, but he couldn't shake the feeling his wife was purposely goading him. Why she felt it necessary to do so, he couldn't fathom. He was the one looking to reconcile, even after she'd been unfaithful. Although he couldn't forgive such disloyalty, he could move past it and was attempting that very thing. Then there were the improvements he'd made to her clothing, home and even the food she now enjoyed. What complaint could she possibly have with him? Were the butler and children not around, he may very well have asked.
The second course went the way of the first as the third arrived. The entree was a curried rabbit with ham and peas. Charity wished her stomach were more settled so she could truly enjoy the meal. She'd like to blame her discomfort on Lord Wrotham but knew it was more likely due to her illness and copious amounts of laudanum.
Julian's focus was taken with attempting to feed Catherine the peas she seemed to prefer. She was a delightful child he'd come to realize over these past few days. Nothing like her sister. That one seemed to have been spawned from the loins of Satan.
"I plan to go into town in a few days." Julian tried again to engage his wife in civil discourse. "Your new clothing should be finished by then."
Between narrowed eyes, Charity watched as Lord Wrotham took a drink of his wine. Unkindly, she wondered if in the pause he expected her to fall on her knees before him and sob her thanks.
"Would you care to join me?"
A few heartbeats passed as the unexpected invitation hung in the air. Charity stayed her initial, negative response. Going to Belford was never a pleasant experience for her. Still, showing gossip mongers that they were wrong about her and the rumors they spread was tempting. But would the momentary satisfaction outweigh all those years of disdain they'd shown her?
"Very well," came the cautious reply. "I'd be happy to accompany you." Hopefully, Charity's injury would look better in a few days.
Cherry tarts were served for dessert. It was past time for the twins to have their afternoon nap. They fussed until Nurse Hollings was sent to collect them.
"Sleep well, Moppet," Charity told Catherine before giving her a kiss on the cheek. "You too, Sweet Pea." She swore she heard Lord Wrotham snort at her nickname for Phoebe.
"Nigh-Ma," Catherine told Charity before giving her a messy kiss on the cheek. She bravely walked to her father's chair and motioned for him to bend down. Upon placing a sticky kiss on his cheek, she said, "Ni-Da."
Lord Wrotham looked momentarily nonplussed, but dutifully kissed the toddler's presented cheek. "Sleep well Catherine," he said, his voice sounding a little rough.
Phoebe ignored Lord Wrotham completely. With a raised chin, she walked to the door with her nurse. There was a look of consternation on her face as she looked at her sister when the younger twin joined them.
Charity worried her lower lip between her teeth as she watched her daughters leave. She didn't wish for them to become attached to Lord Wrotham. With any luck, they'd never see him again after the annulment.
"If you'll excuse me, I'm feeling a little piqued and would like to lie down." Lord Wrotham seemed to want to linger over dessert, but Charity was truly exhausted. Besides which, she reminded herself, she had no wish to be alone with the man.
"One moment, if you will." Julian rose as Lady Wrotham did and placed a staying hand on her arm. "I wanted a private word with you." He looked pointedly at the butler who still dawdled by the sideboard.
Lady Wrotham sighed before she retook her seat. Julian meant for them to repair to the drawing room, but she apparently had no wish to be private with him.
"He's quite deaf, you know." Julian's wife's tone was low and barely above a whisper. "You can discuss what needs discussing in front of him."
A short, humorless laugh escaped Julian. "One would think you're afraid to be alone with me," he voiced his earlier thought. Stilling, his gaze swept her, and he bit back a caustic retort. The feeling was mutual, he reminded himself. Lady Wrotham was far too thin and her coloring too dark to tempt him. There was also the fact she'd cuckolded him that further made any desire he might have felt for her shrivel up and die.
"You have nothing to fear from me." Julian tried to keep the derision he felt from his voice. At his wife's sudden, wary expression he saw that he'd failed.
Perseverance welled within Julian. He would not apologize. Instead, he said forcefully enough for the nearly-deaf ancient to hear, "That will be all, Rogers."
"If yer certain, my lady?" There was no doubt in Julian's mind where the butler's loyalty lay.
Lady Wrotham gave the old man a small, warm smile. "Yes, I'll be fine. Thank you, Rogers." Her voice was sweet, if slightly loud. She never spoke to her husband in that tone.
"Very well," Rogers boomed. Julian received a warning glower as the old man stomped past.
"We really need to talk about pensioning him off," Julian observed once the recalcitrant servant dramatically closed the door.
"We shall do no such thing." Judging by her pinched look and elevated chin, Julian's reasonable suggestion was not to his wife's liking. "Rogers has been with me since the beginning."
A frown appeared on Julian's features. Surely Lady Wrotham didn't mean since her birth. "The beginning of what, madam?"
"This farce of a marriage, of course," Lady Wrotham shot back.
Julian's head shook slightly. That topic, as far as he was concerned, was closed. He would not be goaded into another, pointless discussion of it by her. Instead, he charged, "Even you admit he is deaf. His speech and bearing are abysmal. He takes neither correction nor direction well. Surely you can see that a younger, more qualified man is needed at Shepridge End?"
That, delivered logically and reasonably, decided Julian on the subject. He'd write to his man of business and have him interview and hire a new butler. Then they'd find a nice home on the estate for the old one.
"I most certainly do not need another butler." Lady Wrotham's breathing was deep, causing her bosom to swell with each inhalation. "Rogers stayed on after so many left. He may be aging, but he would die without this job. I'd miss him and so would my daughters. You cannot mean what you say." On the last word, she bit back a sob.
Julian's eyes narrowed. He hated it when women used tears as weapons. His mother had used them too often in the past. "It is certainly heartening to realize you can show loyalty to someone. However, that butler," his finger stabbed in the direction of the hall, through the closed doors, "should never have held the position in my employ."
Charity's watery gaze met Lord Wrotham's. Jaw firming, she sniffed away the tears. Glaring her anger at him, she wished he'd go to the devil and take his high-handedness with him.
Blinking rapidly, Charity cleared her throat to shed it of the unwanted tears. She swallowed then, in a stern tone stated, "He stays, and that's the end of the matter."
Lord Wrotham's expression turned smug. In response, Charity's palm and fingers tingled, itching to slap it from his face. Instead, she smacked the smooth surface of the table, causing the china and cutlery to rattle.
Lord Wrotham's eyes widened slightly at her display of temper. "I will discuss this with you no more."
Rising from her chair, Charity was surprised when his lordship did as well. Her hand hurt, but she refused to allow him to see, keeping it fisted by her side and hidden. "I will fire or run off any you find to replace Rogers. It would save you time and money were you to stop this plan of yours. He stays."
Lady Wrotham didn't give Julian an opportunity to argue the point further. Not that he wished to since he planned never to set foot on this estate again once the shooter and his nefarious plot were uncovered.
The door shook in its frame as Julian's wife closed it behind her. Between Lady Wrotham and that bloody butler, he'd likely have to replace every door in the bloody house.
Bending forward, Julian gripped either end of the table. Lady Wrotham had an unnerving ability to get his back up, making him lose his purpose. "Damn," Julian muttered as he realized he still hadn't warned her of the danger he'd brought to Shepridge End.
The footman Julian accused his wife of having an affair with opened the door. His footsteps faltered when he was met with the full force of his employer's glare.
Peeling his fingers from the table, Julian straightened. With stiff motions, he tugged down the cuffs of his jacket. "As you were," he intoned. Then, he stiffly walked from the room, leaving the footman to see about clearing away the remaining vestiges of their disastrous meal.
I hope you liked this chapter. If you want to point out mistakes or want to leave a comment, I'd appreciate that! Also, if you enjoyed reading this chapter, please consider voting for it. Thank you!