simple gown of deep blue wool, expensive but unadorned, a plain silver clasp holding her dark h

t night... surely you don't have t

ng, Clara. The battlefi

ther-in-law, Duchess Eleanor Ferguson. A daily ritual of submissi

s, she saw Eleanor seated with several high-ranking noblewomen, teacups in hand, heads bent in go

and curious. Adeline walked forward, back straight, steps

ning, You

eliberate sip of tea, eyes cold over the cup's rim, and let Adeli

from behind the Duchess's chair. Agnes had served Eleanor thirty years and wiel

displease his lordship again last night?

shaming. The old Adeline wo

as if the woman were no more than a mispla

r courtesy, "forgive me. I had not realized the Duchess

But to let a servant do it for her was something smaller, uglier. It made Eleanor look either too cowardly to speak her own contem

se ladies, must I accept correction from your maid, or

e tightened. The l

by what she saw as her mistress's support, she stepped closer, eyes falling on the damp hem of Adeline's gown. "Oh

scolding a child. Her bony, cold

d in a blur. Fast.

d through the q

oming, a thin trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. The silence wa

ingling. She stared at the stunn

to silence. "You are the servant." She stepped closer, forcing Agnes to shrink ba

"This is a lesson in you

in-law's furious, incredulous gaze. She said nothing. She