Chapter 36 - Thirty Six
"I told her to come," Duchess Lyra said to Delia, her voice as smooth and cool as the polished marble floor. She gestured towards Anne. "I hope that’s okay with you?"
It was not a question; it was a statement. Delia didn’t say anything. She had walked directly into a carefully laid ambush. She simply took her seat at the elegant table, her back straight, her expression carefully neutral. Anne, looking smug, sat down as well.
The man who had greeted them at the door leaned in to whisper something to the Duchess, and she nodded, rising from her seat to attend to it for a moment, leaving the two stepsisters alone in a bubble of tense silence.
Immediately, Anne turned to Delia, her friendly facade dropping like a mask. "Wipe that look off your face," she hissed, her voice a low, bitter whisper. "We are in the presence of the Duchess. We don’t have to make it so obvious that we hate each other."
Delia met her sister’s angry gaze without flinching. "Why can’t we make it obvious?" she replied coolly. "Don’t we actually hate each other?"
Anne recoiled slightly, taken aback by Delia’s directness. "What?"
"I don’t want to act fake," Delia stated simply. "You can if you want to. You’re much better at it than I am."
Before Delia could say more, Anne stood up abruptly and left the private section.
Moments later, she returned, followed by a servant carrying a heavy silver tray. On it was a steaming, fragrant teapot, another hot one, and a new set of fine porcelain cups and saucers. By this time, Duchess Lyra was already back and seated, watching the exchange with an observant, unreadable expression.
The servant placed the tray on the table and left. Anne sat down, her composure completely restored, her face now a picture of grace and thoughtfulness.
"I heard from Baroness Dupont that you love cinnamon tea, Your Grace," Anne said, addressing Lyra with a sweet, deferential smile. "So I took the liberty of ordering a fresh pot for you."