Chapter 145 - Hundred And Forty Five
The weekly activity of The Gilded Cage had already begun. The air was filled with the pleasant earthy scent of oil paints and the light, floral notes of the ladies’ expensive perfumes. Sunlight streamed through the tall, arched windows, illuminating the room where a dozen of the most prominent women in Albion stood before their easels, dabbing at canvases with varying degrees of skill.
Duchess Lyra was entirely focused on her painting, a quiet landscape of the countryside. She mixed a bit of white and red color on her palette, creating the perfect soft pink for a sunset cloud. She was in her own world, a silent island of concentration amidst the sea of gentle chatter.
Delia, standing at her own easel a short distance away, was finding it much harder to concentrate. She would apply a dab of green paint to a tree, then her eyes would inevitably drift over to her mother-in-law. She was trying to steal glances at Lyra, to gauge her mood, to find an opening to speak with her, to apologize again for the unresolved conflict from the day before and to ask about the Dowager Duchess’ health.
The other women in The Gilded Cage were interacting with one another, their soft voices a constant, humming backdrop to the quiet scratching of brushes on canvas.
"My Amelia has finally mastered her French lessons," one Viscountess said proudly to her neighbor. "Her accent is simply flawless now. She’s always conversing in French at any given opportunity round the house."
"Oh, how wonderful," the other replied. "My Thomas is still struggling with his Latin. His tutor says he has the attention span of a gnat."
They both laughed, their soft laughter filling the room.
Duchess Adeline, however, was not interested in such mundane talk. She had been watching Delia, had noticed the anxious, sideways glances she was sending towards Lyra and Lyra’s concentration hinting at avoidance. She saw an opportunity, a weakness to exploit, and she decided to use it to taunt her old rival.
"What is going on over there, Lyra?" Adeline asked, her voice a little too loud, a clear interruption. She turned to Lyra, who did not pay her any heed, her focus still entirely on her painting. "Are you and your new daughter-in-law having a little fight?"
Delia and Lyra’s eyes met for a fraction of a second across the room. Lyra immediately went back to her painting, her hand as steady as ever.
"Fighting?" Lyra said,her head down, her concentration fixed, still painting. Her voice was cool and dismissive. "There is no need for that."
"Oh, I am sure," Adeline replied, her voice full of a false, syrupy sympathy. "It sounds and looks like the whole affair is already over. This marriage was never going to last anyway. Good for you, Lyra. It is probably for the best. A clean break is always better." She sighed dramatically. "And a quick divorce won’t even affect your son’s future. His title and wealth are still secure. He can still take another wife."
Lyra looked up from her painting, her eyes finally fixing on Adeline, a dangerous glint in them. "What did you say?"