The chaotic painting class ended early because of Duchess Adeline's disgraceful behavior. Lady Isla, looking mortified, had a private word with Lyra and Delia, promising that such a vulgar display would never happen again in her establishment. Now, Lyra sat in a quiet, private tea room just off the main establishment, across from Delia, who was nursing her stinging cheek.
Delia held her hand to her red face, her gaze fixed on her own lap, unable to look her mother-in-law in the eyes. The silence in the small room was heavy, thick with unspoken words and hurt feelings.
Lyra was the first to speak, her voice sharp, trying to mask the deep worry that was too plain to see on her face. "Who asked you to jump in like that?" she began, her tone a harsh reprimand. " Adeline has been targeting me, that I know but who asked you to butt in and take a hit that was meant for me? Did you think I would be grateful for your foolish heroics?"
