The sitting room was smaller than she expected. It wasn't intimate exactly, but it was insulated. Heavy velvet curtains softened the ambient sound from the ballroom. A single lamp glowed near a leather sofa, and there was a tray of untouched coffee, sugar cubes, and water glasses set out. Annie noticed the cookies first but did not ask for one.
Lena remained standing. Charles stayed standing, too. Victor closed the door, then took up a defensive position near the sideboard. Margaret had followed as far as the hall and now lingered just beyond the partly open threshold on the pretense of directing the evening's clean-up crew. Lena noticed and was deeply grateful.
Charles began without ceremony. "What I said tonight was public," he said. "So, I will not insult you by pretending it was casual."
"No," Lena replied. "You won't."
"He accepted that I meant it."
Lena's laugh was short and completely without humor. "That phrase keeps sounding different every time you say it."
Annie looked between them. "You said if I danced, you'd adopt me."
Charles turned toward her. "I did."
"And help my mama?"
"Yes."
Lena stepped slightly in front of Annie. "Before this goes any further, let's be clear about one thing: my child is not a prize, a project, or a story to improve your corporate image."
Victor spoke then, moving too quickly. "No one is suggesting that, Mrs. Bell—"
Lena turned her head sharply toward him. "I wasn't speaking to you."
Silence followed. Charles seemed almost to approve of her steel.