She Was Sold to an Old Duke — But His Wedding Night Gift Changed Everything
Chapter 9
Theme:
Font Size:
24px
The staff, initially terrified of her, began to operate with a sharp, relieved efficiency: she did not yell; she simply expected competence, and she rewarded it with fair wages paid exactly on time—a novelty under the previous estate manager.But a fortress is only tested when the enemy approaches the gates.The first formal dinner of the season was obligatory. Thomas had avoided society for a decade, but an absolute silence would breed rumors of his death, and rumors would invite creditors and distant cousins. Josephine arranged the dinner for the second week of December: 20 guests—the local gentry, the neighboring landowners, and the most dangerous of the lot, Thomas's younger sister, Lady Agatha.Agatha arrived wearing too much powder, too much purple silk, and an expression of pinched, eager cruelty. She was Reginald's mother, and she carried her son's humiliation like a drawn sword.The dining room was a battlefield of crystal and silver. The chandeliers blazed with expensive beeswax candles, casting sharp light over the long mahogany table. Josephine sat at the foot of the table, directly opposite Thomas. She wore a gown of deep crimson velvet, high at the throat, with no jewelry save the heavy gold band on her left hand; she looked like blood against the dark wood of the room.The conversation was a delicate, vicious dance: the local squires discussed the grain harvest; their wives cast sideways, calculating glances at Josephine. They knew who she was; they knew her brother was a degenerate gambler. They were waiting for her to use the wrong fork, to mispronounce a French entrée, to prove she was the gutter trash they believed her to be.Josephine gave them nothing: she ate methodically; she directed the footmen with slight movements of her chin.During the second course, a heavily spiced venison roast, Lady Agatha leaned forward, tapping her silver knife against her crystal wineglass to command the table's attention."Tell us, Your Grace," Agatha said, her voice carrying easily over the muted chatter, the title dripping with sarcasm. "How is your dear brother? Charles, isn't it? We hear such colorful stories about him in London. Is he still frequenting those dreadful gin lanes?"The table went dead silent. The squires stopped chewing. Thomas's hand tightened around the stem of his glass, his pale eyes narrowing at his sister.Josephine did not flinch. She set her fork down carefully on the edge of her porcelain plate. She looked down the length of the table, meeting Agatha's vicious stare with absolute, freezing calm."My brother is a fool, Lady Agatha," Josephine said evenly. Her voice did not shake; it rang through the quiet room like a bell. "He is a man governed by his vices. He made catastrophic financial decisions that ruined our family name. I do not speak to him. I do not know where he is, nor do I care."Agatha blinked, momentarily thrown by the sheer, unapologetic honesty. People in their circle lied about their disgraced relatives; they did not put them on a platter.