Chapter 6 Celia : The Charity tea

I spent most of the evening staring at the ceiling.

Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Adrian's voice again.

"My wife doesn't enjoy being interrogated for entertainment."

The words shouldn't have mattered.

A person can defend someone without caring about them. He could intervene simply because he disliked public rudeness. Because he wanted to protect the Lancaster name. Because he didn't want a scandal unfolding in his mother's sitting room.

There were dozens of explanations.

None of them should have meant anything to me.

Yet somehow, I couldn't stop thinking about it.

Maybe because nobody had ever stood beside me before.

Not my father not my mother, 

And certainly not Sienna.

For as long as I could remember, I had always been standing alone.

By the time sleep finally found me, dawn wasn't far away.

Unfortunately, it disappeared again the moment someone knocked on my bedroom door.

"Celia?"

I groaned quietly.

Only one person in this house called me by my first name without sounding like they regretted it.

I climbed out of bed and opened the door.

Eleanor stood there smiling.

Immediately, I knew she wanted something.

"Good morning, dear."

That smile widened.

Definitely wanted something.

"What is it?"

She gasped dramatically.

"Must I want something?"

"Yes."

Her laughter filled the hallway.

"Rude girl." She said playfully. 

I smiled despite myself.

The smile vanished when she pushed a garment bag into my arms.

Oh no. Of all the things to forget Celia. 

"No."

"Oh yes."

"Eleanor."

"Today's charity tea."

My stomach immediately dropped.

The charity tea.

I had almost managed to forget.

Almost? Completely. 

Now the anxiety returned all at once.

Greyford society.

Rich women.

Judgments and Humiliation.

Everything I was desperately trying not to think about.

"No."

"Yes."

"I'm not going."

"You are."

"Eleanor"

"No arguments."

She pointed at the garment bag.

"You are wearing that dress."

I looked down suspiciously.

"What if I don't like it?"

"You'll like it."

"What if it doesn't fit?"

"It fits."

"What if—"

"It fits."

I sighed.

She looked entirely too pleased with herself.

"You're impossible."

"That's what Adrian says."

Something strange fluttered briefly inside my chest.

I've been frustrated by how often that happened lately.

Before I could answer, she patted my arm.

"Get dressed."

Then she disappeared down the hallway before I could argue any further.

I stared after her until she was totally gone.

Then down at the garment bag.

Then sighed again.

Five minutes later, I unzipped it.

And forgot how to breathe.

The dress was absolutely beautiful.

Soft sage-green silk.

Long sleeves.

Elegant lines.

Nothing too flashy.

Or too desperate.

It was exactly the sort of dress a confident woman would wear without needing anyone's approval.

Unfortunately, I wasn't a confident woman.

I was the spare daughter pretending not to fall apart.

Still, I slipped it on.

The fabric settled perfectly against my skin.

When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself.

For once, I didn't look like someone trying to disappear.

A knock sounded behind me.

Before I could answer, Marta pushed the door open.

Then froze.

I instantly became suspicious.

"What?"

She continued staring.

Then crossed her arms.

"Well."

"What?"

"I hope Mr. Lancaster survives."

Heat flooded my face immediately.

"Marta!"

She laughed.

Actually laughed.

The sound echoed through the room.

"Look at you."

"I look the same."

"No you don't."

Her eyes softened.

For some reason, that almost brought tears to my eyes.

Which was ridiculous.

It was just a dress.

Just a dress and nothing more.

Yet when I looked back at my reflection, I couldn't stop thinking about the woman staring back.

Maybe because she looked stronger than I felt.

The drive to the Lancaster Foundation Hall took twenty minutes.

I spent nineteen of them wishing the car would break down.

The hall overlooked Greyford Harbor.

White marble.

Tall columns.

Expensive enough to make my father jealous.

The moment we arrived, I wanted to turn around.

Unfortunately for me, it was too late.

The doors opened.

People immediately noticed us.

Or rather

They noticed Eleanor.

Then Vivian.

Then me.

The whispers started before we even reached the entrance.

I heard them.

Of course, I heard them.

People always assumed the target couldn't.

"That's her."

"The older sister."

"The replacement bride."

"I thought she'd be prettier."

"I heard Adrian barely speaks to her."

I kept walking, smiling, steadily catching my breath and trying to survive. 

The same way I always did.

Inside, the ballroom glittered beneath enormous crystal chandeliers.

Women in designer dresses drifted from table to table carrying teacups and gossip in equal measure.

Men gathered near the auction displays discussing business.

Everyone looked wealthy and polished. 

They looked like they belonged.

Everyone except me.

The realization settled heavily on my chest.

I didn't belong with the Rowans.

I didn't belong with the Lancasters.

Sometimes I wasn't sure I belonged anywhere.

"Stop that."

Eleanor's voice startled me.

I blinked.

"What?"

"That face."

"What face?"

"The one where you look like you're apologizing for existing."

I stared at her.

She stared right back.

Then sighed.

"My dear, if people dislike you, make them work harder for it."

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

Eleanor looked triumphant.

"There."

"What?"

"That smile."

She squeezed my arm.

"Much better."

For a moment, I actually relaxed.

Then someone approached our table.

And ruined everything.

"Mrs. Lancaster."

The voice dripped with a dangerous sweetness. 

The kind that usually came before a knife.

I looked up.

The woman smiling at me was probably in her fifties.

Elegant.

Expensively dressed.

Sharp enough to cut glass.

Beside her stood two equally interested friends.

All of them are examining me.

"Hello."

The woman's smile grew wider.

"I've wanted to meet you."

That never ended well.

"I've heard so much."

There it was.

The real reason.

Not curiosity.

Entertainment.

I was entertained.

A scandal wrapped in a green dress.

"Is that so?"

"Oh yes."

Her eyes sparkled.

"The entire city was talking about your wedding."

Several nearby women suddenly became very interested in their tea.

Listening.

Waiting.

Watching.

I wanted to leave.

Instead, I smiled politely.

"People enjoy gossip."

"They do."

The woman laughed.

Then leaned slightly closer.

"But surely you understand why."

My stomach tightened.

"No."

"Really?"

Her smile sharpened.

"Most women spend years searching for wealthy husbands."

The room grew quieter.

"You managed to acquire one in a single afternoon."

A burst of laughter, soft and cruel echoed through the Hall. 

Every muscle in my body tightened.

And suddenly I wasn't standing in a ballroom anymore.

I was twelve years old again.

Watching Sienna cry after breaking our mother's favorite vase.

Listening as my father blamed me before anyone even asked what happened.

Standing silently while Sienna hid behind him and smiled.

Nothing had changed.

Only the audience had gotten richer.

The woman continued.

"It was quite impressive."

More laughter.

My fingers curled around my teacup.

I opened my mouth.

Then, it closed it again.

Because what was the point?

Nobody wanted the truth.

They wanted the story.

The villain.

The jealous sister.

The thief.

The room waited.

The women waited.

And for the first time all afternoon

I forgot to breathe

The room waited. 

Then finally another voice broke the silence

The woman tilted her head.

Almost sympathetically.

Which somehow felt worse.

"You must be very determined, Mrs. Lancaster."

More laughter followed.

I could practically feel eyes landing on me from every corner of the ballroom.

Waiting.

Watching.

Judging.

The familiar helplessness crawled beneath my skin.

It reminded me of family dinners growing up.

Sienna would make a mistake.

Sienna would cry.

And somehow I would become the problem.

Every time.

No matter what happened.

No matter who was responsible.

I was always the easiest person to blame.

The safest person to sacrifice.

The room blurred slightly.

Not because I was going to cry.

I had learned years ago not to cry in front of people like this.

Tears only entertained them.

Instead, I straightened my shoulders.

Lifted my chin.

And forced myself to meet the woman's gaze.

"I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone interested in public opinion."

A flicker of surprise crossed her face.

The women around her exchanged glances.

I continued calmly.

"If strangers wish to discuss my marriage, that's their choice."

My voice remained soft.

Steady.

"But fortunately, it isn't my responsibility."

For a brief second, silence settled across the group.

Then someone snorted.

Another woman rolled her eyes.

The older socialite smiled again.

Only now the smile looked colder.

"How brave. For a commoner like you"

Her gaze swept over me deliberately.

"Confidence certainly comes easier after securing a billionaire husband."

There it was.

The final blow.

Not because the insult was particularly clever.

Because it was familiar.

The same accusation.

Again.

And again.

Gold digger.

Opportunist.

Manipulative.

Thief.

The words changed.

The meaning never did.

I tightened my grip on the teacup.

For one reckless second, I almost wished Adrian had divorced me immediately.

Then at least none of these people would care enough to look at me.

Then another voice cut through the silence.

Even more dangerous and demanding. 

"I wasn't aware marriages were classified as stolen property."