The dining room of the Blackwood mansion had been its pride always. Below the chandeliers of imported crystal was a long mahogany table. It had been the home of deals, the home of impressions, the home of Samuel Blackwood, king of his loyal retinue, as decades had passed. However, the air was not like this night. Leya was at the table-end. Not as a guest. Not as an intruder. As the host. The mahogany under her hand was hers, the chandeliers shone back on her. All the servants in the room were walking about with contracted shoulders, and in low whispering glances, since they were all aware whose name was on the deeds and papers in the vault. Samuel was sitting three chairs down, not head any longer. His jaws were so tight that his vein in his temple ached. He had been kept silent three days, three days of her re-orienting his house about herself. Now the silence broke. “Eleanor. Vivian.” There was a clink of dishwares broken by the voice of Leya. Her hand was not raised in gratit
Última actualización : 2026-01-02
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