-Chapter Twelve-
"Speak fast, you bloody little wretch! What business have you with His Grace? Answer us!"
Mercy, please. Show mercy… The words echoed in Estella's mind, though they would not pass her trembling lips.
"You don't want to tell us, is it? You think silence will save you?!"
Of course not. Her very next breath depended on her ability to answer them. She knew that. But what would they believe? That the Duke had caught her unaware and kissed her? Or that she had been fleeing the ball when he seized her? And if they learned that she'd meant to flee Lady Agatha's Ball…
Oh, merciful heaven! They mustn't know …
A cold dread seized her stomach, clawing at her organs with a savage grip, its tendrils creeping up her neck and down her spine.
"Stand there and wait for me! I am coming to help you rid yourself of that tongue!"
Georgina spat the words, kissing her teeth scornfully as she strode toward Estella with the force of an advancing storm. Her heavy tread rang out like the march of a charging beast, each step a warning. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, Estella could not will herself to move.
Her chin dipped, her shoulders creeping up to shield her from the inevitable. Her eyes shut of their own accord as she muttered a silent prayer in her heart for someone, or anything, to come to her aid and save her. She was weary, critically tired of the ceaseless torment.
"Georgina!"
"What!"
A flicker of hope passed through Estella's lips, and she opened her eyes. What she did not expect, though, were the two scorching hands that slammed against her ears on either side. So intense was the slap that it sent a jolt of shockwaves through her skull, grounding her in the moment. The house stood still for a while, and a chilling quiet enveloped everything, broken only by the sharp, continuous ringing in both her ears.
When, at last, her hearing returned, Estella could not contain the sob that lodged itself in her throat, refusing to escape. She felt the moisture gathering in her eyes, her lashes flinching cowardly as she failed to hold back the tears.
"What is it?!" Georgina beckoned to her sister, who stood by the window, gazing out.
"It… It's Father…" Geraldine hesitated. "He is walking back alone."
"What do you mean? What about His Grace—"
A faint sniffle from Estella broke the urgency of the moment.
Georgina turned sharply, sneering. "You—go weep elsewhere."
But Estella did not move. She stood trembling, hands pressed against her ears as though to ward off the lingering echoes of pain.
"I do not see anyone with Father," Geraldine murmured, her eyes still fixed on the scene outside. "Neither His Grace nor the other man with him before… are with Father. Georgina, Father's head is bent very low. He runs a hand over his face—"
"Heavens forbid!" the baroness cried, cutting her off. "What could have gone wrong? What has he done now?"
She began pacing about. "He had one job: show His Grace to the garden and that's it. What is so hard in that?"
"And you, why are you still here? Did I not tell you to hide yourself somewhere?" Georgina snapped at Estella, channelling the moment's confusion to the ever-available prey.
"I am speaking, and yet you stand there, daring to look me in the eye with that insolent gaze! Do you wish for a real beating?"
Her footsteps matched the sharpness of her words.
"Let the girl be," the baroness interjected in her characteristic measured but firm voice. "Your father's solitary return is of greater concern."
Estella started. The Baroness had never before silenced her daughters when they tormented her. Not once had she intervened nor spoken against their cruel jests. And yet, this time, she had. What did it mean?
"Father!"
The girls cried out in unison, rushing to greet him at the door. Estella could hear the fevered pounding of their wretched hearts from where she stood. Even the baroness, though seated languidly in her favoured chair, could not wholly conceal her agitation. She struck a pose of practised indifference, yet there was something in the stiffness of her bearing. Her fingers twitched slightly upon the armrest, easily betraying her unease.
"What happened out there?" Georgina demanded first, ever impatient.
Estella listened, though every instinct urged her to slip away, to steal the moment's uproar and retreat unnoticed to her room.
"You will not believe it," the baron muttered at last, sinking onto the couch opposite his wife, who turned her back to him in a show of silent displeasure.
"Someone get me water to drink," the baron ordered, casting a pointed glance at his wife.
Geraldine hurried to do as he bid, and soon, Lovetta arrived with a cup of water. The baron drank deeply, then exhaled. A heavy sigh, then another.
"Will you keep sighing until nightfall?" the baroness scoffed. Then, with a flick of her hand, she dismissed the maid. "Leave us. You too," she added, her gaze landing on Estella.
Of course. She was never welcome at family discussions unless, of course, they involved bargaining her away to the Viscount for his silence.
"Halt!"
The baron's sudden shout rooted Estella to the spot just as Lovetta slipped from the room.
"What happened out there was all because of you. His Grace left in anger because of you. He returned in a fit because of you. All because of you, Bloody girl," the baron said, his voice shaking.
Estella turned to face him, better by her own will than by force. But what she saw made her breath hitch. Her father was visibly trembling.
"What has this insolent rat done now?" Geraldine snapped. "Are we never to know peace so long as she remains?"
"Not that," the baron said, catching his breath before downing the last of his water. His wife watched him with quiet scrutiny.
"Shall I have more brought to you?" she asked.
The baron shook his head, much to his daughters' dismay.
Georgina, for her part, was not having it.
"Say something, then!" she cried with frustration, her foot shifting restlessly on the floor.