“Eliza?” her mother’s voice cracked across the room. “Eliza!”
And worse, so much worse, standing just behind her parents, watching with cold, calculated interest…
Lord Whitfield.
“This is quite the scandal,” Arabella continued, clearly relishing every moment. “The Duke of Kirkhammer, harboring a runaway aristocrat in his household. One wonders what other services she’s been providing…”
“That’s enough.”
Morgan’s voice cut through the ballroom like a roar of thunder. He strode forward, his expression dark, and positioned himself directly between Eliza and Arabella.
“Lady Fairfax,” he growled through gritted teeth. “You will leave my house. Immediately.”
Arabella blinked, clearly shocked. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”
“You heard me. Get out.”
“Morgan, I’m trying to help you! This girl has been lying to you, using you!”
“I will not tolerate such a scene in my home,” Morgan said, his tone glacial. “You’ve caused quite enough damage and with no decorum. Leave. Now. Or I’ll have you escorted out by footmen. Your choice.”
Arabella’s face flushed crimson. She looked around the ballroom, clearly expecting support, but found only shocked faces and averted eyes.
“You’ll regret this,” she hissed.
“I sincerely doubt it. Jenkins!”
Morgan’s butler appeared immediately. “Your Grace?”
“Show Lady Fairfax to the door.”
Arabella drew herself up, trembling with rage. “You’re making a fool of yourself over a servant girl!”
“Jenkins. Now.”
With one last venomous glare at Eliza, Arabella allowed herself to be escorted from the ballroom. The massive doors closed behind her with a resounding thud. For a moment, silence reigned.
Then Morgan turned to Eliza, his expression softening. “Are you all right?”
Before she could answer, another voice cut through the room.
“Eliza Newmont, you will come here this instant!”
Lady Ramersby was pushing through the crowd, Lord Ramersby following reluctantly behind her, Whitfield’s shadow looming at their backs.
Morgan’s jaw tightened. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation somewhere more private. My study. Lord and Lady Ramersby.”
It wasn’t a suggestion; they all followed him immediately.
The study felt suffocatingly small with four people crammed inside.
Morgan stood behind his desk, arms crossed. Eliza stood near the window, as far from her parents as possible. Lord and Lady Ramersby occupied the center of the room like invading forces.
“How dare you,” Lady Ramersby spat, advancing on Eliza. “How dare you disgrace us like this! Running away, hiding like a common criminal, working as a… as a servant in another man’s house!”
“Mother…”
“Don’t you ‘Mother’ me! Do you have any idea what you’ve put us through? The lies we’ve had to tell, the gossip we’ve endured?”
