CHAPTER 21: CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

With Derek’s words hanging in the air, the final, undeniable proof of the conspiracy had been laid bare. The truth was as clear as the waxy, reddish residue on the Grand Duke’s finger. Every eye in the ancestral hall, filled with a mixture of shock and dawning fury, turned to the kneeling, trembling form of the maid, Clara.

Marissa took a slow step towards her, her voice no longer loud, but a low, dangerous whisper that cut through the silence. "Why did you do it, Clara?" she asked. "Why did you frame me? Who put you up to this?"

Clara’s eyes, wide with terror, darted instinctively towards her mistress, Lorena. Her mouth opened, a confession ready to spill from her lips. She was caught, and her only hope was to give them the bigger fish.

But she never got the chance. Lorena moved with the speed of a striking viper.

SLAP!

The sound of her hand connecting with Clara’s cheek was viciously loud, a sharp crack that echoed off the stone walls. The force of the blow sent the smaller woman sprawling onto the floor.

"Clara!" Lorena’s voice was a masterpiece of pretend betrayal, shaking with a perfectly feigned mixture of disbelief and heartbreak. She looked down at the whimpering maid she had just silenced. "I have always treated you well. I trusted you. How could you do this? How could you bring such disgrace upon this family and upon me?"

Clara, clutching her face, looked up at her mistress. She saw the ice-cold threat in Lorena’s eyes and understood perfectly. Confessing would not save her; it would only earn her a much worse fate at Lorena’s hands later. Her loyalty, born of pure terror, snapped back into place.

She began to sob, crawling on her knees towards the Dowager Duchess. "I was wrong! I was wrong!" she wailed, her words a torrent of desperate lies. "I was jealous of the new Duchess’s beauty and status! I lost my mind! Please, Your Grace, I beg you, have mercy on me!"

Beatrice’s face, which had been pale with superstitious fear, was now flushed a deep, angry red. The honor of her family had been threatened by the petty jealousy of a servant. Her expression was like granite.

"Guards!" she commanded, her voice ringing with authority.

Two large guards stepped forward from the entrance.

"Drag this treacherous servant away from my sight," Beatrice ordered, her voice trembling with rage. "Punish her with fifty strokes of the cane. Then expel her from this estate without a single one of her belongings. That is, if she survives the strokes."

Clara’s face went completely white. Fifty strokes was a death sentence. "No! Please!" she screamed as the guards grabbed her arms, hauling her unceremoniously to her feet. "Please have mercy! Mercy!"

The guards began to drag her out of the hall, her pleas growing more frantic. "Have mercy! Have mercy!" Her voice echoed down the long corridor, finally fading into a choked, desperate wail before being cut off entirely.

A grim silence settled over the room.

Marissa turned her calm, unreadable gaze upon Lorena. "Clara is always with Miss Lorena," she said, her voice thoughtful, as if making a simple observation. "There is an old saying: ’If the upper beam is crooked, the lower beams will naturally slant.’" She looked directly at Beatrice. "Grandmother, it seems the discipline of this household is in dire need of correction."

The accusation was indirect but perfectly clear. A good manager would never have such a treacherous maid. Lorena’s face paled further. Before she could form a rebuttal, Beatrice’s wrath turned on her.

"She is right!" the Dowager Duchess snapped, pointing her cane at Lorena. "You can’t even manage your own personal maid! You allowed this poison to fester right under your nose! What use are you as the head of the household if you are so blind?" Beatrice sighed, a deep, frustrated breath, looking suddenly weary.

"You will reflect on your failures here," she commanded. "You will kneel before the ancestors for twelve hours and beg for their forgiveness for the disruption you have allowed. Furthermore, you will be forfeited of your wages for the next three months." Her eyes narrowed. "And if anything like this ever happens again, Lorena, I will revoke your household authority entirely. Do you understand me?"

Lorena shriveled under the weight of the Dowager’s anger. "Dowager, please, hear me out... It was not my fault..." she stammered.

But Beatrice had already turned her back. "Dowager!" Lorena called out, scrambling to her feet to follow the matriarch as she swept out of the ancestral hall.

The other relatives, seeing that the drama was over, began to whisper amongst themselves and file out as well, eager to dissect the morning’s scandalous events.

Carlos gave Marissa a complicated look before guiding a pale, shaken Ashlyn out of the hall.

Soon, the vast, silent room was empty, save for Marissa and Derek.

Marissa stood for a moment, the scent of incense and victory in the air. Household authority, she thought, a new, ambitious idea taking root. Lorena holds it now, but she is weakened. Rather than being passive and controlled by others, it would be much better to be the one in charge.

She turned and left the hall, her posture regal and confident. Derek, after a moment’s hesitation, followed her. As they walked down the sunlit corridor, his voice, laced with a dry amusement, came from behind her.

"I knew you were not stupid," he said. "But I admit, I am impressed. You knew to use the syrup on Ryan’s hands to tamper with the coin, didn’t you? A clever trick to win over a superstitious old woman."

Marissa didn’t slow her pace or turn around. "If His Grace used half of his cleverness on important matters of the state," she retorted, her voice cool and sharp, "he wouldn’t have the reputation of being a skiver who spends his days chasing after women and wine."

She swept out of the corridor and into the open-air courtyard before he could think of a reply, leaving him standing alone, a rare look of stunned silence on his face.

The bright sunlight was a welcome change after the oppressive gloom of the ancestral hall. Marissa took a deep breath of fresh air and saw a small figure sitting on the edge of a large stone fountain. It was Ryan.

She walked over to him, her expression softening completely. She crouched down to his level. "Ryan," she said gently. "Thank you for your help today."

The little boy looked up, his dark eyes wide and serious. He then broke into a radiant smile, his whole face lighting up. "Great-grandmother said you are Father’s wife," he said, his voice full of a simple, profound joy. "So that means you are my mother now."

The words struck Marissa with an unexpected force.

"Ryan has a mother now," he continued, his smile growing wider as if he were announcing the greatest news in the world. "I am so happy."