Chapter 5 - The Woman in the Chair
Eleanor’s hand flew to her throat, her knuckles whitening around her pearls. "A-Aunt Margaret?"
The woman in the wheelchair adjusted the diamond clip holding her wrap. Her expression was completely devoid of emotion—a mask of cold, ancient aristocratic boredom.
"Don't choke on your spit, Eleanor," Margaret Vance said evenly. "You'll ruin the silk."
The entire circle of onlookers froze. Julian, the groom, pushed through the crowd, his face pale with shock. "Grandmother? We... we were told your transport couldn't make it up the mountain because of the snow forecast! We didn't think you were coming!"
"Evidently," Margaret said, her dark eyes flicking to Julian. "Had you known I was coming, perhaps someone would have stationed someone at the entrance who knew how to operate a door. Instead, I sat stranded on the terrace like an abandoned parcel while your friends stepped over my wheels to reach the open bar."
Julian swallowed hard, glancing nervously at his mother. Eleanor looked as though she might faint. The Vance fortune—the trust funds, the shipping contracts, the very estate they were standing in—did not belong to Julian or Eleanor. It belonged entirely to Margaret Vance, the widowed matriarch who lived in strict seclusion on her estate in Maine and rarely interfered in family affairs.
Until tonight.
"Aunt Margaret, please forgive us," Eleanor stammered, stepping forward with her hands clasped in front of her. "The staff—the coordination was chaotic. If we had known, Julian would have carried you in himself!"
"Julian couldn't carry a case of wine without complaining of lumbar strain," Margaret said cuttingly. She turned her wheelchair slightly, looking up at Lily, who was standing frozen two steps away.
"You," Margaret said.
Lily blinked. "Yes, ma'am?"
"What is your name, child?"
"Lily. Lily Carter."
Margaret repeated the name slowly, letting it roll across the quiet ballroom. "Lily Carter. Tell me, Lily, did Eleanor just ask you to leave through the service exit?"
The room went dead silent. You could hear the faint fizz of champagne bubbles in the glasses nearby. Eleanor began to shake her head frantically, mouthing silent apologies, but Margaret’s piercing glare held Lily in place.
May you like
Lily looked at Eleanor’s desperate face, then at Sophia’s guilty eyes. She had every reason to lie to keep the peace. But she thought of her twenty-six-dollar shoes, her brother Noah coughing in his drafty room, and the four hours she had spent trying to iron a dress just to be treated like vermin.
"Yes, ma'am," Lily said clearly. "She did."
