Chapter 88: A Glass Broken In Fury [2]

Chapter 88

"How could you! You absolute fiend!"

The screaming noblewoman closed the distance with terrifying speed, her voice cutting through the stunned silence of the glass courtyard like a serrated blade. Sigrid stood her ground, her face a mask of impenetrable tranquility as she turned her body to face the oncoming fury. She looked the woman up and down—taking in the flushed cheeks, the heaving chest, and the trembling, gloved hands raised in dramatic accusation.

When the enraged woman finally halted a mere arm’s length away, panting with unrestrained malice, Sigrid did not flinch. She simply tilted her head, her crimson eyes cold and utterly unbothered. "And who, pray tell, are you?" Sigrid asked, her voice smooth, level, and entirely devoid of interest.

The utter indifference in Sigrid’s tone acted like oil thrown directly onto a roaring fire. The woman’s face twisted into an even uglier snarl as her eyes bulged with outrage. "Of course you do not remember!" she shrieked, her voice pitching so high it strained the ears of the surrounding ladies. "You are the sole reason my father lost his livelihood! Because of your appalling selfishness and sheer wickedness, he was stripped of his position and dismissed from service by Marquess Caspian Warwick!"

A sudden spark of recognition lit up the dark depths of Sigrid’s memory. Ah, she realized, the pieces falling seamlessly into place. This must be the daughter of that arrogant merchant. She recalled the incident at the high-end establishment clearly—the man who had treated her and chester with unprovoked insolence and disrespect before she made Caspian’s father intervene to strip the man of his patronage.

Sigrid lifted an eyebrow, her tone remaining impossibly cool. "And how, exactly, is his dismissal my fault?"

"You know precisely why!" the woman spat, taking a menacing step forward, though Lilith instinctively moved to interpose herself before Sigrid gently held up a hand to stop her maid. "You are a grown woman, Duchess! You ought to have possessed the maturity to overlook a minor grievance! You could have simply taken your business to a different establishment entirely. But no—because of your boundless pettiness, my father was cast out, his reputation ruined, and now our household is hardly getting by!"

Sigrid did not offer a tearful apology or a defensive stance. Instead, her sharp crimson eyes systematically swept over the woman’s attire, assessing every detail with brutal precision. She noted the heavy silk velvet of the gown, the intricate lace lining the sleeves, and the dazzling array of sapphires encrusting the woman’s necklace and hairpins. "Hardly getting by?" Sigrid repeated, a subtle, razor-sharp smirk touching the corner of her lips. "That is quite a fascinating claim, considering you stand before this noble court draped in jewels and silks worth a small fortune."

The woman flushed violently, her hand flying to her sapphire necklace as if to hide it from view. "He... he had to purchase these for me!" she stammered, her composure breaking into defensive embarrassment. "I could not possibly attend Lady Beatrice’s gathering looking like a pauper! I would have been made a complete outcast!"

"Then why do you parade your shame so loudly in front of the highest ladies of the realm?" Sigrid countered smoothly, taking a slow step forward that forced the angry woman to instinctively retreat. "Do not exchange words of indignation with me when your own logic is so utterly flawed. You stand here, making an absolute spectacle of yourself, spewing unrefined garbage without taking a single moment to verify the facts. Your father committed the grave error of disrespecting a Duchess of the realm and her companions without cause. He conducted himself with gross unprofessionalism, and thus he suffered the natural consequences of his arrogance. If a man tasked with serving nobility cannot manage basic civility toward a Duchess, he was fundamentally unfit for the role to begin with. If there is anyone deserving of your misdirected wrath, I suggest you return home and deliver it to your father."

The woman’s face turned a deep, dangerous shade of crimson. Her jaw worked frantically as she struggled to form a response to the devastating set-down, her mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. She drew in a harsh breath, raising a hand to shout another tirade at Sigrid, but before she could utter a single word, a crisp, commanding voice sliced through the tension.

"My lady," Lady Beatrice Windermere stepped forward, her gentle demeanor vanishing entirely behind a stern, noble authority that surprised every spectator in the courtyard. "I must remind you that you are currently a guest within the Windermere estate—a gathering where we deeply value poise, elegance, and decorum. You, however, have displayed the absolute antithesis of grace. You have berated Her Grace, Duchess Sigrid, far past the bounds of tolerance, and I will not allow this disgrace to continue under my roof."

Beatrice turned her head slightly toward the perimeter of the courtyard, where estate guards stood at attention. "Guards, escort this woman off the premises immediately. She is permanently barred from any future gatherings hosted by House Windermere."

The angry noblewoman faltered, her aggressive stance collapsing into utter disbelief as she looked at Beatrice. "How could you?" she stammered out, her voice cracking. "This matter does not concern you, Lady Beatrice!"

"It concerns me entirely," Beatrice replied, her posture unyielding and her brown eyes flashing with firm resolve. "I extended an invitation to Duchess Sigrid, making her my honored guest, only for her to become the target of your unhinged resentment. Now, you will leave at once, or my guards will remove you by force. And I assure you, it would be a terrible stain on your family’s name to be physically dragged through the streets by male guards."

Sigrid watched the exchange with quiet fascination. She had initially pegged Lady Beatrice as nothing more than a sweet, naive girl with a soft heart, but watching her command the room with such decisive authority proved she truly inherited the formidable blood of Duke Peter Windermere.

The disgraced woman’s mouth trembled with suppressed fury. She cast one final, venomous death glare toward Sigrid before spinning around, hauling up her heavy silk skirts, and stomping frantically away from the courtyard, the guards following closely behind her.