Chapter 10: Shadows of the Gala
The sound of heavy wool garment bags rustling against the doorframe of my suite broke the quiet of the late afternoon. For weeks, the tall mahogany doors of the upstairs wing had served as a refuge from the murmurs echoing through the corridors, but today the entire estate vibrated with a different kind of tension. Downstairs, florists were unloading truckloads of white roses and trailing ivy to decorate the ballroom for the annual foundation charity gala. The grand staircase, polished to a mirror finish, reflected the early evening amber light streaming through the arched windows.
Julian appeared in the doorway, carrying a tall, slate-gray box tied with a thick grosgrain ribbon. His expression was a mix of stubborn determination and quiet concern. He placed the box gently onto the velvet settee at the foot of my bed before looking up at me.
"They're starting to set up the press line outside the north gates," Julian said, his voice measured as he unclasped the lid of the box. "Eleanor has been on the phone with the committee chairs all morning, trying to rearrange the seating charts. She wants you sequestered in the private study for the duration of the dinner."
I crossed my arms, the silk of my blouse shifting against my skin. "And what did you tell them, Julian?"
"I told them my daughter will be sitting at the head table, directly beside me," he replied, lifting a heavy layer of tissue paper to reveal a deep emerald-green silk evening gown. The fabric caught the light, rich and dark, entirely distinct from the maroon satin Eleanor favored, yet possessing an undeniable weight of authority. "She doesn't want you seen by the society columnists. She thinks hiding you protects the family name."
I stepped closer to the box, tracing the heavy fabric with my fingertips. Weeks ago, I had worn a black-and-white maid uniform, clutching a cardboard moving box as I was forced out of those very doors. The distance between then and now felt measured not in days, but in chasms. Yet looking at the gown, a cold knot formed in my stomach.
"She might be right, in a way," I murmured, looking away toward the tall windows that overlooked the manicured lawns. "I spent years serving coffee to the very people who will be walking through those double doors tonight. I know how they look at staff, Julian. They won't see a daughter; they'll see a scandal. They'll look for the seam in the story, the mistake in my posture, the way I hold my glass."
Julian closed the distance between us, his footsteps silent on the thick carpet. He stopped a few feet away, respecting the space I needed, but his gaze was unyielding.
"Let them look," Julian said quietly. "You aren't hiding from anyone. You survived this house when Eleanor held all the cards, and you earned your place here long before the DNA test confirmed what my mother's eyes told me the moment I saw you on that stairs."
Before I could answer, a sharp tap sounded at the open door. Eleanor stood in the hallway, her dark hair pulled back into its immaculate updo, an elaborate diamond necklace catching the hallway sconces. She didn't cross the threshold, but her presence filled the room like a cold draft.
"Julian," Eleanor said, her voice clipped and controlled. "The catering director is asking for final approval on the receiving line protocol. If she insists on walking down that main staircase tonight, the press will have a field day with the timeline. It opens the estate up to questions we spent thirty years burying."
Julian turned slowly to face her, his shoulders squaring beneath his gray suit vest. "The timeline isn't a secret anymore, Eleanor. Isabella is attending as my daughter, and she will make her entrance when the doors open."
"You are inviting public humiliation," Eleanor retorted, her eyes flashing with a dangerous mix of panic and anger. "You think a green dress and a seat at the head table erases where she came from? Society has a very long memory, Julian, and it does not forgive sudden additions to the family tree."
"Then it's a good thing we aren't asking for their forgiveness," Julian replied, his voice dropping into a register that left no room for argument.
Eleanor held his gaze for a long, frozen second, her jaw tightening before she turned sharply on her heel and walked away down the corridor, her maroon satin gown whispering against the wainscoting.
May you like
Silence settled back over the room. I looked down at the emerald gown in the box, then up at Julian. The fear hadn't vanished entirely—the prospect of facing hundreds of judgmental eyes under the blinding flash of cameras was terrifying. But standing beside Julian, knowing the battles he had already fought on my behalf, I felt the knot in my chest loosen.
"Put it on," Julian said softly, stepping back toward the door. "I'll be waiting downstairs by the grandfather clock when you're ready."
