Chapter 65:


    “We aren’t staying,” Isolde said. “Where is Beatrice?”


    “The srium,” Mrs. Higgins sniffed.


    Isolde took Effie’s hand and walked past the housekeeper without another word.


    The srium was a ss jungle of orchids and ferns, the air thick, warm, and humid.


    Beatrice Lancaster sat in a wheelchair, wrapped in a nket despite the heat. Her hands were gnarled, but her eyes were sharp as blue flint.


    “Well,” Beatrice rasped. “Bring her here.”


    Effie walked forward slowly. She held out the trophy with both hands.


    “I won this,” Effie said. “For numbers.”


    Beatrice took the small stic trophy with a trembling hand. She looked at it as though it were a Fabergé egg. “Better than your useless father,” she cackled. “He never won anything that wasn’t bought for him.”


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    Grayson stood in the doorway, looking ufortable. “Hello, Grandmother.”


    Beatrice ignored him. She looked at Isolde. “You raised a fighter. I didn’t think you had it in you.”


    “I have a lot of things you didn’t think I had,” Isolde said.


    “Good,” Beatrice nodded. “We need new blood. The old blood is getting thin.”


    Suddenly, the ss door at the far end of the srium banged open.


    “Well, well,” a voice sneered. “If it isn’t the charity case.”


    Seraphina Lancaster, Grayson’s younger sister, strode in wearing riding breeches and tall boots, a riding crop in her hand. She looked like a younger, meaner version of Victoria.


    “What are you doing here, Isolde?” Seraphina asked, pping the crop against her thigh. “Come back to beg for a spot in the will? I hear your Brooklyn apartment is charmingly… small.”


    Isolde didn’t blink. “Hello, Seraphina. Still ying dress-up with the ponies?”


    Seraphina’s eyes narrowed. “Watch your mouth. You’re on my property now.”


    “Actually,” Beatrice interrupted, “it’s my property. And she is my guest.”


    Seraphina huffed. She shifted her re to Effie. “And who is this? The little cheater?”


    Isolde took a step forward. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.


    “Careful,” Isolde said quietly. “I made your mother run away yesterday. Do you want to be next?”


    Seraphinaughed — a harsh, barking sound. She stepped into Isolde’s personal space, the riding crop tapping rhythmically against her palm.


    “You think you’re tough because you know how to use an iPhone?” Seraphina sneered. “After the stunt you pulled, you’re lucky you weren’t arrested for trespassing.”


    She pointed the crop toward the kitchen door. “Frankly, I’m surprised you remember the way to the front door. Last I recall, your family used the service entrance.”


    Grayson stepped forward. “Seraphina, stop. She is a guest.”


    “A guest who used to arrange the flowers,” Seraphina shot back. “Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten your ce.”


    Isolde looked at the riding crop. She looked at Seraphina’s smug face.


    “My ce,” Isolde said calmly, “is wherever my daughter is. And since she just proved she’s the smartest person in this family, I’d say my ce is at the head of the table.”


    Seraphina’s jaw dropped. “You arrogant—”


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