“I don’t think this is the time for games,” Audrey said gravely.
“Who’s playing games?” Bryce smirked, quite full of himself. “You worry too much. You’re going to have to learn something if you’re going to be with me, Audrey—”
“M’lord!” Agatha’s voice pierced through the ruckus; the knocking stopped, but a flurry of muffled murmurs continued beneath her authoritative tone. “M’lord, we...” Lord Parris abruptly opened the door, revealing the contents of his bedchamber - including the sheet-clad, surprised, blushing-cheeked maidservant, and his own robe-clad body... and the ruffled bed, behind. In the doorway stood a wide-eyed Agatha, with fury-faced blonde Duchess Francine and Ana behind her. Agatha’s expression of shock faded into one of coy, knowing satisfaction, putting the pieces of the last week’s puzzle together.
“Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt, m’lord,” Agatha cleared her throat. “But, we’ve... guests, waiting for—”
“I do mean to interrupt!” Francine exclaimed, shoving Agatha aside. The rather-quite-larger woman grit her teeth at the duchess’s impetuousness, but kept her temper in check, glaring quietly at the blonde in her gossamer, sky-blue gown. “How dare you? How dare you?!” she erupted at Bryce, who stood with his arms crossed just inside the doorway. “I’m fortunate to have at least one friend in this household,” she exclaimed. Ana slunk up behind the duchess, her arms crossed, rage creasing her face.
“How dare you, you little harlot! London harlot,” Ana exclaimed, pointing a thin finger at Audrey. “I told you from the day she arrived, Agatha, that she’d be trouble.”
“Trouble for who? Trouble for me, or trouble for you?” Agatha exclaimed, quietly amused. “She’s never been trouble for me, ha!” Francine and Ana started an angry hole through Agatha, who stood firm, satisfied at the turn of events. “If anything, you’ve been more trouble lately than I care to admit in rarified company, Ms. Rancourt.”
“How could you!” Ana shouted.
“It doesn’t matter! That whore, sleeping in your bed, using your sheets!” Francine exclaimed arrogantly, marching across the Persian rug. Audrey winced, expecting the same sort of furious slap Ana had given. “I warned you about the duke!” Francine shrieked, vitriol and jealousy thick in her throat. She drew her hand back to strike - only for Bryce to interrupt her with a strong grasp on the duchess’s wrist.
“Stop,” he commanded.
“Wh-what are you doing? Unhand me!” Francine shrilly squeaked, trying to pull herself away from his grasp. “She’s using you! The harlot, the whore! Sneaking her way into your life like a viper.”
“Sneaking?” Bryce chuckled.
“You slept with her! How could you?! Imagine the trouble it will cause in London!” Francine protested, tearing her hand free, her blistering anger focused on Bryce now. “You’ll be ruined! We’ll be ruined!”
“We? Who’s we?” Bryce questioned mockingly.
“Wh... what? What do you mean, who’s we?! I’ll forgive that, just this once,” Francine glared at him angrily.
“There’s no ‘we’, Francine. You want my station and my position. And my wealth. That’s fine. But you’re not getting it,” Bryce sighed pleasantly. “I don’t need you. I don’t want you.”
“What?! Don’t test me, Bryce, I’m not in the frame of mind for it,” she snarled. “I’ll forgive you, again, but say something else so outrageous—”
“Agatha, my dear,” Bryce interrupted the fuming duchess, “is the duchess’s carriage waiting for her outside?” Panic ran through Ana’s face as she saw the exchange, realizing her devious plan was falling apart.
“I do believe it is,” Agatha commented slyly.
“What? You’d dare eject me from your estate?!” Francine shouted. “You wouldn’t! Sleeping with this street scum, you’ll never last at court!”
“You know what, Francine? You may be right,” he admitted coyly, as Audrey watched with a grin slowly growing on her hesitant face. “But I don’t rightly care. I love Audrey Fisher, and no one - not you, a royal court, or any scandal-sheet writers - is going to get in the way of that.” With nothing else she could possibly say in protest, Francine stood, shocked; slack-jawed. Ana swallowed hard. Audrey smiled, wider and wider. “Now, Agatha?”
“Don’t you dare touch me,” Francine scowled. “I’m not going anywhere—”
“Time to go, Francine,” Agatha smirked, grasping the diminutive woman with her powerful hands and wrenching her out of the doorway, nearly throwing her onto her rear. Francine stumbled, wincing in pain.
“Okay, okay, I’m going!” she seethed, tearing herself from Agatha’s grasp. “I can’t believe this. You’ll regret this, Bryce!” she exclaimed in a heated huff, turning on her heels and loudly storming her way through the hall, and down the stairs. Agatha turned and with a motherly stride grasped Audrey, hugging the surprised and sheet-clad young woman warmly.
“You wear your emotions for everyone to see, Audrey. Somehow, I knew you’d be something special,” she admitted.
“You— how could you do this to me?!” Ana erupted; even without the duchess to back her up, she seethed with pain and anger. “I... I gave you everything, I... that witch!” she pointed at Audrey. “I’ll tell everyone! You’ll be ruined, you whore,” Ana’s body shook in rage-addled grief.
“Agatha, dear, I hate to burden you with too much extra work, but how would things in the household go if Ms. Rancourt took a leave of absence?” Bryce asked, concern on his face. Audrey frowned, honestly feeling sorry for Ana, in spite of the vicious blackmail that nearly ended her relationship with the duke.
“Leave of absence?! I run this household! You think anything would get done without me?!” Ana exclaimed. “That whore, she’s twisted your mind!”
“I do believe it’s you, who twisted minds and feelings, didn’t you, Ana?” Agatha scowled. “I’ve protected you, I’ve worked with you for years. I trusted you. You were one of mine, and I always protect one of mine,” she rumbled.
“What do you mean?” Bryce raised a brow, laying his arm gently across Audrey’s shoulders.