Across the table, Charlotte Joan was still glaring, seemingly willing fiery destruction upon her eldest sister. If anyone knew why Isther would permit a guest to flounder at the breakfast table, it seemed it would be the youngest of the Rennington family.

Episode 50: What Becomes Of Stationary When Left Unattended

Upon his discovery of my chronic nonverbalism, Braun Oeric stood up, his chair scraping against the marble floor. He slapped his linen napkin on the table, ruining the white cloth in the slosh of braised lamb.

“I will write to Father,” he said to Isther. “I cannot entertain another preposterous meddling in this household.” And then to his wife, who was engrossing herself in the chomping of honeyed cherries, “Come, Poppy.”

Poppy, remaining at the table, rolled her eyes as her husband stormed from the room. “Perhaps if he invested in an establishment of our own, we would not have to suffer sharing residence with mutes and orphans.”

Of course, my cousin-in-law referenced me in that statement. Long a mute and now, suddenly and without explanation, an orphan. But I had not asked for the Renningtons’ help nor did I wish for it in any capacity. If only anyone would take heed of my refusals.

“Don’t mind him,” Royce said to me with a sly grin. “He is not so angry that you are mute and simple-minded, but rather that you have fair skin and fluttering lashes and that you have come to breakfast with no corset.” The grin grew as he studied my chest without shame. “Oeric is the family prude. Poor brother. But not all Rennington men are the same.”

Alabaster scoffed. “He and you are the same Royce. Only he detests giving way to temptations, and you seek them out. Both equally horrid, the two of you.”

Poppy did not seem to mind the talk of her husband lusting after his own cousin. She gulped more of the bubbly drink, then held her emptied glass in the air. “Do none of you know how to mind the fullness of our drinks?!”

Willoughby stepped forward to pour more into her glass. His hands shook as he did so. He did not seem at all as pleasant and confident as he did the night before when he showed me to my room. What had been done to the child pyre since I saw him last?

“What will she do  all day?” Alabaster asked, her pale face scrunched. “Are one of us meant to watch her?”

“I will,” Charlotte Joan spoke up. She was crouched in her chair, so only her brows and the slits of her eyes were visible above the top of the table.

“Absolutely never,” Isther said firmly. “And sit up. You’re not an animal.”

Charlotte Joan snarled and braced her teeth on the table’s edge, still glaring at her sister.