Henry

I opened my mouth to deflect, to change the subject—anything to move past this dangerous moment—when my daughter’s voice rang out across the table.

“Don’t you dare compare a peasant to my noble mother!” Amelia said, her voice rising toward a shout. “That person is unworthy to be mentioned in the same breath as someone like Mother!”

Peasant.

The word hung in the air like poison.

I wanted to leap across the table. Wanted to grab my daughter and shake her until some sense rattled into her spoiled, cruel brain. But instead, I clenched my hands into fists beneath the table, my nails digging into my palms.

“Peasant?” Richard’s...