Victoria looked at her. It was the kind of look that took its time. "Your fault," Victoria repeated as if she were considering whether the phrase covered the full extent of the situation. "Yes, ma'am. I wasn't watching carefully enough." "No," Victoria said.
"You weren't," Amelia waited. She had learned that waiting was usually the right response with women like Victoria Harrington. But then Victoria did something Amelia hadn't anticipated. She reached out and took hold of Amelia's wrist, not gently. The grip was sharp and deliberate, the fingers pressing in with a precision that spoke of intention rather than accident.
"I saw you," Victoria said, and her voice had shifted into something quieter and more dangerous. "Standing by the east table for the better part of 10 minutes." "Watching," Amelia blinked. "Ma'am, don't play ignorant with me." Victoria's grip tightened. I know exactly what you were doing. Women like you always find a way to make yourselves noticed at events like this.
The room hadn't stopped. The music was still playing. The conversations around them were still going. But something had changed in the air. The way the air changes just before a storm, and Amelia became aware with horrible clarity that several people nearby had fallen quiet and turned to look.
I was doing my job, ma'am, Amelia said carefully. I was assigned to carry refreshments. You were assigned to stay out of the way, Victoria said loud enough now that there was no question anyone within 10 ft could hear every word. You were assigned to be invisible, which is what you are. Which is what you should remember you are instead of finding excuses to put yourself in front of men who are entirely out of your reach.
The laughter started then, not roaring laughter, polite laughter, the kind that floated up from a few throats nearby and drifted through the crowd, and somewhere in her chest, Amelia felt the familiar cold weight of it settle in. She had felt that weight before. She had been feeling it in various forms for most of her adult life. She knew exactly how to carry it. You stood still.
You kept your face neutral. You waited for it to be over. And when it was over, you went back to work. She was preparing to do exactly that when she heard the sound of a chair being pushed back. Not scraped, pushed deliberately with the kind of quiet control that made it somehow louder than if it had been thrown.
She didn't look up right away because she had trained herself not to look up when people were watching her. But she felt the shift in attention. The way the laughter stopped. The way the nearby conversations went completely silent. And then she heard footsteps crossing the floor toward her.
Measured, unhurried, she looked up. Nathaniel Carter was walking across the room. He wasn't moving fast. He wasn't moving with anger. He moved the way a man moves when he has made a decision and doesn't need anyone else's permission to act on it.