Alaric's features hardened as he watched Lady Beatrix's outrage. The woman's selective morality was truly astonishing—furious about her daughter's suffering while dismissing Isabella's pain as irrelevant.
"Marquess Fairchild got away with it!" Lady Beatrix shrieked, her face contorted with rage. "He deserved to suffer for what he did to my Clara!"
I exchanged a glance with Master Marcus Wilkerson, who shifted uncomfortably beside me. The irony of Lady Beatrix's indignation wasn't lost on either of us.
"On that singular point, Lady Beatrix, we are in agreement," I said, my voice deliberately calm and cold. "Fairchild should have faced justice for his crimes."
Lady Beatrix seemed momentarily startled by my concurrence, her tirade faltering.
"Where is my daughter?" she demanded, recovering quickly. "I must see her immediately!"
"Lady Clara is currently with the royal physician," Master Marcus explained. "Her wounds are being tended to."
