The tense standoff between the two duchesses had sucked all the air out of the room. The other ladies stood frozen, their paintbrushes hovering, their mouths agape. It was Delia who finally broke the spell, her voice cutting through the silence with a clear, commanding authority.
"Let her go, Duchess Adeline!"
Adeline, her hand still twisted in Lyra's apron, turned her furious gaze on Delia. "Mind your own business, you little whelp!"
"This is my business," Delia replied, her voice dangerously calm. "My mother-in-law is being assaulted. Do you want me to call the club guards and report to them that you are attacking someone in plain sight?"
Adeline saw the look in Delia's eyes. It was not the look of a scared, young girl. It was the look of a woman who was serious, a woman who would not hesitate to follow through on her threat. With a final, angry snarl, Adeline let go of Lyra, but not before giving her a hard, spiteful push.
