//CLARA//
I was practically suffocating myself, trying not to breathe. My lungs screamed, but the thought of Casimir catching a whiff of my morning breath was a major turn-off. The kind of disaster I wasn't prepared for.
Thankfully, the tension shattered as a knock came through the door, followed by the coachman's voice.
"Sir, the carriage is ready. We are to leave before another storm can catch us."
I quickly pushed him off me, snatched the tin cup of water from the food tray, and gargled profusely. It was a pathetic substitute for actual toothpaste and a brush, but it would have to suffice for now.
We came downstairs, and the new carriage was a significant upgrade from the Gnarled Oak. The travel was long and tedious, given how much mud there was on the road after the storm, but when the iron gates of the Guggenheim estate swung open, it felt like a reward.
However, the 'welcome home' vibes were non-existent.
Not when a vengeful spirit covered in black was standing in the center of the receiving hall, looking more like a monolith of gloom than a human being.
"You're alive," she hissed as we crossed the threshold, her voice vibrating with enough seething energy to power a small city.
It was honestly a surprise there was still no electricity in this house, considering the sheer wattage of her rage.
"Weren't you supposed to be ill yesterday? What on earth were you doing on that side of the road when you were supposed to be confined to your bed?"
On a scale of one to ten, she looked like she'd spent the last twelve hours fermenting in her own bitterness. Her lips were pressed into a line so thin it was practically invisible. Surprisingly, her black veil was pulled back to reveal eyes that were currently throwing literal daggers at my head.
"Disappointed much, are we? Sorry to ruin your morning tea, Aunt Cornelia," I said, not even waiting for a servant to take Casimir's coat I borrowed.
I hiked up my skirt, high enough to show a scandalous amount of ankle and breezed right past her. I could practically hear her breathing so heavily I thought she might collapse in an instant.
"The carriage wreck didn't take me, and the tetanus-ridden inn didn't finished the job either," I tossed the words over my shoulder, my voice dripping with disdain.
"I'm like a cockroach in silk, Auntie. Hard to kill and incredibly fucking expensive to maintain."
I spun around, to face her, leaning against a pedestal like I was posing for a brand deal.
"One minute I was fainting, and the next, I'm dodging hypothermia in a rainstorm. It's amazing what a near death experience can you for your immune system. It's like a detox, really. Highly recommended."
"Eleanor! Your tongue…it is a weapon of the gutter!" Aunt Cornelia shrieked, her jaw did a little hitch, her face turning into a mottled shade of eggplant.
She looked at Casimir, her eyes pleading for him to deliver a swift blow of discipline, to drag me to a convent, or least tell me to shut up.
But Casimir didn't move. He remained leaned back against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. Amusement danced in his eyes, alongside with a dangerous pride.
He looked like a man who just realized that his 'little bird' had grew its talons and he was more than happy to watch her use them.
"Casimir! Say something!"
Casimir finally moved, straightening waistcoat so casually as though he doesn't actually care that his aunt was hyperventilating with fury. His shadow fell over Aunt Cornelia, effectively silencing her mid-screech.
"Calm your nerves, Auntie. We're right in front of you, safe and very much alive. Surely that is the outcome you were praying for. Hopefully, is it not?"
He said it so calmly and dismissively.
"I mean… look at her dress!"
Not expecting by her nephew's reaction, Aunt Cornelia went on, obviously not satisfied.
"She looked like a kitchen wench! Where have you been? Where did you spend the night alone together?"
"At a five-star establishment called the Gnarled Oak," I chirped in enthusiastically. "And by five star, I mean it had five distinct species of mold growing on the ceiling. It was a swampy nightmare and honestly, a crime against my existence."
Aunt Cornelia let out a strangled gasp of terror, clutching her chest as if I'd just announced I was starting an OnlyFans in the parlor.
"The Gnarled Oak? That… that hovel? It is no place for a lady! If anyone saw you… you spent a night in a roadside inn with a man, even with your guardian. Your reputation would be in absolute shambles! An irreparable ruin!"
Blah, blah, blah…whatever.
Her indignation practically rattling her corset, and a part of me hope it'll break one of her ribs. Seeing that her rage didn't shake me one bit, she turns her attention to Casimir, her voice raising to a screechy pitch.
"What were you thinking, Casimir? Why did you have to bring her there? Think of the scandal! What if you were recognized?"
"No one recognized me there, Auntie. And no one knew who Eleanor was."
He stepped closer, fixing his gaze on me instead to his aunt.
"In that place, we were just two unfortunate travelers seeking shelter from the storm. My reputation is far too established to be shaken by a night at an inn, and as for her…"
He let the silence hang for a heartbeat before continuing.
"She's under my protection. If I say her virtue is intact, the world will believe it. And if they don't? I'll simply buy the world and change its mind."
The dusty old bitch looked as if she's been stabbed. Not just because of the scandal, but because of the fact that the lamb she tried to sell was now being protected by the wolf himself.
"You… you are condoning this…this madness!"
"I'm encouraging you to have a seat and a glass of wine, Aunt Cornelia," I interrupted, giving her a sugary-sweet smile that didn't reach my eyes.
To add more flare, I flipped my hair sassily, before looking at her dead in the eyes.
"It might help with that vein popping out of your forehead. It's really not doing your venerable matron aesthetic any favors."
She looked like she wanted to scream but no sound came out of her. Frustrated, she turned to Casimir again, but he didn't give her one bit of attention.
A smirk formed at my lips. Serves you right, bitch.
"Hattie!" I yelled loudly, and unexpectedly, like I've been somehow set on fire, having the old bitch jump to her feet.
It was followed by a series of frantic footsteps, and the poor girl practically teleported down the stairs, her cap hanging by a thread as she skidded to a halt in front of me, eyes wide.
"Miss Eleanor! You're back! Thank the—"
"Bath. Now," I cut her off, already walking off. "Make it hot. Scalding, actually. I need to disinfect every square inch of this skin."
I caught a glimpse of Casimir. He was walking away as well. Striding with that same effortless, territorial manner, leaving his aunt fuming in the hallway.
Not giving her the satisfaction of another glance, I left, having much more important thing to do than indulge her condescensions.
She can drop dead and plunge to hell for all I care.