These refined young nobles and distinguished old aristocrats—the ones who looked so elegant and composed in public, who spoke with careful politeness at state dinners, who prided themselves on their cultured manners—were screaming at each other like vendors at a fish market.
"YOU INCOMPETENT FOOL!" Duke Ashford bellowed, his face red with rage, pointing an accusatory finger at Count Morrison. "YOUR FAMILY HAS BEEN EMBEZZLING FUNDS FOR THREE GENERATIONS!"
"AT LEAST MY FAMILY 'HAS' FUNDS TO EMBEZZLE!" Count Morrison shouted back, standing up so fast his chair toppled over. "YOUR ESTATE IS SO BROKE YOU HAD TO SELL YOUR GRANDMOTHER'S JEWELRY!"
"HOW DARE YOU—"
"BOTH OF YOU ARE MISSING THE POINT!" Marquis Thorne interrupted, slamming his fist on the table. "THE REAL ISSUE IS THAT SOMEONE—" he glared meaningfully at Baron Wessex, "—HAS BEEN BRIBING TRADE OFFICIALS!"
