Chapter 37
That day, yes, that same summer, he summoned me to his study. His summons were never requests; they were commands. And so, as always, I hurried as best I could, my crippled leg slowing me but never enough to delay me beyond what he deemed acceptable.
I entered his office clad in a simple blue summer dress, its fabric light and airy, though hardly as pristine as he would have preferred. The afternoon had been spent in the garden, where the breeze had played with my hair, leaving it slightly disheveled. My dress bore faint creases from reclining on the garden bench. Nothing offensive, nothing indecent, but in his eyes, imperfection was intolerable.
Anthony's gaze swept over me, sharp and assessing.
"A lady should not present herself in such a state," he voice was clipped and brimming with quiet disdain.
My fingers tightened around the handle of my cane, a flicker of irritation flaring before I forced it down.
He gestured sharply to the chair across from his desk. "Sit."
Oh, how I wanted to strike him with my cane. Just once. Just enough to see if his composure could crack the way mine always had to remain intact. But I knew better. I lowered myself into the chair with practiced grace. His eyes lingered, a cold assessment from head to toe before he shook his head slowly.
"Blind and crippled," he muttered.
My fingers curled into my lap, nails digging into my palm to keep from reacting. It was a game we had played many times before.
"The Vaneeri family is hosting a ball in two weeks. You will attend with me," he paused. "We will journey to Ivoryspire shortly. You and Cecilia are no longer confined to the estate. You may move about freely."
My breath caught, a flicker of disbelief sparking within me. For years he had kept us locked away. And now, suddenly, we were allowed beyond the gates?
"When the nobles inquire as to your whereabouts these past years, you will inform them that you were convalescing at our southern estate. That should suffice."
Then, his gaze drifted. First to my unseeing left eye, then to my crippled leg.
"And with how pitiable you look," he added with a sneer, "it shall be entirely believable that you were recovering."
Something inside me twisted violently.
Who had left me like this?!
Anthony's palm struck the desk with a resounding crack, the force rattling the ink bottle beside him. The sharp sound sent an involuntary jolt through me, though I schooled my features into careful neutrality. His violet eyes bore into me as his voice cut through the silence. "Do you hear me, Florence?"
I swallowed down the distaste rising in my throat. "Yes, Father," I answered with a steady voice.
"One more thing."
I braced myself.
"Cecilia will accompany you to the ball. She will be adorned as splendidly as you, not a thread out of place." His fingers tapped against the polished wood of his desk, slow and calculated. "And you will both adhere to my every word without question. If either of you deviates from what I have arranged, if you so much as utter a word out of line-" his gaze darkened, lips curling into something that might have been a smile if not for the sheer malice behind it, "then Cecilia shall bear the consequences. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Father," I murmured, forcing my voice to remain even. "You have made yourself perfectly clear."
His piercing gaze lingered a moment longer, searching, perhaps for defiance, for hesitation, for some flicker of resistance. Finding none, he exhaled sharply.
"Good," he said simply, waving his hand as though brushing me from his sight. "You may go."
That was how we were finally permitted beyond the walls of that wretched estate.
And yet, there are moments when I almost wish he had never let us go. That he had kept us caged within those suffocating halls, hidden away from the world.
Because if he had, Cecilia would still remember me.