SHACKLES

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

When I awoke, it felt as though my very skull might split in two. My eyes settled upon a tray balanced neatly beside my bed, bearing a steaming cup of beef broth. And there, standing over me with the stern expression of one thoroughly unimpressed, was my old nanny — Louisa — regarding me as though I had grown a second head.

The events of the previous night came rushing back with brutal clarity.

“Oh, heavens,” I murmured, groaning. “I’ve been discovered already.” I rolled my eyes, bracing myself for the lecture I knew would follow.

Louisa closed the door behind her with a quiet click and said, “You're fortunate it was I who found you and not your father. I scrubbed your chamber clean, cleared away the spirit bottle, and removed all signs of your little… outburst. But mark me, child — you would do well to exercise more caution.”

She folded her arms and added with narrowed eyes, “You’ve grown rather bold. And dreadfully unruly.”

Without waiting for a reply, she crossed the room briskly. “Now, hurry and take that broth, lest you perish before the day is out. Breakfast shall be served shortly, and I’ve drawn a bath for you.”

“Very well,” I muttered weakly.

After drinking the broth — which, to my surprise, offered a small measure of relief — I dragged myself to the washroom where Louisa had prepared my bath. We quarrelled when she attempted to undress and bathe me, as she had done in my childhood. I refused firmly, declaring that I would not permit such a thing again.

At last, I emerged bathed and refreshed, and selected the most beautiful gown from my trunk. As Louisa arranged my hair with practiced hands, I glanced toward the door, a slow smile forming.

I knew precisely who awaited me at the breakfast table — and whatever they expected from me this morning, I had no intention of making it easy.