“You can’t be serious,” Cydra says between a clenched jaw. “She doesn’t know anything about medicine. She lied about working for Count Malandre. She’s probably lying about—”
“Who I choose to hire is no business of yours, Cydra.” Patience has her arms folded, but she is unflustered, a block of ice against Cydra’s boulder-stare. “I need an assistant.”
“She doesn’t have papers!” the Housekeeper explodes.
Patience shrugs. “She doesn’t need them. I believe she’s capable of the job.”
“She can’t stay in the servants’ quarters.”
“She can stay with me.”
Cydra’s face turns beet red. “You’ll regret this.”
Ryrick slides between us. “That’s enough, Cydra. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“But your daughter—”
“Is not your business. One more word and I’ll file a complaint. I’m saying this as your
