The heavy, uncomfortable silence that followed the Duke's dramatic exit from the breakfast room lingered over the table like a thick, cold fog. No one spoke for a long minute. They simply finished their breakfast in silence as they stared at the broken pieces of the silver butter knife resting on Rowan's empty plate.
Lady Farrington, determined to pretend that everything was perfectly normal, sharply clapped her hands together.
"Well," Lady Farrington said loudly, her voice entirely too bright for the gloomy atmosphere. "After such a lovely meal, I believe a little music is in order. It will lift our spirits."
She turned her sharp gaze to her daughter.
Lady Farrington suggested Celine play the pianoforte.
Celine looked up from her lap. Her blue eyes were wide, filled with a sudden, silent pleading. She did not want to play. Her fingers felt stiff, and her heart felt entirely too heavy for entertaining guests.
