Page 165 of The Royal Art of Revenge

“No, I get it,” Hattie says, then licks icing from her thumb. “I did think I wouldn’t want to piss her off when I met her at the ball.”

We all nod.

“I highly advise against it,” Mum says. “Anyway, as I’m sure you can imagine, Arabella has quite the influence by virtue of her own wealth and our families being so close. After Rosalyn threatened to complain to me about it using the future in-laws card, I was forced to remove her from the luncheon list so I didn’t make my friends uncomfortable. Honestly, I was rather pleased about that turn of events, even if I did briefly feel sorry for her for getting off on the wrong foot with Arabella.”

“There’s no coming back from that,” I agree. “Do you remember when Katherine Porteous accidentally tripped on a hosepipe a gardener left lying around and splashed mud on her coat?”

Mum shudders. “She blamed poor Katherine more than she did the gardener. Said she should have watched where she was going which, yes, she’s correct, but the gardener really shouldn’t have left the hosepipe there.”

“I think she’s still traumatised,” Alec adds. “I saw her a few weeks ago at a meeting and—”

The door bursts open, cutting him off. Oscar pulls up short when he sees my mother, and we all stare at him for a moment before he bows.

“What are you doing?” Mum asks, standing up. “Stop bowing and tell us what you’ve rushed in here for, you scoundrel!”

He straightens so quickly he might as well have been electrocuted into it. “Oh, um, Your Majesty—”

“Spit it out, Oscar.”

“Aveline stuck her nose in,” he says quickly. “She crossed paths with Jasmine earlier today at a restaurant and… well, it didn’t end well.”

I swing my gaze from Oscar to Mum, noticing Alec doing the same. This could go one of two ways—his sister is someone you really would describe as hot-tempered, and not only is she hot-tempered, but she’s bad tempered.

So when he says she’s ‘stuck her nose in,’ it could mean anything.

“And what,” Mum says slowly. “Does that mean, Oscar Benedict Lindberg?”

I shudder. Not the full name.

Even Alec looks uncomfortable.

Hattie, though? No. She looks as if her favourite soap opera has just dropped right into her lap, and while Alec and I share a nervous glance, she reaches for another sweet treat from the box.

Oscar swallows. “She posted on one of my burners asking if anyone else has noticed how much Rosalyn and Jasmine look alike for an adopted mother and daughter.”

Mum’s eyebrows shoot up, but she doesn’t say a word.

“And it’s rather taken on a life of its own,” he continues, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “People are digging up all sorts of images of them and the rumour that they’re biologically related is growing some serious legs.”

Nobody speaks for a moment as his words sink in.

“The prevailing opinion is that they do look very alike, and they’re asking how it was never noticed before.”

“We had the same discussion,” Alec says, looking to me. “They’re different enough that you can’t see it at first glance, but once it’s pointed out, it’s obvious.”

I nod. “Even with William. She’s a solid blend of them both, whereas Hattie is practically a carbon copy of Francesca.”

Hattie’s lips curve into a small smile. “And thank God for that.”

“Well,” Mum says brightly, sitting back down and clasping her hands on her lap. “What do we do with this little gift we’ve been given?”

“Are you ill?” I ask, leaning back to look at her around Hattie’s back. “The drama that could come from this… What if they think it’s Hattie and retaliate?”

“Then I shall cut them off at the knees and tell the world their real relations myself,” she says darkly. “I’ve been more than tolerant of their shenanigans, but my patience has long been exhausted.”

“Mum—”

“After all, they’re more than happy to start rumours about Hattie’s paternity, so they shouldn’t have a problem with discussing Jasmine’s.” Her smile sends a chill through me.