Page 23 of The Royal Art of Revenge

The housemaid flinches. “Y—yes, sir. Mr Sinclair. Miss Jasmine requested sausage, eggs, and toast. Would you like some?”

He flattens his hand against his stomach and tilts his head to the side. “You know, I think I will. Is there a newspaper anywhere, do you know?”

I pick it up. “Right here.”

“Oh, thank you, Harriet. And thank you for the offer of breakfast, Amelia.” He smiles warmly at her and sits opposite Jasmine at the table. “Good morning, darling.”

“Morning, Dad,” she replies, shooting me another glare when he drops his gaze to the paper.

I smile sardonically at her. It does so please me when I get the last word—not because I’ve gotten the last word, but because it pisses her off something chronic that she hasn’t.

I do so enjoy starting my day knowing I’ve really pissed her off.

“What are your plans today?” he asks her.

“I have a hair appointment, then I’m going to see Ana to get my dress fitted for Crown Prince Finley’s birthday banquet.”

“Good, good,” he says, noncommittally. “What about you, Harriet? Any plans?”

“I have a shoot this morning,” I reply, rummaging through the bag of fresh pastries.

“You’re doing well lately.” He flips the page. “Is it just the one?”

“Yes. I kept the afternoon free to visit the cemetery.”

Both he and Jasmine freeze. Amelia continues whisking the eggs, oblivious to the sharp bite of cold air that just blanketed the room.

Or maybe she felt it.

Maybe she’s just excellent at her job.

Dad’s hand trembles over the paper, and I stare at the side of his head. He’s too chicken to turn and look at me, and nobody else would dare ask me why I would be going there.

To mention my mother’s name in this house is blasphemy.

Even this is pushing it.

To acknowledge the cemetery is to acknowledge her. Acknowledging my mother is a reminder that Rosalyn wasn’t my father’s wife when Jasmine was born.

And to remind everyone that Jasmine is an illegitimate bastard who is only where she is because I disappeared when we were children is the greatest of sins.

It’s also known as my favourite hobby, but that’s beside the point.

“Sorry,” I say quietly, looking down and feigning humility. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know.” Dad’s tone is clipped. “Don’t forget again.”

“I won’t.” I reach for my bag, catching Jasmine’s self-satisfied smirk. “I won’t be back for dinner tonight, so don’t wait for me.”

“Mm.”

I head for the door, still keeping my head down.

“Harriet?”

“Yes, Dad?”

“Good luck with your shoot this morning.”