CHAPTER 2: The Grandmother With the Silver Spoon

Adelaide did not gasp. She did not apologize. That was how Maren knew it had not been an accident.
The older woman stood in emerald silk with one hand resting on the back of a chair, her silver hair pinned smooth beneath the chandeliers. She had spent the evening introducing Clara as Julian's little responsibility, never as her granddaughter.
Now Clara looked down at the stain spreading across her dress. One small hand hovered above it, afraid to touch the damage and make it worse.
Adelaide sighed loudly enough for the nearest table to hear.
'Children who reach above their place usually make a mess,' she said.
A few people gave uncomfortable laughs because money had trained them to confuse cruelty with wit when it came wrapped in jewelry.
Clara's mouth trembled. She turned first toward her father at the head table, where Julian Whitcomb had half risen from his chair and then stopped.
That pause became the first true sound of the night.
Maren was already moving.