Chapter 5: Return to the Lion’s Den

The next morning, Caldwell’s aunt brought Emily to apologize, both of them dressed to impress and scowling in the heat. Ethan let them wait two hours before refusing to see them, sitting in his study with a faint, satisfied smile.

They stood under the Ohio sun, sweat beading on their faces. Jenny giggled as she reported: "Miss, Emily looked like she’d seen a ghost."

I had no time for gossip. I was busy sorting gifts for the third-day return visit—handmade quilts, crystal vases, baskets of fruit. Mrs. Porter’s note was clear: appearances were everything. Even if I dreaded going back, I had to play the part.

Ethan was too ill to travel, so I planned to go alone. But as I left, he waited by the car, white cane in hand, sun glinting off his hair.

He turned at the sound of footsteps. "Wife, are you ready?"

"You want to go back with me?" The idea made my stomach twist.

"Of course," he said, a quiet confidence in his answer.

He’d already prepared generous gifts. His foresight unsettled me—did he always see the moves before they happened?

At the Porter house, Natalie and David were already seated, acting the part of future bride and groom. David sat close to Natalie, hand resting just so on the table.

Natalie leaned in, hissing, "Don’t think marrying into Caldwell makes you special. Once a servant, always a servant. Ethan’s a blind, short-lived ghost. You think a few gifts will buy off Dad? Dream on. You’ll always be low-born."

I clenched my napkin, jaw tight.

Ethan spoke up, voice cold as steel: "Mr. Porter, seems your cook needs replacing."

Everyone froze, silverware paused midair. He hadn’t called Mr. Porter father-in-law—just Mr. Porter, his tone icy.

Mr. Porter stammered, "Ethan, why do you say that?"

"Maybe the food’s not to my taste, so it can’t stop Miss Porter’s mouth."

Natalie’s face turned dark. She lowered her eyes, humiliated. No one dared speak.

After lunch, Mrs. Porter cornered me for a long, exhausting lecture about appearances and duty. My head spun as I nodded along.

Already dizzy, I ran into David Harris in the backyard. He stood in the shade, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes shadowed and mouth set like he’d swallowed bad news.