Page 38 of Wolfsbane Hall
The twins’ mother.
Celestine knew from reading about her in the papers and hearing about her from the men and Vivian. Lorraine was notorious.
Of course, Celestine was right. Lorraine strolled in, furs dangling from her body like diamonds. She looked as if she’d skinned a tiger and wore it as a prize. To the rich, the more furs one wore, the more prestige and money they possessed. And Lorraine only cared for prestige.
Her husband trailed behind her, carrying a bag, a traveling trunk, and a hatbox—enough clothing to last a month, not just hours. Archibald struggled with the bags, but he refused to put one down and carry them separately, as if he would get reprimanded if he did. Lorraine walked all over her husband, acting like a vicious, spoiled child smashing an ant beneath her boot.She said things like, “Oh darling, fetch me the caviar,” with an exaggerated lilt, pulling out the words like they were strands of taffy. Everything about her was hyperbole. She couldn’t just wear one pearl necklace; no, she looped eight around her neck, and they fit her like a straitjacket.
“Where is the doorman? I thought this place would be run better than this,” Lorraine said, motioning to her servant—husband—to place her bags on the nearest table. Then she saw Celestine dressed as a servant and amended, “No, you do it instead. This is below you, Archibald.”
Celestine raised her gaze to the ceiling, praying for patienceand grace. “Yes, of course.” She rushed over and picked up the hatbox.
Archibald flashed an apologetic grimace. “No, it’s fine. You don’t have to.”
Celestine smiled in solidarity. “It’s all right. I am a lady’s maid tonight.”
Lorraine ignored her servants, instead turning her attention to her sons. “What, no greeting for your poor, old, weary mother?” She had to be in her mid-fifties at most. Old would never be an apt description. Nor would the word poor ever describe her.
“Good to see you, Mother.” Everett placed his feet on the table. It was a pure protest. “Don’t boss Celestine around. She’s not your servant.”
“She’s dressed as one.”
“She does make rather a compelling point there, Ev,” James said, glancing up from his hand of cards, unconcerned.
Dean leaned against the table, his arms crossed, looking like a statue of Hercules. “Mother, always wonderful to see you.” He flashed his perfect porcelain teeth before walking over to his mother and wrapping her in an exaggerated hug, his hand lingering at his mother’s neck for a moment, pretending as if he cared. It was merely lip service for the sake of the show.
It was clear neither twin appreciated their mother’s presence.
Then why invite her?
Unless they hadn’t. Another sign that none of her men was the Phantom. Could it be Archibald?
Celestine’s eyes tracked toward him, and her brow furrowed. His shoulders were slumped, and an uncomfortable frown laced his face. It was like he tried to take up as little space as possible. It was a big task, considering the man had tobe six feet four inches—at least. All the Ashbrooks were ungodly tall.
“See, that is the proper way to greet your mother.” Lorraine shimmied her shoulders in a self-important way, highlighting her massive furs.
“Are you planning on moving in?” Dean asked.
“Can’t a mother want to spend more time with her boys?” She ran a finger along her long strand of pearls. “We’ve been banned from these halls for so long. I simply want to stay as long as I can.”
Banned?
Celestine didn’t know this. Of course, she’d never seen the older Ashbrooks here before, but she’d assumed that was for entirely different reasons. Most of Celestine’s sightings of the infamous family were in the gossip rags or from afar at prestigious events the men sometimes took her to as their arm candy for the night.
Everett scoffed. “Banned for a good reason.”
“True,” James said, laying his cards on the table and turning his gaze to Everett. “You lose.”
Everett glared at the Royal Flush and said under his breath, “I always lose when my mother is around.”
“Are you two still harping on about all of that? It’s been ages.” Lorraine plastered a candy-silk grin on her overly painted lips.
Everett crossed his arms like a scolded child. “I will never get over it.”
“Wewill never get over it,” Dean corrected with a whisper.
Celestine swallowed, watching the volley of comments back and forth and not understanding most of what was happening. It was a long-standing family drama.
“You are rotten little children. Terrible boys, how I ever loved you is beside me.”
