Boston Mother Cancels Twenty Two Million Dollar Wedding Gift After Morning Betrayal
“No,” I said. “I need to prepare the house.”
At four in the afternoon, the townhouse dining room was cold, the grey light from the high window catching the dust motes in the air.
Mrs. Gable, my housekeeper, stood by the sideboard with a stack of white linen napkins and a silver polishing cloth.
“We will need five place settings for tomorrow, Mrs. Gable,” I said, walking to the head of the table.
“Five, ma’am?” she asked, her voice faltering slightly. “I thought it was only Mr. Michael and his wife.”
“We are hosting Victoria’s brother and Mr. Whitman as well,” I said. “Use the silver from the safe.”
Mrs. Gable nodded, her face showing a brief flicker of surprise before she turned back to the sideboard.
“And the menu, ma’am?”
“Something simple,” I said. “A roast chicken, perhaps. Something that does not require too much attention from the staff during the meal.”
“And the wine?” she asked.
“The Cabernet Michael likes,” I said. “The one from the cellar with the dust on it.”
