Finally, with no reason to linger, she excused herself gracefully, unwilling to overstay her welcome.
Alyssa remained seated, not lifting a finger to stop her. Balfour simply nodded to the butler to escort her
out, not bothering with pleasantries.
Only Ivy seemed torn, glancing between Alyssa and Balfour, wondering if it was a bit rude to send
Giselle off with just a servant. But the moment her eyes met Giselle’s, the venom in the other woman’s
gaze was unmistakable.
Ivy frowned, feeling the unpleasant malice. Why was Giselle looking at her like that?
0 2 2 3
Never mind. She had thought about seeing her guest out, but now she had no desire to be alone with
Giselle. Who knew what kind of drama she might stir up next?
The charade was over once Giselle had left, and Alyssa retreated to rest. Balfour and Ivy went back to
their rooms, one trailing the other.
Ivy plopped down on the bedroom sofa, sprawling out in a way that left no room for Balfour.
He shot her a glance before rolling up his sleeves and carelessly tossing his shirt onto the dressing
room table, his every movement tinged with irritation.
She had been so cozy with him downstairs, and now? She sprawled on the sofa as if she could not
bear him near?
Quite the dedicated actress, Mrs. Howard in public, but in private, she would rather leap into a ditch
than be near him. Was he that repulsive?
“You know, if you keep throwing your shirts around like that, you’ll never find them when it’s time to
wash them,” Ivy muttered, standing up. Her tone was disapproving, but she began to gather his clothes
for the servant to wash.
Balfour blocked her path, a mocking smile on his face. “And in what capacity are you tidying up after
me? As Mrs. Howard? Or should I say, Ms. Dunhill?”
“What’s that supposed to mean? If you don’t want me touching your things, fine, I won’t touch them!”
Ivy bit her lip, feeling the sting of injustice.
Why did she even bother? She should not have to pick up after him.
But she could not help feeling slighted.
Giselle never received harsh words from Balfour, not one. Clearly, Ivy did not command the same
respect.
Everything was fine downstairs, but as soon as Giselle left, he changed his tune.
Of course, she had no business crossing that line. She was deluding herself, thinking that maybe, just
maybe, he had true feelings for her.
But their agreement was clear: when they were alone, he was Balfour, and she was just Ivy, not Mrs.
Howard.
Right, she could not compare herself with a childhood friendship. She was kidding herself, thinking she
meant anything to him. Ivy took a deep breath and swallowed her hurt. There was no point in showing
vulnerability to someone who did not care. “Sorry, I overstepped. It’s not my place to manage these
things. Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Howard. While I may be an actress now, I still can’t match your
skill. You’ve mastered the art of disengaging from your role with such ease. It’s quite remarkable, really.
Something I should learn from,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm even as she smiled.
Balfour felt the sting of her words despite her grin.
“What exactly are you trying to say?” He stepped forward, reaching for her hand like he had held it all
evening, but she dodged away.
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