Rosalind looked at her directly.
“You entered my home in private.
You humiliated me in private.
You stole my mother’s pearls in private.
But you planned to declare me incompetent in public.
So no, Yvonne.
This will not be handled privately.”
Several prominent guests lowered their heads, because many of them had enabled it with their silence.
They’d heard the little cruelties for months and accepted Portia’s version because she was young and lovely and pleasant to look at.
Cruelty, wrapped in high fashion, is so often mistaken for strength.