Revenge is My Love Language novel Chapter 83

Anastasia wasn’t the least bit surprised when she heard from the housekeeper that Lady Lancaster had arrived; she’d expected Mary and her daughter wouldn’t just obediently stay put.

Descending the stairs, she saw Mary and Alice had already rushed out to greet Lady Lancaster first.

Alice, her face swollen to a shocking degree, was sobbing pitifully in front of Lady Lancaster.

Lady Lancaster’s eyes widened in anger. “Who did this to you?”

“It was Anastasia!” Alice wailed, her voice trembling. “She hit me, and now she wants to throw me out—she says I can’t live at Rosewood Manor anymore!”

No sooner had Alice choked out her accusation than Anastasia stepped gracefully down from the landing.

Lady Lancaster’s expression turned cold and grave.

Both Mary and Alice exchanged triumphant glances, gloating silently. This is it for Anastasia, they thought—she’s finished now!

Anastasia braced herself, ready for the onslaught.

But then Lady Lancaster looked straight at Alice and asked, in a tone closer to certainty than curiosity, “Anastasia hit you? And what exactly did you do to deserve it?”

Anastasia blinked. Wait, what?

Alice’s tears froze on her cheeks. “Excuse me?” she stammered, wondering if she’d misheard.

Lady Lancaster frowned. “Why on earth would Anastasia strike you for no reason? You say she wants to kick you out—do you really expect me to believe she’s picking on you out of the blue?”

Alice was stunned speechless. Even Mary was momentarily lost for words. Wasn’t Lady Lancaster here to take Alice’s side?

Anastasia, recovering from her surprise, couldn’t help but hide a small, delighted smile. For a moment, she felt almost cherished.

Mary’s eyes filled with tears at her daughter’s plight. Suddenly, with a soft thud, she dropped to her knees. “Please, Lady Lancaster. Alice is my only child. I can’t bear to see her hurt. For my late husband’s sake, please forgive her just this once!”

Anastasia’s smile faded.

Everyone in the family knew Mary’s husband had given his life to save Lady Lancaster. With Mary playing that card, what could Lady Lancaster possibly do?

“Get up,” Lady Lancaster said sharply, her brows knitting together. “Honestly, what century do you think this is? Get off the floor.”

She was clearly displeased, but the fact remained—Mary’s husband had died for her. Sighing, Lady Lancaster relented. “Fine. Let’s chalk this up to Alice’s immaturity this time.”

Mary and Alice’s faces lit up with hope, realizing Elder Mrs. Lancaster was letting Alice off the hook.

But before they could celebrate, the old lady continued—