Margaret’s voice stayed calm. “Catherine didn’t hide anything,” she said. “She lived her life. And Sarah has never pretended to be anyone but herself.”
Beatrice gave a light laugh. “Of course. But you know how people talk.”
Margaret’s mouth curved into something polite and dangerous. “Then perhaps people should learn to talk less.”
Beatrice blinked.
Margaret continued, tone still smooth. “Or talk about something useful. Like the scholarship fund we’re announcing today. Unless you’d like to make a donation, Beatrice.”
A few of the nearby women chuckled. Beatrice’s cheeks flushed.
“I was only making conversation,” Beatrice said quickly.
Margaret held her gaze. “Then make better conversation.”
The air changed. Not loudly. Not dramatically. But enough.
Beatrice muttered something about finding her seat and retreated.
David stared at his mother. “Mom,” he said softly when we were alone for a moment, “that was…”
Margaret exhaled, the tiniest tremor in her composure. “Necessary,” she said.
I watched her carefully. “You didn’t have to do that,” I said.
Margaret looked at me, eyes steady. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I did.”