Mr. Cassius Lestrange was coming to dinner, and suddenly Grace felt as though she was about to vomit.
It was not the fact that Mr. Lestrange was coming to dinner that made her feel that way, but rather sudden bickering that had erupted amongst her family members. She had no problems with guests, provided they were announced well before the evening had arrived; at least then she would have time to settle her nerves, dress herself appropriately, and make sure she planned responses to any conversational topics that might pop up with certain guests.
But she did not know Mr. Lestrange, but she knew he was a Lestrange—and that was enough to add an extra weight to her shoulders.
"Do you think he'll be offended if I don't talk to him?" she asked quietly, in hopes that her siblings' banter would drown out her question.
It was not the fact that Mr. Lestrange was coming to dinner that made her feel that way, but rather sudden bickering that had erupted amongst her family members. She had no problems with guests, provided they were announced well before the evening had arrived; at least then she would have time to settle her nerves, dress herself appropriately, and make sure she planned responses to any conversational topics that might pop up with certain guests.
But she did not know Mr. Lestrange, but she knew he was a Lestrange—and that was enough to add an extra weight to her shoulders.
"Do you think he'll be offended if I don't talk to him?" she asked quietly, in hopes that her siblings' banter would drown out her question.
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