She let out a stream of curses as she grabbed the fire poker and began to smash it into the chair over and over.
Archer heard the sound of his wife’s curses and rushed into her room. All thought was driven from his mind until he saw her beating his mother’s chair with a fire poker and cursing like a sailor.
“What are you doing?” Archer asked over the sound of splintering fabric and wood.
Lydia stopped abruptly, looking at him as she panted hard. “—um… redecorating?”
“A rather unusual approach.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“I was frustrated. And this seems to be rather a good way of letting it out.” She gestured around her, still breathing hard.
“And what exactly has got you this frustrated?” Archer canted his head towards her. “It can’t have been me. I’ve barely seen you today. And no one else is at home. Has a servant caused you some offence—I’ll see them dealt with if so.”
“I am just sick of things. Sick of everything. Sick of people… Sick of sacrificing.” Lydia let out an angry roar and hurled the poker towards the wall—it hit it and clattered to the ground. “And I am sick of the ghastly pink in this ghastly room. And this gaudy chandelier, and that horrible witch in the painting who seems to be sneering at me near constantly.”
She gestured to the portrait of the Duchess hanging over the mantle.
Archer froze, his heart hammering against his chest. His mother’s cold eyes gazed down at him, unblinking and full of judgement. “I thought I had that destroyed.”
“Apparently not. They moved it from the hall the day after we returned from the wedding. When you asked for it to be taken down, the servants felt it would be best to return it to my room.” Lydia glowered at the painting.
“Then allow me to take care of it once and for all.” Archer growled striding towards the painting before he could think twice. He ripped it from its hanging place and hurled it across the room. It collided with the opposite wall and splintered into satisfying pieces. Blood thundered in his ears as he turned to his wife and saw the echo of his own anger in her eyes.
“I think it is time we renovated this room, don’t you?” Archer gestured around them, a smile stretching across his face.
Lydia nodded and strode towards the wall, using the sharp end of the poker to create a tear in the wallpaper. “I have always hated pink.”
She tore the wallpaper from the wall with gleeful abandon.
“And I have always hated this chair.” Archer slammed his foot through the chair Lydia had already beaten to bits with the poker.
“And this is the most uncomfortable bed I have ever slept in.” Lydia drove the poker into the mattress, puffs of feathers flying everywhere,
“I’ll get you a new one.” Archer ripped more wallpaper off the walls, tearing the ugly, soulless art his mother had had commissioned from their hangings as well and snapping them over his knee.
With each crash, it was like he could hear his mother screaming. With every splintering bit of furniture, he felt joy for the childhood she had stolen from him.
Beside him, Lydia let out wild laughs as she followed in his wake. He was a hurricane of devastation to her tornado of chaos. They moved in sync with one another, and at some point, their anger turned into laughter.
“Allow me.” Archer leaned over, helping her to tug the fire poker free of where it had gotten itself wedged.
“Thank you.” She looked up at the chandelier then at him. “You aren’t attached to that are you?”
“I have always hated the thing.” He looked from Lydia to the ceiling. “But how do you plan on reaching it?”
“I thought perhaps you would help me.” Lydia gave him a dangerous smile. “Or I would simply let you do the honors.”
“I think I can help.” He strode forward and threw her into the air.
She let out a shriek, the fire poker hooked into the gaudy chandelier and brought it down with a thundering crash, splintering the hideous ivory table and cracking the hearth in two.
Outside the door, Archer heard the distinct sound of scuttling footsteps and suspected the servants were worried. He shook himself off.
Archer helped Lydia off the floor, checking to see if she was hurt. “Perhaps I got a little carried away. You don’t know how long I have wanted to tear this place to the ground.”
Lydia smiled at him. “No but I can imagine.”
They surveyed the damage around them, and Lydia turned to him. “I had not realized interior décor could be so much fun.”
