The double doors of the grand chamber slammed completely shut with a loud, final, echoing thud, sealing Lord Farrington's terrible fate and locking the disgraced Earl out of the House of Lords forever. The loud, shocked murmurs of the hundreds of gathered noblemen slowly died down, fading into the high, vaulted ceilings. The massive room settled back into an incredibly tense, and suffocating silence.
Rowan sat as rigidly as a marble statue. His shoulders were completely stiff beneath the fine, dark wool of his morning coat. His hands rested heavily on his knees, his fingers gripping the dark fabric of his trousers so tightly that his knuckles were stark white. His jaw was clenched so firmly that a sharp muscle ticked continuously in his cheek.
