Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 25 - Twenty Five

The morning sun did little to brighten the somber mood in the Ellington manor. Anne carried a tray with a small glass of water and her father’s daily medication, her steps slow and deliberate. This was not an act of daughterly care; it was an attempt to get an audience with her father, to understand the betrayal she felt so keenly.

She entered his room and found him resting against a mountain of pillows, his gaze distant.

She placed the tray on his bedside table. Baron Henry received it with a weak but grateful smile. He took his medication first, then drank the entire glass of water. "Thank you, my dear," he said, his voice raspy.

Anne went to sit in the large, brocaded armchair closest to his bed, the one usually occupied by her mother. She didn’t speak, but her posture was a study in misery. She was sulking, her lower lip pushed out slightly, her gaze fixed on the floor.

Her father looked at her, his tired eyes filled with a familiar fatherly concern. "Have you eaten this morning?" he asked, his voice soft.

Anne looked up, her expression wounded and accusatory. "I didn’t know you actually cared about me," she replied, her voice sharp with self-pity.

The Baron sighed, a weary sound. "Of course I do, Anne. You are my child."

"Then why did you approve their marriage?" she spat, the question she had been burning to ask. "I met him first! He was meant for me!" The injustice of it all felt like a physical weight on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Because he loves her," Henry replied simply, his voice gentle but firm. "And a man who is truly in love can do anything for the one they love. That kind of devotion is a rare and powerful thing."

Hearing this, hearing her father assign such a powerful emotion to the bond between Delia and the Duke, made Anne’s stomach clench with a fresh wave of jealousy. "Papa..." she began, ready to argue further, but the door opened, interrupting her.

Augusta swept into the room, followed by a maid carrying a silver tray laden with a steaming breakfast for the Baron. "Marriage isn’t only about the two individuals who are ’in love’," Augusta started, her voice smooth and instructive as she took the tray from the maid and began setting the breakfast on a table before her husband. "It also involves the two families. An alliance is being formed."

Henry took a bite of the soft-cooked egg, listening to his wife’s familiar lecture.

Augusta dismissed the maid and continued, her tone now laced with a new, triumphant edge. "Baroness Dupont wrote to me this very morning. It seems the news of the Duke’s... choice... has reached his mother." She paused for dramatic effect. "The Duchess isn’t pleased. In fact, Baroness Dupont says Her Grace has no intention of approving the match."

Augusta looked pointedly at Anne, a small, secret smile playing on her lips. "Looks like the Duchess still stands with her own choice, my dear."

The words were like a ray of sunshine piercing through Anne’s storm clouds of misery. A hopeful smile bloomed on her face as she thought to herself, I still have a chance. His mother is on my side.

"What?" Henry asked, setting down his fork, his brow furrowed with worry.

"If we make Her Grace, the King’s own sister, upset," Augusta continued, her voice a careful mixture of logic and warning, "don’t you think it will be bad for our family? For our textile establishment? We don’t want to be in the bad books of the Carsons, Henry. It could ruin us."

Just then, the door opened again. It was Delia. She had come to inform her father that she was going to see Eric to discuss their wedding preparations. "Father..." she began, but stopped short when she saw Augusta and Anne already there, the atmosphere in the room thick and hostile.

"Ah, Delia. You’re here just in time," Henry said, gesturing for her to come closer.

Delia approached the bed, her expression hardening into a stern mask as she prepared for another battle.

Her father looked at her, his eyes now clouded with the doubt his wife had so expertly planted. "Are you sure His Grace loves you as much as he claims?" he asked.

The question took Delia completely by surprise. After everything that had happened, after the Duke had carried her from this very house, she hadn’t expected her father to be the one to question his sincerity. "What do you mean, Father?"

Seeing her confusion, Henry rephrased the question, his voice full of concern. "Are you sure His Grace will stand by you, even when there is trouble?"

Augusta took the liberty to explain, her voice dripping with disdain. "For a family like the Carsons, marriage isn’t only about a fleeting feeling like love, child. It is about making sure the alliance gains them something tangible. Power, wealth, connections." She looked Delia up and down, from her neatly styled low bun to her plain, unremarkable day dress. She let out a small, derisive chuckle. "What could they possibly benefit from you?"

Anne, now sitting upright and confident, smiled at Delia, enjoying her discomfort.

"The Duchess does not approve of you," Augusta stated, delivering the final blow. "So, tell us, Delia. What are you going to do now?"

Delia held her stepmother’s triumphant gaze. For a moment, she felt a flicker of the old fear, but it was quickly extinguished by a cold, burning resolve. She would not be beaten. Not anymore.

"I’ll get her approval," Delia said, her voice clear and steady. The simple confidence in her tone surprised them all. "You will both attend my wedding." She then turned her gaze to Anne, who was still smiling smugly. "And Anne," Delia continued, a sharp, brilliant idea forming in her mind, "will stand by my side as my maid of honor."

Anne’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of pure outrage. "Why me?" she sputtered.

"Because you are my sister," Delia replied, her voice deceptively sweet. "And as you both know, I don’t have any friends." She looked back at Augusta, her expression now a perfect imitation of her stepmother’s own mocking smile. "I deserve a grand wedding too, don’t I... Mother?"

The word, used for the second time as a weapon, hit its mark. Anne, already fed up with being a pawn in this new, confusing game Delia was playing, let out a frustrated cry, got up, and stormed out of the room.

Augusta, though momentarily thrown off by Delia’s audacity, quickly recovered, searching for a new angle of attack. "And when are we going to the Carson estate for the formal family introduction?" she asked smoothly, expecting Delia to be unaware of such high-society customs.

"Introductions?" Delia asked, showing ignorance.

Augusta chuckled. "Didn’t His Grace tell you?" She turned to Henry with a look of pity for Delia. "Of course, your father won’t be able to come in his condition." The comment was a subtle jab.

Delia smiled, refusing to be rattled. "His Grace was very busy yesterday ensuring my well-being," she said, her voice full of poise. "I’m sure it simply skipped his mind in all the excitement. But I will be sure to remind him."

With that, she turned to her father, her expression softening. "Goodbye, Father. I will see you this evening." She curtsied and left the room, her head held high.

From her bedroom window, Anne watched as Delia walked out the front door. A magnificent carriage, bearing the crest of the Duke of Elinburgh , was waiting for her in the courtyard. The door was opened by the driver, and Delia entered it as if she had been riding in such vehicles her entire life. As the carriage pulled away, taking Delia towards a future that was supposed to be hers, Anne leaned her forehead against the cool glass, her heart a hard, bitter knot of jealousy.

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