Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 285 - Two Hundred And Eighty Five

It was in this moment of perfect, triumphant joy that a sharp, heavy knock came on the front door.

"Who's that?" Mrs. Pembroke asked, her brow furrowing. They weren't expecting anyone else.

"It must be the neighbors," Evelin replied with a casual shrug. "Probably wanting to borrow some sugar again." She pushed her chair back, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "Let me check."

She left the dining room, and Mrs. Pembroke turned her attention back to their guest of honor, her smile warm and genuine. She poured more stew into Victoria's plate. "You must eat more, my dear," she insisted.

Victoria replied with a gracious smile, "Thank you, Mother, but I couldn't possibly…"

Her words were cut off by a loud, angry bang as the front door was slammed shut. Evelin's voice, sharp and furious, carried from the entrance.

"What are you doing here, Anne? Where in the world do you think you are going?"

A moment later, Anne appeared in the doorway of the dining room. She was not the fashionable, scheming woman they remembered. She looked tired, worn, and she was dragging a large, battered trunk behind her. But it was the dramatic swell of her belly, round and heavy under her simple traveling dress, that silenced the room.

Seeing her, George shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Anne." The name was a choked, disbelieving whisper.

Mrs. Pembroke stared at Anne's stomach, her mind struggling to comprehend the sight. "Oh, my goodness," she breathed, her hand flying to her chest. "Are you… are you pregnant?"

A heavy, suffocating silence fell on the room. Anne ignored Mrs. Pembroke and Evelin completely. Her eyes, hard and weary, were fixed only on George.

"It has been a long time, George," she said, her voice flat and devoid of any warmth. "How are you?"

George just stood there, pale and surprised, unable to form a single word.

Anne's gaze then drifted to Victoria, who was looking at her with polite, cautious confusion. "Are you married?" Anne asked George, though her eyes were on the beautiful, elegant woman by his side.

It was Evelin who broke the spell, her voice sharp with undisguised hostility. "Who is the father, Anne?" she demanded.

Anne slowly turned her head, her gaze locking onto George's once more. She held his eyes, a silent, damning accusation passing between them. "Your brother," she said, her voice clear and carrying in the silent room.

The words exploded like a bomb.

"What?" Mrs. Pembroke shouted, her voice a high-pitched shriek.

"What did you say?" Evelin echoed, her face a mask of disgust.

"Anne, what are you saying?" George finally managed to ask, his voice trembling.

A cold, humorless smile touched Anne's lips. "Didn't you hear me?" She placed a hand on her round stomach, rubbing it in a slow, deliberate circle. "This baby…" she looked at him, her eyes pinning him in place, "…is yours."

Mrs. Pembroke's hands flew to her mouth to cover her gasp of pure horror. The room tilted. The beautiful future she had just been imagining—the ducal connections, the wealth, the restored dignity—crumbled into dust.

With an air of complete and utter entitlement, Anne walked past the stunned family, dragged her trunk to the wall, and went to sit down in one of the empty chairs at the table.

"What is she saying, George?" Mrs. Pembroke asked, her voice shaking as she finally found it. She stood up, her legs unsteady. "Are you crazy, girl?"

"This is not happening," Evelin whispered, looking at her brother with pleading, horrified eyes. "George? Did you… did you lay with her?"

George was silent. He couldn't meet anyone's eyes. His gaze was fixed on a meaningless spot on the floor, his face a deep, burning red of shame. The memory of that one, drunken, miserable night at the tavern after Delia's marriage to Eric came crashing back—a night he had tried so hard to forget, a mistake he had prayed would have no consequences after she left him and his family to the wrath of the Carson's. His silence was a confession.

Victoria, who had been watching this nightmare unfold with a quiet, dignified horror, finally stood up. She turned to George, her own face pale, her voice a fragile, breaking whisper. "George, say something, please," she begged, her hand reaching for his, her fingers clutching him as if he were a lifeline. "It's not true, right?"

Mrs. Pembroke looked at her son, at his guilty, downcast face, and she knew. A wave of dizziness washed over her. My good life, she murmured to herself, the words a silent, desperate prayer. It's over.

George finally looked at Victoria, his eyes full of a misery so profound it was almost unbearable to witness. He couldn't lie to her. "I'm sorry, Vi," he choked out. The words were a death knell.

Victoria's hand, which had been holding his so tightly, went limp. Then, slowly, deliberately, she removed her hand from his. The light in her eyes, which had been so full of love and happiness just moments before, simply… went out.

Her gaze drifted over to Anne, who had calmly picked up a grape from the fruit bowl on the table and was eating it with a look of detached indifference.

Without a word, without a single tear, Victoria turned. She picked up her reticule and her hat from the side table where she had left them. She was leaving.

The sight of her moving towards the door finally broke Mrs. Pembroke from her stupor. "W-where, where are you going?" she stammered, stumbling after her.

"Wait, please! It might just be a misunderstanding! George would never do this! He loves you!" she pleaded, her voice high and thin with panic. "Lady Victoria! Lady Victoria!"

But Victoria didn't stop. She didn't look back. She walked out of the dining room, out of the house, and out of their lives, closing the door softly behind her, leaving the Pembroke family alone with the ruin Anne had brought them.