Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 31 - Thirty One

The Duke’s carriage rolled away, leaving Delia standing alone in the bright afternoon sun. Mr. Rye’s kind farewell, "Have a peaceful afternoon, Milady," echoed in her ears, a sentiment she wished were true. She looked up at the sun, high and hot in the sky, and felt a sliver of peace after the morning’s confrontation. That peace, however, was short-lived.

As she walked towards the wrought iron gate to get into the manor’s grounds, she saw a figure waiting for her on the path. It was Lady Pembroke. Delia’s brief moment of calm evaporated, replaced by a weary annoyance.

"Why is this family so determined to pester me? she thought, her hand tightening on the gate’s latch. First it was George, now his mother. Can’t they just let me be?"

Mrs. Pembroke saw her and immediately moved to block her path, her face arranged in a look of cloying concern. "Delia, my child," she began, her voice overly sweet.

Delia had no patience for these games. "I have nothing to say to you, Lady Pembroke," she said, her tone cold and final.

But Lady Pembroke was not so easily dismissed. "How can you change your mind all of a sudden?" she pressed, stepping closer. "What about my George? What about how he feels? His heart is broken, Delia."

Delia stared at the older woman’s concerned face and a memory from her past life flashed in her mind: Lady Pembroke, constantly weeping about debts, manipulating a younger, more naive Delia into asking her father for money, money that was used to pay for lavish gowns and gambling debts. The memory was sharp and clear. She knew the real reason for this woman’s insistence. It had nothing to do with George’s heart and everything to do with his empty pockets.

"He should be relieved," Delia replied, her voice cold. "Now he can go for the one he truly wants, and you can all spend her family’s money instead." She saw the flicker of shock in Lady Pembroke’s eyes and pressed her advantage. "Do you think I don’t know about the mountain of debt your husband had before he died? The debt that George inherited? And he is still pilling more on it."

Lady Pembroke was so stunned that someone else knew her family’s most shameful secret that she was momentarily speechless. "How did you..."

"If you want to suck someone’s wealth dry, let it be your own son and his new prospects," Delia continued, her voice low and dangerous. "Start removing me from that scheme and stop trying to ruin my life to fix your own."

With that, she tried to walk past Lady Pembroke. Enraged at being exposed, Lady Pembroke’s feigned concern vanished, replaced by a mask of pure rage. She lunged forward, grabbed a fistful of Delia’s hair, and dragged her back. With her free hand, she delivered a hard, stinging slap across Delia’s face.

"How dare you talk to me like that, you ungrateful wretch?" she shrieked.

The pain was sharp, but Delia’s shock was sharper. In her old life, she would have cried and asked for forgiveness. This time, she reacted. Without a second’s hesitation, she swung her own hand and slapped Lady Pembroke back, just as hard. The sound cracked in the quiet air.

Lady Pembroke’s eyes widened in utter disbelief, her hand flying to her own reddening cheek. She had never been struck in her life.

"Don’t think because I let you off at the modiste shop that I will let this slide," Delia warned, her voice trembling with adrenaline. "Now get out of my sight."

Immediately, Lady Pembroke’s expression shifted. The rage vanished, replaced by a dramatic look of deep, sorrowful pain. She had an idea popped into her mind. Seeing a few passersby slow their pace, curious about the commotion, she began her show.

She fell to her knees before Delia, a dramatic, pitiful gesture. She clasped her hands together, tears magically appearing in her eyes. "Delia, my child, please," she pleaded, her voice now loud and broken for all to hear. "Please don’t do this to my George! My poor son has been devastated since you broke off your engagement with him. He doesn’t eat, he doesn’t sleep! Please, don’t punish him for something he is not even aware of!"

She reached out and grabbed Delia’s hand, her grip surprisingly strong. "I’ll do whatever you want me to do! I’ll kneel every day if I have to! Please, just come back to him..."

Disgusted by the display, Delia forcefully ripped her hand from Lady Pembroke’s grasp. The sudden movement sent the older woman off balance, and she fell backwards onto the dusty path with a dramatic cry.

At that exact moment, Evelin came rushing down the street, her arms full of shopping bags, the new emeralds from Anne no doubt tucked safely away. "Mama!" she screamed, dropping her bags as she saw her mother on the ground. She ran to her side. "Mama, are you alright?"

She looked up at Delia, her face covered with fury. "What is wrong with you?" she shouted, her voice shrill. "You have gone too far this time! Are you even human?"

Delia, her heart now pounding in her chest, tried to keep her voice steady. "Are you alright? You should lower your voice."

Evelin scoffed loudly. "Wow, I see you still have some shame left, telling me to be quiet." She helped her mother to her feet, then stood up and pointed an accusing finger at Delia, projecting her voice to the small crowd of onlookers that had now gathered.

"Everyone, look at this woman!" Evelin announced. "This is Delia Ellington! She left her fiancé, my brother, just weeks before their wedding! She left him for a man with more money! How can one be so heartless to the one you supposedly love?"

The crowd, always hungry for drama, began to murmur amongst themselves. The whispers grew, weaving together into a series of condemnation.

"Did you hear that? She left him for a richer man."

"How can someone do something like that?"

"That’s just evil, poor young man."

"She look so innocent, but she’s a viper."

"She doesn’t deserve anything good in her life"

"She deserves everything that’s coming to her. A woman like that ends up alone."

The words hit Delia like stones. Each whisper was a blow, each stare a judgment. She looked at the faces in the crowd—strangers, all of them—and saw only contempt and disgust in their eyes. Her breath hitched in her throat. Her heart began to race, pounding against her ribs so hard she felt it might break through.

The sounds of the street, the murmurs, Evelin’s sharp voice—it all started to blur together into a deafening roar.

She started to have a panic attack. The world began to tilt, the edges of her vision turning dark. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. All she could feel was the crushing weight of their hatred.

Unable to bear it for another second, she turned and ran. She pushed the heavy iron gate open and fled into the Ellington manor, slamming the door shut behind her, finally blocking out the terrible sounds of the world.

Hidden behind a large rose bush across the street, a thin, weaselly man with an ink-stained notebook snapped it shut. He had seen everything. The slap, the public begging, the crowd’s reaction. He smiled a greedy, toothy grin. This was perfect. Absolutely perfect. He had the headline for his next gossip pamphlet as planned.

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