Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 44 - Forty Four

The sun, a fiery orange ball, sank low on the horizon signaling the arrival of the moon. The family introduction, a tense and exhausting affair, was finally over.

"It was wonderful meeting you today," the Dowager Duchess said to Baron Henry, her voice warm and gracious despite the afternoon’s drama. "Safe travels home."

"It was a great pleasure, Your Grace," Henry replied, managing a polite bow from his wheelchair. Augusta, standing behind him, said nothing but offered a stiff, formal curtsy.

"Alright then," the Dowager Duchess said with a final, kind smile.

The footman and the driver carefully helped Henry back into the Ellington carriage, securing his wheelchair for the journey. As the grand vehicle pulled away from the humble orphanage, the Dowager Duchess noticed her daughter in law, Lyra, staring after it with a haunting, intense expression on her face.

"You look like you are about to smack someone in the face, Lyra," the Dowager chuckled softly. "Come on now. The day is done. Let’s head home."

Lyra said nothing. She walked with a stiff movement towards her own carriage. She passed directly by where Delia and Eric stood, her gaze locking with Delia’s for a long, silent moment. It was an unreadable look, neither warm nor cold, but filled with a complex, assessing intensity. Without a word, she passed her and got into the carriage with the Dowager Duchess.

Amber, with a quick, sympathetic smile towards Delia, got into her own carriage and left as well, leaving Eric and Delia standing alone in the quiet dusk.

~ ••••• ~

Inside the Ellington carriage, the silence was thick and heavy. The politeness Henry had maintained all day had evaporated, replaced by a cold, simmering anger he had been keeping under control. He stared out the window, watching the city lights begin to twinkle to life.

"So," he finally said, his voice low and dangerous, not even looking at his wife. "Are you proud of yourself for acting like you wanted to ruin your own daughter’s marriage today?"

Augusta, who had been stewing in her own silent fury, bristled at his tone. "Why are you only mad at me?" she shot back. "Did you not hear that woman run her mouth? The way she spoke to me, to us? Like she’s doing us a favor."

"She is the Duchess," Henry replied, his voice flat and weary. "And not just any Duchess. She is one with royal blood coursing through her veins. Of course they are going to act superior. That is their right. Your job was to be gracious and secure a brilliant future for Delia, not to engage in a petty squabble." He finally turned to look at her, his eyes filled with a deep disappointment. "You need to think about your daughter’s happiness, Augusta."

"I am Anne’s mother first before Delia’s," Augusta said, the words slipping out, revealing her truest feelings. "You are also Anne’s father, too. You should be thinking of her."

"No," Henry snapped, his voice suddenly sharp and full of a strength Augusta had not heard in years. "Before I was Anne’s father, I was first Delia’s father. Do not forget that."

Augusta stared at him, her mouth opening in shock. "Henry!"

"And do not forget why I married you in the first place," he continued, his voice lowering again, but losing none of its edge. " And I do not ever want to hear that discriminatory word you used today again. It was not Delia’s fault that she was brought into this world out of wedlock. It was mine."

Augusta was completely silenced. She stared at her husband, at the hard, determined set of his jaw. He turned away from her and went back to staring out the window, the conversation clearly over. The rest of the journey home was completed in a tense, angry silence.

When they arrived in the courtyard, Henry was already in a sour mood. "Get me out of here, I feel suffocated." he ordered the footman, his voice sharp. With the help of the driver, the staff quickly moved him into his wheelchair and pushed him directly to his bedroom, bypassing the rest of the house entirely.

Augusta got down from the carriage, her expression one of anger. She swept past the staff and headed straight towards her own room, wanting nothing more than to be alone with her rage.

Hiding in the deep shadows of a large rose bush near the entrance, George Pembroke watched the entire, unhappy scene unfold. He had been contemplating whether to go in or not for the better part of an hour, and the frosty reception between the Baron and Baroness convinced him that now was not the time.

As Augusta was making her way up the grand staircase, she saw Anne coming out of her own room. She was dressed in a scandalous silk nightgown and a matching robe, her long brown hair flowing down her back. In her hand, she held a half-empty bottle of wine and a single glass. She was clearly planning on drinking herself into oblivion.

Augusta was shocked. "Anne? Where are you going so late, dressed like that?"

Anne stopped on the landing, her eyes dull and lifeless. She looked at her mother with a complete lack of interest. "How was the meeting?" she asked, her voice flat.

"Well," Augusta began, trying to find a way to spin the disastrous events of the day. "We..."

"You couldn’t break it up, could you?" Anne cut her off, a bitter, humorless smile touching her lips.

"We just said our hellos," Augusta tried to explain. "Nothing has been finalized yet..."

Anne didn’t wait for her mother to complete the sentence. She just scoffed, a short, sharp sound of pure contempt. With a dismissive look, she walked right past her mother, continuing down the stairs with her wine bottle in her hand, heading towards the drawing room.

"Anne!" Augusta shouted after her, her voice echoing in the large, empty hall. But Anne didn’t stop. She didn’t even look back.

This chapt𝒆r is updated by free(w)ebnovel(.)com