Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 279 - Two Hundred And Seventy Nine

The afternoon was drawing to a close, and Catherine was in her front hall, giving her butler, Mr. Basil, final instructions for the evening. A maid stood by, holding Catherine's hat and reticule.

"And please ensure the kitchen prepares a light supper for my return," Catherine was saying. "I'm not sure how long I will be. I need to be at my daughter's residence to check on my son-in-law."

Just as she finished speaking, a firm knock came on the grand front door.

Mr. Basil, his expression politely puzzled, went to answer it. Catherine sighed with mild annoyance. "Who could that be, Mr. Basil? I'm not expecting any visitors today."

The butler opened the door to reveal a well dressed footman standing on the step. Beside him was a finely crafted wheelchair. Mr. Basil's eyebrows rose slightly. "How may I help you?" he asked, his voice the epitome of formal decorum.

The footman, who was clearly from a noble house, bowed his head. "Baron Henry Ellington would love to have a word with your lady," he announced.

At the mention of that name, the world seemed to stop. Catherine froze, her hand halfway to taking her hat from the maid. Henry? The name echoed in her mind, a ghost from a life she had long since buried. Her heart, which she had thought was steady and sensible, gave a painful, fluttering lurch.

Mr. Basil turned to Catherine for permission, his expression carefully neutral. She was pale, her eyes wide with a storm of emotions she couldn't name. After a long, silent moment, she gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.

"Please, come in," Mr. Basil said with a bow.

The footman carefully maneuvered the wheelchair up the single step and into the grand foyer. And there, sitting in the chair, looking older, frailer, but undeniably himself, was Henry. He saw Catherine standing before him, and his own face was a mask of nervous hope and deep-seated shame. In his lap, he held a bouquet of vibrant, sweet-smelling flowers. He stretched out his arms, offering them to her.

"I…I remembered you love flowers," he said, his voice a little hoarse, a little shaky.

Catherine took the bouquet, her fingers brushing his for a fleeting second. The touch was like a spark on dry tinder. "Thank you," she said, her own voice a quiet whisper. She turned to the footman. "This way, please."

The footman pushed Henry's wheelchair into the formal drawing room. Catherine followed, her mind a chaotic whirl of feelings she had thought were long dead and buried.

Inside the room, alone at last, Henry spoke first. "You didn't have to let me in," he said, his gaze fixed on his own lap. "But thank you."

Catherine walked over to the fireplace, needing the solid mantelpiece to steady herself. "I was hesitant as well," she admitted, her voice gaining a little of its strength. "For a moment, I wasn't sure how I should be towards you. But the more I thought about it, the more I felt bad for Delia. My own anger seems so small compared to her pain. I have no right to be angry at anyone." She let out a long, weary sigh. "Delia is still in so much pain because of what happened."

"This is all my fault," Henry said, his voice thick with a guilt that was clearly genuine. "Don't you dare blame yourself, Catherine. Not for any of it."

A bitter, humorless smile touched Catherine's lips. "Yes, you are right," she said, her voice turning cold and sharp with a mother's righteous anger. "It is your fault."

Henry bowed his head completely, his shoulders slumping in a posture of utter defeat.

"Delia suffered for twenty years in the hands of that monster, Augusta,"

Catherine continued, her voice trembling with a fury she had held back for too long. "My baby, our baby, has been through a living hell, right there under your roof. And you did nothing."

"I'm sorry, Catherine," he whispered to the floor. "You don't have to accept my apology. You shouldn't. I know I failed both of you. I will spend the rest of my life, what little I have of it, trying to make it right with you and Delia."

His genuine remorse, his brokenness, chipped away at the wall of her anger. She looked at him, truly looked at him, and saw not just the man who had failed their daughter, but a man who had also suffered immensely. She turned from the fireplace and walked over to his wheelchair.

"I blame you for what happened to Delia," she said softly, her anger giving way to a profound sadness. "But I blame myself more. For not being there. For her, and for you." 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

She crouched down beside his chair, bringing herself to his level. "I'm sorry for coming back so late," she whispered, her own tears beginning to fall. "It must have been so hard for you these past years, with Augusta's poisoning and all of her schemes. I'm so sorry, Henry."

Without thinking, she sat on the floor and rested her head on his lap, a gesture of surrender, of returning to a familiar, long-lost comfort. "There's no day that has gone by that I don't miss you," she confessed, her voice muffled by the fabric of his trousers. "Even when I heard you had gotten married, I still couldn't move on from you."

Henry's hand, trembling slightly, came to rest on her head, his fingers gently stroking her hair. It was a touch she had dreamed of for twenty years.

"Why didn't you come sooner?" she asked, her voice full of the painful question that had haunted her.

"I was ashamed," he replied, his own voice cracking. "I was so ashamed to face you. I couldn't even take care of our child, the precious gift you left in my care. I let her suffer. And I didn't want you to see me so sickly, so weak. I waited until I had recovered some of my strength, until I had mustered every last ounce of courage just to see you again."

Catherine looked up at him, and she saw that tears were streaming freely down his cheeks. "You're crying," she whispered.

"I'm happy," he replied, a watery, brilliant smile breaking through his tears. "Because I get to be with you once again." He gently tapped his lap with his other hand. "Sit with me," he urged.

She stood up from the floor, her joints aching slightly, and settled herself carefully onto his lap. It was a familiar, perfect fit.

"I love you, Catherine," he said, his voice full of a lifetime of unspoken words. "I have always loved you. I swear to you, I never had anything to do with Augusta. I never even touched…"

Catherine giggled, a sound of pure joy that felt like the sun breaking through the clouds. She placed a gentle finger on his lips, stopping his frantic explanations. "I love you too, Henry," she said. "I always have. Delia is the proof of it. There's no need for these explanations."

Henry tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his gaze full of adoration. "You look as beautiful as the day I lost you," he murmured, his hand gently stroking her cheek.

Catherine giggled again and hit him playfully on the chest. "Liar."

He enveloped her in a hug then, his arms wrapping around her tightly, holding her as if he would never let her go again.

Catherine returned the hug with all her strength, burying her face in the familiar comfort of his shoulder.

"Welcome home, Baroness," he whispered into her hair.

"It's good to be home," she replied, her voice full of a peace she thought wouldn't come through.