Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 32 - Thirty Two

In the quiet, sun-drenched drawing room of the Ellington manor, Baroness Augusta sat serenely in her favorite armchair, a delicate porcelain teacup held in her hand and a small smile on her face. The chaos from the street outside had been swept away by the servants, and a semblance of aristocratic order had been restored. Sitting across from her, looking slightly disheveled but immensely pleased with herself, was Lady Pembroke.

"You are really a great actress, Lady Pembroke," Augusta said, her voice a smooth, approving purr. She took a slow, deliberate sip of her tea, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a smile that did not hold any real warmth. "I do hope you weren’t actually hurt in the fall?"

Lady Pembroke waved a dismissive hand, though she subtly rubbed her elbow. "I’m fine, Baroness, perfectly fine. A small price to pay." She leaned forward, her expression turning anxious, her voice dropping to a low whisper. "But... will this truly work? Will this cause Delia to take George back? Are you absolutely sure?"

Augusta placed her teacup back on its saucer with a soft clink. "Of course," she replied with unshakable confidence. "Delia is just having illusions of grandeur. She got a taste of a world she does not belong in, and it confused her." She picked up a small biscuit from the silver tray. "We simply need to trap her, cage her and completely break her down, strip away these foolish fantasies, so that she can be herself again—the obedient, manageable girl she was always meant to be."

Augusta paused, taking a small, neat bite of the biscuit. "And then," she continued, dabbing her lips with a linen napkin, "we can welcome her back into the fold with grace. We will forgive her for her momentary madness and set her back on track. It is what’s best for all of us, after all." She looked at Mrs. Pembroke from over the rim of her teacup, her gaze sharp and meaningful. "Isn’t that right, my dear in-law?"

The words ’in-law’ were like music to Mrs. Pembroke’s ears. Her worried expression instantly lit up with greedy delight. "Are we still to be in-laws, then, Baroness?" she asked, her voice full of hope.

"But of course," Augusta smiled, a gesture of great generosity. "We can’t simply throw away our family’s long-standing relationship because of a child who is confused." Her eyes were kind, but her words held the cold precision of a business transaction.

She reached for a heavy velvet pouch that sat on the table beside her. As she picked it up, it let out a soft, promising jingle of coins. The sound made Mrs. Pembroke’s eyes widen, and a greedy smile spread across her face.

Augusta handed her the pouch. "You did very well today," she said, her tone that of a master praising a servant. "If you still feel any pain from your little performance, you should see a doctor. This should cover the expense, and more."

Lady Pembroke collected the pouch with unconcealed joy, her fingers closing tightly around the velvet. She could feel the weight and shape of the numerous gold coins inside. While Augusta looked up the grand staircase towards Delia’s room, a thoughtful, calculating expression on her face, Mrs. Pembroke discreetly opened the pouch under the cover of the table and began to count the coins, her lips moving silently.

"What will you do now, Delia?" Augusta thought to herself, a cruel smile touching her lips. "You have no friends. Your reputation is in tatters. Soon, you will have no choice but to come crawling back."

Upstairs, in the suffocating silence of her room, Delia was anything but broken. The panic attack had passed, leaving behind a cold, hard calm. She sat on the edge of her bed, her hands steady, her mind clear. She looked at her left wrist. As if on a cruel schedule, another petal from the rosebud tattoo had vanished while she slept the previous night. The bud was looking sparse now, more gaps than petals remaining.

"When the last petal falls," she whispered to the empty room, "what will become of me?"

The terrifying memory of the carriage accident, of her own blood staining her hands as her life faded away, flashed in her mind. "Will I die again? For good this time? Or will I simply be sent back, forced to start over with even less hope than before? Or will I continue this life as a new one?"

Her thoughts then went to the Duke’s private residence, to the confidence in his voice and the unexpected kindness in his eyes. She remembered his words, spoken so firmly in her new room: "I will be with you every step of the way."

Her gaze fell upon the dark blue ribbon lying on her desk, the one he had used to tie her hair. She picked it up, its fabric cool and smooth against her skin. It was a tangible piece of evidence, a reminder that she was not as alone as all her enemies believed. She looked at the ribbon, a symbol of her pact, her only hope.

"One thing is certain," she said, her voice low but full of a new, unshakeable resolve. "No matter what happens when that last petal falls, I will not repeat the past. I will not die a victim."

Her mind began to work, planning, scheming. The public humiliation was a setback, but it was not a defeat. It only made her more determined. She knew what she had to do. She had to accelerate her plans. She began to plan phase two of her revenge: finalizing the marriage. The contract was signed, but a contract was just paper. She needed the wedding. She needed the title. She needed the power that came with being the Duchess of Carson. frёeωebɳovel.com

With a new sense of purpose, Delia stood up. She walked to her vanity, tidied her hair, and tied it back securely with the Duke’s blue ribbon. She would wear it as her new armor. She picked up her own small coin purse—the one she took to the Duke’s residence in an attempt to pay him for the food she had the other night —and tucked it away. Then, she put on a simple cloak and a hood, preparing to leave the house once more.

She was going to meet the person who had helped her before, the one who had provided the crucial information she had used to capture Eric’s interest in the first place. She needed more information, and she knew exactly who to ask.

She was going to meet the paper boy, Owen.

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