Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 77 - Seventy Seven

The weekend arrived far too quickly, much to Anne’s deep and bitter disappointment. The formal meeting for the matching between the two individuals had been arranged in a private parlor at The Grand Albion inn, a neutral territory of hushed elegance where such delicate family matters were often negotiated. The room was luxurious, with heavy velvet curtains blocking out the common street, ornate mahogany furniture, and a silver tea service gleaming on a low table.

Viscountess Penelope, the wife of Late Viscount Elliot, smiling with politeness, was the first to speak. "Baroness Augusta," she said, her voice smooth, "I must congratulate you. I heard you are soon to be in-laws with the great Carson family."

Augusta, seated elegantly on a plush settee, replied with a pretend smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "Yes, Viscountess Penelope. It seems fate worked out that way."

"A brilliant match, I’m sure. Congratulations," Penelope said, though a flicker of envy was visible in her eyes. Her gaze then shifted to her own son, Weston, the new Viscount.

Weston, a handsome young man with an air of bored arrogance, looked at Anne. "It has been a long time, Anne," he said, attempting a friendly tone. " The last time we met was before your father’s illness. How is he now?"

Anne, who sat beside her mother, ignored his question and gave him a slow, nonchalant look, her expression utterly dismissive. She and Weston had known each other since they were children, back when their fathers, both serving in the royal court, would often meet.

It was then that Viscountess Penelope’s gaze traveled over Anne’s attire, and her polite smile tightened into a disapproving frown. Anne’s dress, a deep crimson silk, was far too vibrant and showy for a daytime meeting. The neckline was cut in a daring square that showed more of her collarbone and cleavage than was considered proper, and the sleeves were only three-quarter length, revealing her wrists and forearms and no gloves on. It was a scandalous choice for a young, unmarried lady.

"Your style has certainly become more... daring, my dear," Penelope remarked, her tone frosty.

Augusta looked at her daughter, a silent warning in her eyes. "Anne, say hello to the Viscountess."

Anne turned her head slowly and gave Penelope a bright, innocent smile. "Hello, my lady."

The use of the lesser title was a deliberate, calculated insult. Penelope was a Viscountess now, not a mere Lady. She was shocked by the rudeness. "What? ’Lady’?"

Anne’s innocent expression didn’t waver. "That’s what I used to call you when I was little," she explained sweetly. "Back when you were still Lady Penelope, a lady who was struggling very hard to marry a wealthy, widowed Viscount."

Penelope’s face flushed with anger. The jab at her social-climbing past was a direct hit.

Weston, seeing his mother’s anger, jumped to her defense. "I know this is just a set-up between two low social class noble families," he said with a sneer, attempting to put Anne in her place, "but isn’t it rude for you to act like this?"

Anne laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Low class? That is you, Weston, not me. The Ellingtons are one of the oldest Baronies in the kingdom. Your title is brand new. So don’t bring me down to your level."

"Anne, stop it," Augusta intervened, her voice a low warning. She turned to Weston. "You too, Weston. Let us be civil."

Her reprimand was a performance, a weak attempt to maintain control of a situation that was already spiraling. She would never allow her daughter marry a viscount.

"Where are your manners?" Penelope demanded, her voice sharp as she looked at Anne. "Is this how you talk to your elders? Didn’t your mother or governess teach you a thing or two about respect?"

Anne laughed again, a sound devoid of any humor. "Manners? Respect?" she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Oh, that reminds me of something." She turned her full, undivided attention to Weston, her eyes glittering with a malicious light. "Speaking of manners and proper behavior, I heard your son frequents the pleasure houses in the less reputable parts of the kingdom. I hear he is quite a regular customer. A faithful patron who knows how to spend his father’s wealth on things he..." She paused then continued in a slow voice. " Fancies."

Weston gulped, the color draining from his face.

Anne continued, her voice dropping to a low sly whisper as she looked at the horrified Penelope. "And it’s not just gracing their beds with his presence or bedding them, my lady. My sources say he does... much more than that. He has some very particular, very sinful tastes."

Penelope’s eyes widened in horror. "What?" she breathed, turning to her son.

Weston stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the polished floor. He pointed a trembling finger at Anne. "Shut your mouth!" he shouted, his voice cracking.

"What do you do, Weston?" Penelope demanded, her eyes now filled with a terrible suspicion. "What is she talking about?"

Weston was silent, his face a mask of guilt and panic.

Anne laughed again, a cruel, triumphant sound which filled the air.

"Anne, stop this at once," Augusta joined in, her voice sounding more tired than authoritative.

Anne ignored her mother and looked at Penelope. "Who knows what it could be, really?" she said with a shrug. She then turned her sweet, poisonous smile back to Weston. "Why don’t you just tell her what you do in those dark rooms with those women, Weston? Before she starts to imagine something way, way worse."

Weston’s face, already pale, was now flushed with a furious, helpless rage. "Are you crazy?" he said, his voice a low growl. He started to approach Anne, his hands clenched into tight fists, his intention clear.

But as he took a step towards her, a dark, elegant walking cane shot out, blocking his path with a sharp rap against the front of his leg just below his knee.