Reborn: The Duke's Obsession
Chapter 107 - Hundred And Seven

Chapter 107: Chapter Hundred And Seven

Delia stood on the stone steps of her grandfather’s townhouse, the weight of a dozen unspoken questions heavy on her shoulders. She had spent the day with the Dowager Duchess, a pleasant but distracting affair, and now it was time for the real business of her visit.

"Mr. Preston, is my grandfather in?" she asked the butler who answered the door.

The old butler’s face broke into a warm, familiar smile at the sight of her. "Yes, he is, my lady," he replied, bowing deeply. He paused, his eyes widening slightly as he realized his mistake. "I am so sorry, Your Grace. My apologies."

Delia gave him a small, kind smile. "It’s fine, Preston. I am still getting used to it myself."

She went up the grand, quiet staircase to her grandfather’s bedroom. She knocked softly. From within, she heard his familiar, slightly grumpy voice. He was in bed, looking pale and unwell, the curtains drawn against the late afternoon sun. He offered her a weak but genuine smile and gestured for her to take a seat in the armchair beside his bed.

Delia sat down. She did not waste time with pleasantries. She told him everything. She told him about her visit to the palm reader with the Dowager Duchess, about the story of the pregnant woman who had died, about the old woman’s claims of a curse. When she had finished, she looked at her grandfather, her blue eyes searching his old, tired face, and asked the one question that mattered. "Why?"

The old man knew exactly what she was asking. He let out a long, rattling cough, a sound that seemed to come from deep within his chest. When the coughing fit subsided, he began to speak, his voice a low, raspy whisper full of the heavy weight of the past.

"Yes," he began, not even trying to deny it. "It is true. Your father, my Henry, made a deal with me all those years ago. For your sake. A lot... a lot happened during that time."

He stared at the canopy of his bed, his mind lost in a memory from long ago. "When I first heard that Henry was courting a merchant’s daughter, your mother, I was enrage. She was beautiful, I will admit. She looked just like you do now, especially your blue eyes. And your father... my Henry... he loved her with a passion I had never seen in him before. But I had already arranged his marriage to Augusta. It was a good match, a beneficial alliance for our family. You see, Augusta’s father was the port officer at that time and I needed his influence to benefit the family business."

He continued his confession, the words tumbling out as if a dam had finally broken. "I later found out that Henry had disobeyed me. He had bedded your mother, thinking that if he presented me with an undeniable fact, I would be forced to change my mind and give my blessing. But I did not."

"He deliberately dragged out the marriage set-up with Augusta, making excuses, avoiding the final arrangements, until it was finally revealed that your mother was with child. With you." He turned to look at Delia, his eyes full of a deep, old regret.

"She came to me herself, your mother did. She came to this very house, begging me to give them my blessing. I refused. I told her to walk away from my son. I eventually found out she was not from Albion. I gave her money, a fortune, to leave Albion, go back to her family and never return. I threatened her with her family lives."

"I didn’t know," he said, his voice cracking, "that your father was still looking for you both behind my back. A year later, he found you and your mother living in a small cottage in the countryside. I guess she couldn’t go back to her family with the shame that she had a child out of wedlock. Your father was planning to elope with you two, to abandon his title, his inheritance, everything, just to be with the woman he loved and his child."

"He secretly tried to get married to your mother. And on that fateful day, the very day they were to be wed, she had a terrible carriage accident. It led to her death." A single tear rolled down the old man’s wrinkled cheek. "Heartbroken, your father came back to me. He fell on his knees, right where you are sitting now, begging me to let him take you in, to raise you as an Ellington. He proposed the deal: he would finally marry Augusta, as I had always wanted, if I agreed to let him take you in."

Delia’s face was a mask of cold, hard stone. "What happened next?" she asked, her voice lacking any emotion.

"The death of your mother," Edgar continued, "and the death of that other poor pregnant woman whose husband attacked me... it tormented me. I couldn’t sleep. I started to believe I was cursed. So I went to that palm reader. The old woman told me that I had committed a grave sin, and that the only way to save my own soul was to atone for it."

A harsh, bitter laugh escaped Delia’s lips. The sound was ugly in the quiet, sad room. "So that’s it," she said, the final, painful piece of the puzzle clicking into place. "You didn’t love me because I was your granddaughter. You loved me because you were afraid. You loved me because you wanted to atone for your own sins."

"Delia... I..." Before Edgar could finish his words, before he could try to explain the complex mixture of guilt and genuine affection he felt for her, Delia stood up.

"I know about the investments you made," she said, her voice now cold and business-like. "The secret shipping of my homemade dyes. I appreciate the effort. But I will pay you back for every single coin you spent."

"No, no, my dear," Edgar replied, his voice a weak protest. "That was your wedding gift from me."

"You are a businessman, Grandfather," Delia replied, the word now tasting like poison in her mouth. "And I know that no matter the initial losses, you always find a way to get your money back, with interest. So I will pay you back." She walked towards the door. "And let me ask you for one last favor. Please, do not tell my father about Anne’s true paternity. I am afraid the shock of it would make his health even worse."

As she reached for the door knob, Edgar’s voice called out, a desperate, broken plea. "Delia... forgive me."

Delia turned, her hand on the cold brass knob. She looked at the old, pathetic man in the bed, the man whose pride and greed had destroyed her mother’s life and had condemned her to a childhood of misery.

"I will make you all regret everything you did to me," she said, her voice a low, chilling promise. "Mark my words."

She opened the door and slammed it shut behind her, the sound echoing through the grand silent house.