CHAPTER 116: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN

"That is enough!"

Elena’s voice cut through the tension like a shard of glass.

Philip’s knuckles were white where he gripped the collar of his brother’s shirt. Eric stared back at him, his own eyes burning with the same intensity. For a long moment, neither moved. Then, hearing his grandmother’s command, Philip’s fingers slowly uncurled. He pushed Eric away with a final, resentful shove while he took a step back. Eric stumbled back a step, straightening his collar with a sharp tug, his gaze never leaving Philip’s face.

Elena spoke to her eldest grandson, her voice now slightly calm. "Take Lady Anne to her home."

Hearing this, Anne’s face fell. Her heart sank into her stomach. This was not how the afternoon was supposed to go. She had imagined gaining the Duchess’s blessing, not being dismissed from her home. She pressed her lips together, her hands twisting her dress until her knuckles hurt.

Then, Elena turned her disappointed gaze to her younger grandson. "You, too, Eric. Take your wife, the Duchess Delia, home. This lunch is over." She looked from one brother to the other, her expression hard as stone. "If you cannot behave with a shred of civility under this roof, then neither of you will be allowed back into this house ever again. Am I understood?"

"Grandmother," Philip began, a note of protest in his voice.

"I will not drag this unpleasantness out any further," Elena said, her voice rising now, a clear and final warning. "What are you going to do? Will you obey me or not?"

Philip was silent. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his cheek. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, but he saw the look in his grandmother’s eyes and knew it was useless. He had pushed her too far. He gave a stiff, formal bow of his head.

Elena got up from her seat, placing her linen napkin neatly on the table. "I have lost my appetite," she announced to the room. With that, she turned and swept out of the dining area, her footsteps making sharp, lonely sounds on the marble floor.

A few moments later, the four of them were standing outside the front entrance of the mansion, the air thick with unspoken words. As Philip and Eric were about to go to their respective carriages, Delia quickly pulled Anne aside, her grip on her stepsister’s arm firm.

"What do you think you are doing?" Delia asked, her voice a low, angry whisper.

Anne yanked her hand from Delia’s grip. "This is all your fault, you know that, right?" she spat, her own voice full of a bitter, childish resentment. "You acted out when you should have just stayed in your place. That is why all of this is happening."

"My place?" Delia replied, a dangerous glint in her blue eyes. "Could you do me the favor of telling me exactly what my place is, Anne?"

"A nobody, an illegitimate daughter shouldn’t be taking what belongs to me," Anne retorted, her voice rising. "How dare you act like you are the real one?"

"And who says that I am the fake one?" Delia countered, her voice dropping to a near whisper, her words a veiled threat that hinted at the deep secrets she now knew. "Don’t you dare."

Anne stood there, speechless for a moment, stunned by the cold, hard confidence in Delia’s tone.

Before she could form a reply, Eric came and stood beside Delia. He took her hand, intertwined his fingers with hers, and then, in a gesture of pure, possessive devotion, he brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them softly.

"Let’s go, my love." he said, his voice a warm, gentle murmur meant only for her. He did not release her hand. Keeping her knuckles still pressed against his lips, he looked directly at Anne, a look of cool, dismissive pity in his eyes. He then turned his gaze back to Delia and gave her knuckles another, longer kiss.

"She isn’t worth your anger," he finished, as he finally lowered her hand and took her to their waiting carriage. He opened the door for her himself, waiting patiently as she gathered her skirts. He placed a steadying hand on her elbow to help her inside with the care and attention of a man completely besotted with his wife.

Anne watched it all, a storm of helpless anger and raw jealousy churning in her heart. She turned to look for Philip. He was already inside his own carriage, sitting and waiting for her, his expression bored and impatient. He had not waited for her, had not offered to help her into the carriage, had not shown her any of the small courtesies a gentleman was supposed to show a lady.

As a footman helped her inside and she got settled on the cold leather seat opposite him, the carriage began to move. They drove in silence for a long time. As they were approaching the front of the Ellington manor courtyard, Anne finally broke the silence.

"I am very disappointed in you, Your Grace," she said, her voice full of a bitter accusation.

Philip, who had been staring out the window, turned to look at her, his expression one of complete indifference. "Is that so?" he asked.

"Yes," Anne replied, her frustration boiling over. "Why did you get into a fight with your brother in the first place? Our plan was to behave well in front of them, to show them we were a united, respectable couple. We were supposed to get their blessing."

Philip ignored her and looked back out the window.

"What is the plan now?" Anne asked, her voice now a desperate plea. "Do you think it is still possible for you to convince the Dowager Duchess to approve of us? Can you still fix this?"

He hit the roof of the carriage sharply with the head of his cane. The carriage came to a stop, and the door was opened for Anne. He finally turned to answer her question, his voice as cold and hard.

"Why would I do that? That is your job, Lady Anne," he said. "The plan was very simple. I inherit the Carson Textile Establishment, and you get their approval for our marriage. I secure the business, and you secure the social standing." He looked at her with open contempt. "Or were you planning on becoming a Duchess without lifting a single finger?"

"Without lifting a finger?" Anne retorted. "My mother had a deal with you concerning the Ellington textile business! My family is helping you."

Phillip chuckled, a short, humorless sound. "That deal, my dear, was with your mother. Not with you." He looked pointedly at the opened door. "You may leave now."

Anne looked at him, at his cold, dismissive face, and a wave of impotent rage washed over her. She got down from the carriage. She watched as the carriage door was closed and it began to pull away, leaving her standing alone in the courtyard. With a sharp cry of frustration, she reached up, ripped the expensive, fashionable hat from her head, and threw it violently onto the ground. It landed in the dirt, a sad and ruined thing, just like her plans.