CHAPTER 124: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND TWENTY FOUR

The morning sun streamed into the Ellington drawing room, but the atmosphere inside was anything but bright. Baroness Augusta sat stiffly in her chair, a cup of tea untouched before her, her expression grim. Mr. Prescott stood beside her waiting for his orders.

"Make sure you look everywhere, Prescott," Augusta commanded, her voice a low, dangerous growl. "Find where that old man is hiding. I don’t care what it costs."

Prescott bowed his head. "Yes, Baroness." He nodded.

Just as they finished talking, Anne came down the stairs for breakfast. She was dressed elegantly, as always, but there was a foul, stormy mood about her that was impossible to miss. Augusta sighted her and sighed.

"Why are you in such a bad mood this morning?" she asked, her own patience already worn thin.

"Why would I be in a good mood, Mama?" Anne retorted, not even looking at her as she swept past and headed towards the dining room.

Augusta followed her, her voice taking on a pacifying tone. "I know you are upset about Duke Philip, my dear. But you know it is always hard to get the elders’ approval right away. You should not give up. You must keep trying."

"I know, I know," Anne said, her voice full of a weary impatience.

They both went into the dining area. As they sat down at the long, polished table, the maids started serving a lavish breakfast of eggs, ham,warm bread and a pot of hot tea.

Anne continued her complaint, her voice a low, bitter murmur. "I just hate seeing Delia. I hate seeing her rub her happiness in my face every time I go to the Carson estate. I didn’t even tell you about the last time, at the disastrous family lunch, because I was so embarrassed." She looked at her mother, her eyes flashing with a familiar, hateful fire. "Do you know what she told me, Mama? She said, ’Who says I’m the fake one? Don’t you dare.’"

Augusta’s eyes widened in genuine shock. "Delia said that to you?"

"Yes," Anne replied, stabbing a piece of ham with her fork. "She said it as if she was the real one, the true heiress, and I was some kind of imposter."

Augusta sat very still, a new, cold worry creeping into her heart. Delia was becoming too bold, too confident. She is getting to know things she wasn’t supposed to know.

While Anne continued to eat, her anger momentarily forgotten in favor of her appetite, Augusta’s own breakfast sat untouched, her mind racing with a hundred worried thoughts.

Across the city, Delia’s carriage stopped in front of a quiet, respectable tea shop with discreet, curtained windows. She looked out the window, then brought out the letter she had received that morning, cross-checking the location to be absolutely sure.

As she got down from the carriage, she turned to Mr. Rye. "I will be back soon," she said.

Mr. Rye, who now acted as her personal driver and guard whenever Eric was busy, bowed respectfully. "I will be waiting right here, Your Grace."

Delia stood outside the tea shop for a moment. She carefully put on her fine leather gloves and straightened the elegant, wide-brimmed hat on her head. She needed to look the part of her new title.

She went inside and was shown to a private section at the back of the shop. A person was already sitting there, their back to her, their figure obscured by the dim lighting and a high-backed booth. As she settled into the seat opposite them, the person began to speak, their voice low and neutral, impossible to place.

"The palm reader you and the Dowager Duchess visited has made the Baroness suspicious of both you and Baron Edgar. She thinks you two are working together. She also now suspects that you know a great deal more about the past than you are letting on."

Delia took a slow, calm sip of the tea that had already been poured for her. "That means I will need to be very careful from now on," she said, her own voice a quiet murmur. She looked up, her gaze meeting the face of the person across from her. "I did not get the chance to thank you properly for that anonymous letter you sent me during my honeymoon, the one that informed me about the Baroness selling my dyes to the southern isles and the other one you sent to me to go to my grandfather’s house if I wanted to know the truth." She bowed her head in a gesture of sincere gratitude. "Thank you."

"It was nothing," the person replied.

"So," Delia continued, getting down to business, "have you started looking into the Baroness’s past? Have you found anything that could be her weakness?"

"It is not an easy task," the person replied. "She has covered her tracks well over the years. But I will find something soon. I promise you."

"And how is my grandfather?" Delia asked, her voice softening with a genuine concern. "I hope he likes his new place of hiding?"

"Well," the person said, a hint of amusement in their voice, "he has been making a great many complaints as to why he, a Baron, must live in a simple house among the commoners. So, I suppose he is fitting in quite nicely."

Delia smiled. "Okay. Please continue to take good care of him for me." She paused for a moment, her curiosity finally getting the better of her. She lowered her voice a little. "I can’t help but wonder why you are doing all of this. Why are you helping me? Why are you on my side?"

The person stood up, a tall, imposing figure in the dim light. Delia flinched slightly at the sudden movement. They bowed their head respectfully. "Until the next time we meet again, Your Grace."

And with that, the person turned and left the private booth, leaving Delia alone with her tea and her unanswered questions.