CHAPTER 214: CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN

Augusta stood trapped at the foot of the grand staircase, her enemies assembled before her, her escape routes sealed. But the most terrifying sight of all was her husband, Henry, awake and aware in his wheelchair, his eyes fixed on her with a cold, clear light she had not seen in months.

He looked away from her for a moment, his gaze shifting to the man standing faithfully behind his chair. "Mr. Prescott," Henry said, his voice weak from disuse but steady and firm.

"Yes, Baron?" Prescott replied, his tone respectful.

"What did you say was the first agenda of the meeting today?" Henry asked, his question directed at Prescott but intended for everyone in the room to hear.

Prescott answered clearly, his voice echoing in the tense silence. "The first agenda was the dismissal of Baron Henry and Baron Edgar from all duties, Your Grace."

"And the second?" Henry asked, his eyes moving back to his wife.

"The second," Prescott said, "was the appointment of Baroness Augusta as the new, permanent chairwoman."

A collective gasp went through the household staff who had gathered to watch the drama unfold. Augusta, cornered and desperate, finally found her voice. She tried to weave one last lie, one final justification for her actions.

"Th-That’s because of Delia!" she stammered, pointing a trembling finger at her stepdaughter. "You were in a coma because of the shock she caused you! If I hadn’t done anything, if I hadn’t tried to take control, Delia would have stolen everything! I had no choice! I did it all for you, Henry! For us!"

"LIAR!" Henry’s shout was sudden and powerful, a roar of fury that shocked everyone. He struggled to sit up straighter in his chair, his frail body trembling with rage. "You did it for yourself! You weren’t protecting this family from Delia, but you were clearly stealing it for yourself!"

Just then, the front door opened again. Anne rushed into the house, her face pale with worry after her frantic carriage ride from the Duke’s residence. She stopped dead in her tracks, taking in the impossible scene: her father, awake in a wheelchair; her grandfather, alive and well; Delia standing beside them; and her mother, cornered and hysterical.

Henry saw her, and his face, already a mask of anger, hardened into something else. Something sad and final. He revealed the big secret, the one he had held in his heart while trapped in the prison of his own mind.

"Anne is not my daughter."

The words were a death knell. Augusta staggered back as if she had been physically struck, her hand flying to her mouth. Anne stared, her own world beginning to tilt and spin.

"That’s a lie!" Augusta shrieked, her voice thin and reedy. "Where did you hear such a wicked, wicked lie?"

Henry’s gaze was pitiless. "I heard it from you," he said, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "All those while you were talking to me, when you thought I was an empty shell, a piece of furniture in the room. I heard it all. I heard everything."

He then made another announcement. " Everything that belongs to me goes to Delia."

Augusta’s face crumpled, the final lie stripped away. She had confessed her deepest secrets to the one person she thought could never betray them. Anne, her face as white as a sheet, ran to stand in front of Henry’s wheelchair.

"Papa?" she pleaded, her voice a small, broken sound. "Papa, what are you saying? What do you mean by that?" She turned her desperate, tear-filled eyes to her mother, who now hid her face in her hands, consumed by shame. "Mama?" Anne begged. "What is going on? Tell me what is going on ?"

Augusta was silent.

"All this doesn’t make sense," Anne sobbed, her world shattering around her. "How can everything go to Delia who..."

"Why wouldn’t it make sense?" Delia’s voice cut through Anne’s grief, sharp and clear. "Does this seem like a joke to you, Anne? This is the truth. This is the reality that your mother built for all of us."

Anne fell quiet, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Baron Edgar took a step towards Augusta. "Where did you get it?" he demanded, his voice a low growl. "The arsenic you have been feeding my son with, day after day."

Augusta shook her head, her eyes wide and wild. "I have no idea what you’re talking about," she whimpered. "Arsenic? I would never..."

"Don’t bother lying," Delia said calmly. "I changed the arsenic tablets you were giving my father weeks ago. I replaced them with a drug that was recommended for his health. That is what made him well enough to be here before us today." She let that revelation sink in before delivering the final blow. "And the new doctor you hired when he was in his coma? The one who confirmed your assessment of his ’condition’? He was employed by me. I didn’t want you to suspect that Father was recovering. Your busy schedule with your takeover plans made you so occupied, you never even noticed."

Anne looked at her mother, a new horror dawning on her face. "Mama... you tried to kill him? Mama."

Augusta, completely broken, let her hands fall from her face. A strange, crazed smile touched her lips. She looked at Henry, her eyes unfocused. "Anne is your real child, Henry," she said, her voice sounding eerily calm and completely detached from reality. "She is. She looks just like you."

She then pointed a rigid, trembling finger at Delia. "Delia," she announced to the room. "Delia is a fake. She is the imposter."

That was the final straw. The madness in her eyes, the final, desperate lie aimed at his true daughter, pushed Henry past the breaking point. With a roar of rage, he reached for the tall vase of lilies on a nearby table. He yanked the flowers out, tossing them to the floor, and with a strength no one thought he possessed, he lifted the vase and hurled the water directly at Augusta.

Everyone was shocked by the sudden, violent action. The cold water splashed over Augusta, drenching her fine dress, making her hair stick to her face, and washing away the last vestiges of her dignity. She stood there, dripping and shivering, her crazed smile frozen on her face.

"Sir Thorne," Henry’s voice boomed through the hall. "She’s all yours."

Augusta and the crying Anne turned to the door. Standing there, tall and imposing in his immaculate uniform, was the Captain of the Royal Guards, Sir Thorne. He was not alone. Behind him, a few of his guards marched into the hall. They had clearly been waiting for their summons.

" Baroness Augusta Ellington, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Baron Henry Ellington."