As Delia walked back towards the manor, her steps firm despite the lingering sting of her confrontation with George, she heard voices. Soft at first, then growing clearer as she approached the back patio, near the open French doors leading to the drawing-room. It was Baroness Augusta and Anne. They must have moved indoors after George's outburst, seeking a more private setting for their conversation. Delia slowed her pace, instinctively moving into the shadow of a large oak tree, her soft-soled shoes making no sound on the lush grass. She wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but their voices carried clearly on the gentle breeze.
"Mama, just postpone their marriage," Anne's voice, usually sweet, now held a sharp edge of impatience. "After all, she has been dying to marry that good-for-nothing man. Besides, it's her fate." Delia stiffened at the casual cruelty in Anne's words.
Augusta replied, "Now, Anne, be reasonable. We still have to find a way to get her out of this house. There isn't enough money to feed an extra mouth."
Anne held her mother's hand, her voice dropping to a low whisper. "What if I get married first? I'm the legitimate daughter of this family, my wedding is supposed to be the best."
Baroness Augusta tapped Anne's hand lightly. "Do you have anyone in mind, my dear?"
Anne's face, even from Delia's vantage point, seemed to light up with a fervent glow. "Duke Eric Carson," she breathed, the name a reverent whisper.
Delia's eyes widened. Duke Eric Carson. She knew the name. He was a prominent figure, often spoken of in hushed tones of awe and respect in society circles.
Baroness Augusta's eyes, usually so calculating and cold, widened almost immediately. "Duke Eric?" she repeated, a hint of genuine surprise and interest in her voice.
"Yes, Mama, he's the one for me," Anne replied, her voice filled with dreamy conviction. "His family has money, real money, unbelievable amounts. And he runs his own business, a very successful one. He produces and ships those exquisite purple dyes that are so rare and expensive. They say he's literally swimming in gold,Mama. Absolutely swimming in it!" Anne's excitement was almost palpable.
Baroness Augusta remained silent for a moment, her mind clearly working overtime, weighing the possibilities. Anne, misinterpreting her mother's silence, continued to paint a vivid picture of her desired future.
"His family is close to the royal family by blood," Anne gushed, her voice brimming with ambition. "And every piece of land they own was a gift to Eric's father for being a war hero. Imagine, Mama, such history, such prestige!" She sighed, a deep, longing sound. "I also heard he's handsome and young, unlike those old men looking for young girls. He doesn't really stay home much, he travels a lot because of his business, but if I become a Duchess to the Carson family, I know I'll be treated like a princess. I will have everything I could ever dream of."
Another sigh, heavier this time. "I have never wanted anything more in my life, Mama. I want him." Anne looked at her mother, her eyes pleading. "Can you find a way to arrange our marriage? What if we use Father's position in court as leverage? That could work, right?"
Baroness Augusta's lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile. She patted Anne's head, her touch surprisingly gentle. "If my child wants the Duke," she declared, her voice firm and resolute, "she'll get the Duke. Mama will make it happen."
Anne shrieked happily, throwing her arms around her mother. "Oh, thank you, Mama! I love you so much!"
Baroness Augusta hugged her back, stroking Anne's hair with a tender hand. "I love you too, my sunshine. Just keep smiling. Your happiness is my joy."
Delia watched the scene unfold, hidden in the shadows of the oak tree. Her initial sadness had been replaced by a searing hatred and profound disgust. Every word spoken, every loving gesture exchanged between the mother and daughter, fueled the bitter fire in her gut.
"Sure you will go through length for your daughter," Delia thought, her hands clenching into fists. "You buy her new clothes once another collection comes out and leave me with dresses that even a commoner would reject. You do everything to make your daughter shine and leave me in ruins."
The memories flooded back: the worn-out dresses, the denied requests for new shoes, the meager portions at meals, the constant comparisons to Anne's beauty and grace. Augusta's favoritism had always been blatant, but Delia had dismissed it as a mother's natural affection. Now, she saw it for what it truly was: a deliberate act of cruelty, meant to diminish her, to keep her in her place.
A cold, calculating smile spread across Delia's face. "But it's fine. The love for your daughter will be your downfall. And what way to punish a mother than through her child." The thought was chilling, yet utterly satisfying. "I'll take everything Anne wants so that she suffers, and you suffer with her, Augusta."
She watched them again, Augusta still stroking Anne's hair, a picture of maternal devotion. Anne's face was beaming, lost in dreams of ducal titles and power. Delia looked on. That was the same love she had craved and been refused her entire life. In that moment, something inside her shifted. The familiar ache of sorrow began to curdle, hardening into something cold and sharp.
She listened as Anne, having pulled away from her mother, began to chatter excitedly about wedding plans, about the magnificent dress she would commission, the envy of all her friends. She was already the Duchess in her own mind.
Delia's smile returned, a predatory gleam in her eyes. She would seize the life of luxury and power that Anne so greedily desired. The suffering that would cause them, the sheer agony of watching her, the forgotten stepdaughter, rise so high while their own hopes turned to ash… the thought was intoxicating.
"Now that you mentioned it, Anne," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible, a declaration to the plans she thought of, "I want the Duke too."