Chapter 18 - Eighteen
The Duke’s carriage, elegant and discreet, came to a stop in the courtyard of the Ellington manor. The driver helped Delia down with a respectful nod. She thanked him quietly, and he left at once, the sound of the horse’s hooves retreating down the long drive.
As the carriage disappeared, Delia’s gaze fell upon a solitary figure sitting on a low concrete bench near the gardens. It was George. His clothes were rumpled, his hair was unkempt, and his posture was one of utter dejection.
"Did he stay there all night?" she thought to herself, a brief flicker of pity quickly extinguished by a cold resolve. She brushed the thought away. His choices were no longer her concern.
With her head held high, she began to walk towards the grand entrance of the manor. The sound of her footsteps on the gravel was the only thing that broke the morning silence. It was enough to rouse him.
George’s head snapped up. The moment he saw her, he was on his feet, his face a mixture of relief and accusation. "Where were you last night?" he called out, his voice hoarse.
Delia did not slow down. She continued walking as if he were nothing more than a statue in the garden, a part of the scenery she had no interest in. She walked passed him without a glance.
"Delia," he called out again, his voice more urgent now. He started walking behind her, trying to keep pace. "Delia."
Still, she gave no response. Her back remained straight, her steps even. She was almost to the main stairs.
George stopped walking. A desperate edge entered his voice. "Did you spend the night with the duke?"