Chapter 107 - Hundred And Seven
Delia stood on the stone steps of her grandfather’s townhouse, the weight of a dozen unspoken questions heavy on her shoulders. She had spent the day with the Dowager Duchess, a pleasant but distracting affair, and now it was time for the real business of her visit.
"Mr. Preston, is my grandfather in?" she asked the butler who answered the door.
The old butler’s face broke into a warm, familiar smile at the sight of her. "Yes, he is, my lady," he replied, bowing deeply. He paused, his eyes widening slightly as he realized his mistake. "I am so sorry, Your Grace. My apologies."
Delia gave him a small, kind smile. "It’s fine, Preston. I am still getting used to it myself."
She went up the grand, quiet staircase to her grandfather’s bedroom. She knocked softly. From within, she heard his familiar, slightly grumpy voice. He was in bed, looking pale and unwell, the curtains drawn against the late afternoon sun. He offered her a weak but genuine smile and gestured for her to take a seat in the armchair beside his bed.
Delia sat down. She did not waste time with pleasantries. She told him everything. She told him about her visit to the palm reader with the Dowager Duchess, about the story of the pregnant woman who had died, about the old woman’s claims of a curse. When she had finished, she looked at her grandfather, her blue eyes searching his old, tired face, and asked the one question that mattered. "Why?"
The old man knew exactly what she was asking. He let out a long, rattling cough, a sound that seemed to come from deep within his chest. When the coughing fit subsided, he began to speak, his voice a low, raspy whisper full of the heavy weight of the past.
"Yes," he began, not even trying to deny it. "It is true. Your father, my Henry, made a deal with me all those years ago. For your sake. A lot... a lot happened during that time."
He stared at the canopy of his bed, his mind lost in a memory from long ago. "When I first heard that Henry was courting a merchant’s daughter, your mother, I was enrage. She was beautiful, I will admit. She looked just like you do now, especially your blue eyes. And your father... my Henry... he loved her with a passion I had never seen in him before. But I had already arranged his marriage to Augusta. It was a good match, a beneficial alliance for our family. You see, Augusta’s father was the port officer at that time and I needed his influence to benefit the family business."
He continued his confession, the words tumbling out as if a dam had finally broken. "I later found out that Henry had disobeyed me. He had bedded your mother, thinking that if he presented me with an undeniable fact, I would be forced to change my mind and give my blessing. But I did not."
"He deliberately dragged out the marriage set-up with Augusta, making excuses, avoiding the final arrangements, until it was finally revealed that your mother was with child. With you." He turned to look at Delia, his eyes full of a deep, old regret.
"She came to me herself, your mother did. She came to this very house, begging me to give them my blessing. I refused. I told her to walk away from my son. I eventually found out she was not from Albion. I gave her money, a fortune, to leave Albion, go back to her family and never return. I threatened her with her family lives."