Chapter Twenty-Seven
Della feared she was about to break. All the pained words Andrew had said that afternoon swam through her mind in nauseating waves.
It was too much for her to process at once.
Violently closing off her thoughts and emotions was the only thing she knew to do.
That door was shut and locked and barricaded, but it was that one lie that threatened to break it down entirely.
It’s good to see you too, Mother. It was a simple expression, the smallest of falsehoods when her life had somehow become a mountain of them.
It wasn’t the lie that hurt so much as the truth.
It wasn’t good to see her mother, or to be home for the first time in years.
Della almost wished the lies were the crux of her problems. Unfortunately, that was reality.
She prepared to say something, anything that would drown out the overwhelming silence that had befallen them, but she heard the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut.
Heavy footsteps making their way toward the room.
A shout that she knew had to have been directed at a footman or the butler, the tone was so lacking in respect.
“What the devil is going on here?” she heard him say, just before the door was opened for him. “Adelaide.” His voice was a whisper of shock. “It really is you. I thought there must be some misunderstanding.”
She’d never wanted to roll her eyes so desperately in her entire life. Was the idea so unbelievable? That she’d endured a simple carriage ride back to her family’s main residence? It seemed a rather mundane thing to do. Not the sort of thing that inspired such fervent reactions.
“Hello, Father.” Della remembered at that moment that many young women her age still called their fathers something more affectionate, like papa.
She wondered if she’d ever called him anything like that.
If she had, she couldn’t recall, and that broke up the hurt in her soul with shards of deep sadness.
It was another blow to the door holding back a flood of feelings.
“Is someone going to answer me?” the viscount bellowed.
“What are you doing here?” He looked at Della and Andrew both, seeking the explanation he believed he so rightfully deserved.
This was all going so badly, Della suddenly didn’t want to give him one.
She wanted to turn and run. This effort didn’t feel worth it anymore.
“We are here about Kinloss,” Andrew repeated. Della was always intensely grateful for him, but something about this moment made that gladness grow exponentially. “About Della’s inheritance.”
Della watched her mother as Andrew spoke. She had neither the nerve nor the decency to show any manner of guilt or regret. Della was willing to bet she wouldn’t even recognize those particular emotions if she felt them.
“How do you even know about that?” Her father addressed Andrew only, increasing Della’s indignant anger just that much more. He didn’t try for denial as her mother had, and she could at least respect that.
“That is unimportant,” Andrew started again. It seemed this was a conversation only for the men in the room. Ironic, since the property in question was passed down from one woman to the next. “We’ve come here as a warning. Quite frankly, we’ve come here out of a respect you don’t deserve.”
Everyone flinched at that, even Della. It was true, but that didn’t make it any less devastating.
“We know that Kinloss rightfully belongs to Della. You have been mismanaging her estate as her guardians for years, and we know it’s your intention to continue doing so by threatening the livelihoods of her household.”
Andrew very plainly laid out the facts, and Della watched as her parents displayed starkly different reactions.
Her father was livid, his face turning a shade of red she didn’t think she’d ever seen before.
Her mother cowered away, turning in on herself and shielding her eyes as if she could avoid the scene displayed in front of her.
Della didn’t wait to see anything like shame. She knew she never would.
“There is no way you—” her father began to spout. The anger was palpable in his voice, and he was spitting each word he spoke. “I am her guardian, and the estate has been entrusted to me. I have run it as I see fit.”
“You’ve nearly run it into the ground. There is plenty of evidence,” Andrew interrupted.
“Ledgers my father kept from as far back as fifteen years ago, showing your large, unexplained withdrawals from accounts belonging to the estate. I suspect your estate agent is as crooked as you are, overcharging and neglecting the tenants you are supposed to serve.”
Della looked to him. He seemed as calm as she hoped she appeared. She could see the strain, though, because she knew him so well. The hand next to hers on the sofa was tensed and a vein pulsed at his temple. The sharp line of his jaw seemed lethal.
“Well, then,” her father scoffed, “if all you have to support your claim are the records of a dead man—”
He seemed so smug. It was staggering how quickly he’d incorporated all of that anger into the arrogance he projected now.
“I thought you might say that,” Andrew interrupted again.
He’d relaxed some. The corner of his mouth tipped up, and it made his profile seem oddly dangerous.
It was almost thrilling, knowing that all of his threatening force was there to protect her.
She thought he might actually be the first person in her life to do that.
“Which is why I spoke with your Dr. Seagle.”
“You’re lying,” her mother gasped. Della had never seen her so outraged, and that was the emotion most often present on her face. She’d always seemed to treasure her anger the way other people appreciated their own contentment. “John would never speak against us.”
Della noticed how she referred to the doctor by his given name. Something about that stuck in her mind. It was more evidence pointing toward an idea she struggled to believe.
“He did very little speaking, actually. And I didn’t need him to say much of anything. All he had to do was confirm what I already knew.”
Her parents looked at each other. They seemed to be communicating without words. That was astounding, Della thought, how two people who barely tolerated each other could still be so attuned.
“It’s my understanding that the Morley estate hasn’t been profitable in years, and you’ve been doing everything possible to replenish your coffers. You’ve been mismanaging the Kinloss estate for your own financial gain, and I’m sure it seemed like a brilliant plan. But that ends today.”
“And just what do you plan to do?” her father asked, crossing his arms as if calling Andrew’s bluff.
“There is little to do, from a legal perspective,” Andrew admitted with a shrug.
“There is much a judge would excuse under the guise of guardianship. But we must acknowledge that you favor your place in society, yes? So, if you were suddenly wrapped up in an ordeal involving questionable paternity and unethical business dealings, I don’t believe a recently established title is quite enough to save you from such a scandal. ”
“We could lose everything,” her mother whispered. It was as if she were considering the possibility for the first time.
“It might’ve been prudent to think of the consequences before you spent years abusing power that wasn’t your own.
To say nothing of how you’ve treated your own daughter.
” Andrew’s voice had taken on a hard edge that Della hardly recognized.
It wouldn’t do for her to memorize that rumble so she could feel the resounding tremble it inspired in her. Would it?
“What do you want?” her father asked. His gaze was sharp, but he wasn’t looking at her. No one was.
Then, Andrew was looking. He was nodding in her direction. He’d turned his body to face her, and she didn’t know if it was an effort to lend support or to shield her from the view of her family. She would’ve appreciated both.
“I want what is mine,” she said simply. There was so much more threatening to spill out of her. Words of the deepest hurt and the brightest anger. She couldn’t speak them, though she wanted to. They felt as if they were stuck in her throat, choking her. “I want Kinloss.”
“You will let her run the property, whether she’d like to live there or appoint a new estate agent of her choosing. And you will leave her—and everyone who currently works at Westfield Manor—alone. If you do not, I’m afraid that nasty rumors will begin to swirl.”
There was a moment of silence, and Della held her breath until her ribs ached.
“Very well,” said her father. He was slumped in defeat, and his spine curled inward. This was a man she’d never met. Downcast and just plain sad. “I must say, I didn’t expect this from you, Andrew. I held your father in high esteem.”
“You did.” Andrew hung his head for a moment. “And while I appreciate that, I only wish he could’ve said the same of you.”
Silence swept over them again, and Della felt the sudden, irrepressible urge to cry. She had to get out of here before she suffocated under the weight pressing against her chest. She couldn’t breathe and she couldn’t think, and they were talking, but she couldn’t listen.
Della stood. She couldn’t help it, she ran.
Past their horrified faces and their vengeful words and past the footman and the butler.
Out the front door, down the rocky stairs.
Her ankles stabbed at her and her knees threatened to buckle, but she kept on.
Until her hip caught. Always, that damned hip.
Where was her walking stick? She couldn’t remember.
She’d brought it with her to Morley House, but where had she put it?
She’d made it to the gardens, stumbling into a corner around the back of the house. Della sank down to the ground, resting her back against the stone fountain. She tucked her feet under an overgrown bush.
She was hiding, but she knew Andrew would find her.
Della tried to make herself take long, deep breaths. This was a strategy of hers, when she was engulfed in pain. She focused on her breathing, because everything would be all right as long as she kept air flowing in and out of her body. At that moment, in her rush of pain, it was her one objective.
Andrew did find her, eventually. She’d lost track of time, her senses overwhelmed by the fountain’s gentle spray raining over her and the occasional twitter of an errant bird. Down here, in the dirt, her former home almost seemed like a peaceful place.
“There you are.” He was at her side in an instant, lowering himself to a squat in front of her. The sight of his face made her realize this idyllic little haven she’d created for herself wasn’t real, and there was too much pain here for her to remain.
“Can we go?” she asked him before he had a chance to utter another word. She held up a hand, he took it. They rose slowly because her dramatic exit had done more damage than she’d thought. Della hissed as pain lanced down her legs as soon as they bore her weight.
“Of course,” Andrew murmured, leaning into her body to support her.
“But . . . is there anything else you want to say to them?” His eyes were so kind, so remarkably gentle.
She got lost there for a moment, in another idyllic haven.
She felt him wrap her fingers around the handle of her walking stick.
She’d have to ask him where he’d found it.
Della understood what he meant, though. What he wasn’t saying. This would be the last time she would be welcome at Morley House, but it had hardly been a welcome at all. If there were any words she had left for her parents, she’d better say them now.
“No,” she said, finally. “I never want to speak to them again.”