Chapter Thirty-Seven
Della awoke at first light yet again. She’d exhausted herself with tears and emotions and silent goodbyes to the stairs and the wallpaper and the carpets. There was but one thing she had left to do before they all left Westfield Manor forever.
She sat behind her writing desk one last time.
Clara had tried to convince her to take it with them, but the packing had really become excessive.
There were only a few sheets of paper left, the rest tucked safely away in one of her trunks with all of Andrew’s letters.
She couldn’t think of him right now, though, unless she wanted to cry again.
The first letter was to her brother. They’d always been so different.
He’d always been groomed to be the next viscount.
She was groomed to marry well. They had so little in common.
But still, she’d loved him. That he was her half brother never mattered, so it stood to reason that finding out he was not truly her brother at all shouldn’t have mattered. And it hadn’t, really.
Until Andrew told her about their outing to the club. What David had said about her, how he held such resentment and repressed anger. It was enough for Della to sever the last ties she had to him, however fraying and weak they’d been in the first place.
Dear David,
While you will always be the brother I grew up with, you must know that you mean less to me than the dirt under my boots.
I fear that you haven’t considered what your life might be like once Mother and Father are gone, beyond possessing the wealth that’s been stolen from other far more deserving people.
Andrew tells me you have all of these grand plans for your viscountcy, but I fear that you will always be miserably alone.
I’m sure that you’ll seek a wife at some point, because Heaven knows Father will not rest until you’ve secured an heir.
I do hope that you’ll be kinder to her than you have been to me.
Even so, I do fear that no one could ever truly love you.
I’m inclined to believe that everyone is worthy of love by virtue of their own innate humanity, but therein lies the issue.
You have lost all of your humanity. Whether it was the excessive cruelty or the carelessness or the copious drinking, you’ve lost everything that ever made you capable of caring for others.
I hope you find some peace in this life, whatever that looks like for a spoiled aristocrat like yourself.
Della didn’t sign the letter, because she’d already decided he’d never read it.
It was written at a much higher level than a man who failed his way through Eton could comprehend.
She tossed the paper into the fire, and she watched it turn to ash.
She’d sworn to leave her family behind here, and that was exactly what she was going to do.
Her father came next.
Father,
I don’t know what it means to know you any longer.
To think that when I’d run into your office as a girl and sit on your knee, when you’d tug on my hair ribbon just to retie it for me, you were in that very office swindling others.
Sending people to the poor house for your own gain.
I don’t know if it matters to you that I think you are despicable, but I very much do.
I’ve come to realize what it means to make a choice, and you’ve made so many poor ones. You had a choice, what was in my best interest or what made you the most money. For years, you chose money over your own family. Over me, at least.
The only child you have left is an incredible disappointment, and that may very well be punishment enough for what you’ve done. I hope you never feel the destitution you’ve put others through, because that is something no one deserves.
But David Harris being the only legacy you leave in this world? That, you do so deserve.
At that, Della actually laughed. What a gift, to be able to laugh at her own pain. It was as cleansing as the tears or the writing itself. As she watched the second letter burn, Della felt the warmth on her smiling face.
That smile only began to fade when she thought of what she must do next.
Esther,
Even now, my first instinct is to apologize to you. For not being the daughter you wanted, among other things. I’ve been trying not to do that, apologize so much. People have been telling me I do so extravagantly.
So, I’ve decided I owe you no apology.
I won’t apologize for taking what’s rightfully mine. I won’t even apologize for embarrassing you and ruining the only thing you’ve ever truly cared about: your reputation.
I’ve also decided I do not want an apology from you, either. Though I know I would never receive one, anyway. Your words are as meaningless to me as I have been to you these past eight years. Some people are just not meant to be mothers, or to care for others at all.
Where my memories of Father are now forever tainted by his betrayal, my memories of you are clouded by your neglect. Finding out about your duplicity was not an additional slight, it was an explanation of the way I’ve felt since you abandoned me: that you never deserved to be anyone’s mother.
Please inform your beloved Dr. Seagle that his services are no longer needed as far as I am concerned, and if he ever attempts to touch me again, I will react with the utmost violence.
Lastly, Della began a letter to her mother.
Not Esther, who no longer held that title in her mind, but the woman who had given birth to her.
She sat for long moments, waiting for the words to come.
But they wouldn’t, because she was writing to someone she’d never known, someone who was more absent in her memory than any stranger.
In the end, she had little to say.
Do not worry, Mother. I will take good care of Kinloss, and your family legacy is safe in my deformed, fevered hands.
Della smiled again. The letter to Esther she threw with the rest in the fire, but she ran her fingers over those few remaining words to her mother, the only thing she truly had left to say to her family.
She carried that piece of paper with her as they prepared to leave, and Della finally took one last lap through the first floor.
She ended up in the sitting room, standing in front of that sofa Esther loved so much.
She’d always sit there, in that exact spot, whenever she decided to grace the manor with her presence.
Della left the note on the side table. Whether anyone ever saw it, she did not care. She looked over it once more, saying the words aloud as she read.
Do not worry, Mother. I will take good care of Kinloss, and your family legacy is safe in my deformed, fevered hands.
Then, for the last time, she left.