Reborn: The Duke's Obsession Chapter 2 - Two

Delia’s feet carried her back into the ballroom, her spirit heavy with a profound sense of dread. The joyous music now seemed to echo the somber tones of a funeral dirge. Before the ache of sorrow could fully settle, a cordon of regal guards materialized, barring her way. Their stern visages sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.

"We seek Delia Ellington," the captain’s voice boomed, cutting through the sudden, hushed silence that had enveloped the vast hall.

Baroness Augusta stepped forward, a placid smile gracing her lips, her gaze briefly flicking towards Delia. "She is my other daughter," the Baroness declared, her tone smooth and tinged with a feigned concern. "How may we assist you?"

The captain's eyes remained locked on Delia. "She is under arrest for murder."

Those words struck Delia with the force of a physical blow. Murder? Her mind spun, unable to grasp the accusation. She hadn’t done anything. An icy wave of fear swept over her, rendering her legs unsteady. Rooted to the spot, her eyes widened in sheer disbelief and shock.

At that precise moment, Baroness Augusta moved closer, her actions subtle, almost invisible to the rest of the room. She leaned in, her voice descending into a barely audible whisper meant only for Delia's ears. "Accept the blame, my child. I vow to find a way to petition the king for a reduced sentence."

Delia's gaze flickered towards Anne, who stood a short distance away, her face pallid, her hands clasped together with visible tension. Delia could practically sense Anne’s palpable anxiety. It was then that the horrifying truth dawned on her. A chilling realization struck with full force. She was being framed.

Baroness Augusta resumed her subtle psychological maneuvering, her words dripping with an artificial urgency. "Anne is far too young to endure such a ordeal. As her elder sister, it falls upon you to protect her."

Whispers began to ripple through the ballroom, growing in intensity like a swarm of buzzing insects filled with conjecture. Delia remained silent, her mind a whirlwind, desperately trying to assemble the fragments of the unfolding nightmare. Her world had imploded in a single night—her unrequited love, her marriage, and now her social standing was utterly shattered.

The captain, his patience wearing thin, turned his attention back to Baroness Augusta. "Is she Delia Ellington?"

Without a moment’s hesitation, Baroness Augusta’s voice rang out, clear and firm, devoid of any trace of maternal anguish at sending her own daughter towards ruin. "Yes."

Events were unfolding at a pace too rapid for Delia to fully process. It felt as though she were trapped in a dreadful nightmare, unable to awaken. Her gaze swept across the assembled guests, searching fruitlessly for a glimmer of hope. Her eyes landed on George. He stood near the grand arched doorway, the usual sparkle in his eyes replaced by a profound expression of pity and shame. He offered her a small, helpless shrug, his eyes silently conveying a deep apology. Then, with a sorrowful shake of his head, he turned and melted back into the throng, disappearing from her sight.

In that devastating instant, Delia's world utterly crumbled. The last vestiges of hope, the faint possibility that someone might champion her cause, were irrevocably severed. The pity etched on George’s face was almost more unbearable than the accusation itself, serving as a grim confirmation of her impending doom.

A primal instinct for self-preservation, overriding coherent thought, surged within her. She couldn't remain. She couldn't possibly face this. Her body acted before her mind could even register the impulse. She bolted, shoving past bewildered onlookers, a sudden, inexplicable surge of adrenaline propelling her flight. The guards, momentarily taken aback by her abrupt movement, swiftly regained their composure and initiated pursuit.

Bursting through the ornate doors, she found herself on the moonlit thoroughfare, her lungs burning with exertion. Her eyes frantically scanned her surroundings, desperate for any avenue of escape. A solitary carriage stood a short distance away, its driver slumped in a doze upon his seat. With a desperate cry, Delia wrenched open the carriage door and tumbled inside. "Drive! Go anywhere! Just go!" she shrieked, her voice cracking with sheer terror.

The startled driver, unnerved by her frantic state and the pursuing shouts of the guards, lashed the horses into a gallop. The carriage jolted violently forward, rattling precariously as it careened through the narrow, cobblestone streets. The relentless drumming of the guards' horses' hooves pounded close behind, a terrifying cadence signaling her impending capture.

Delia cowered in the corner of the carriage, tears coursing down her face, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. Her fingers clenched the small ruby ring she had been holding earlier, her knuckles stark white.

As the carriage rounded a sharp bend at speed, a blinding light erupted from seemingly nowhere. Another carriage, traveling in the opposite direction, materialized instantly around the corner. There was no time for evasion. The drivers cried out, the horses whinnied in panic.

A deafening impact. The world dissolved into a violent spin. Delia was hurled forward with brutal force, her head striking the wooden interior with sickening impact. A searing, sharp pain shot through her body. For a fleeting moment, darkness consumed her consciousness. She felt herself plummeting as the carriage disintegrated around her.

Her eyelids fluttered open, the world around her a hazy blur. Faint sounds of distant shouting, the groaning of shattered timber, and the panicked neighing of horses reached her ears. Beneath her, a warm, viscous fluid began to pool and spread. Though a sense of numbness pervaded her, every inch of her body throbbed with intense pain. Her fingers, still clenched with unwavering tenacity, held tight to the ring.

A sharp gasp escaped her, a barely-there murmur following, "If only... I could return."

With that, her eyes, reflecting an unspeakable sorrow, drifted shut. The ring, now feeling heavy and loose in her lifeless fingers, slipped free and tumbled onto the broken floor of the carriage with a soft clatter. A heavy silence ensued, disturbed only by the sound of approaching guards and gasps of shock. Delia Ellington had breathed her last.