An elegant, cream-colored card with embossed silver lettering was delivered to the Ellington manor. It was a formal announcent.
Baron and Baroness Ellington
Request the honour of your presence at the marriage of their daughter,
Lady Delia Ellington,
To His Grace, Duke Eric Carson,
On the twenty-fourth of July, 1888
At two o’clock in the afternoon
At St. Peter’s Cathedral, Hansen Square,
Kingdom of Albion.
In the stuffy, quiet bedchamber of Baron Henry, Augusta let out a pretend smile after reading the invitation aloud. She carefully folded the thick card and slipped it back inside its expensive envelope. The air in the room was heavy with unspoken resentnt.
"You printed it out so quickly," Augusta said, her voice dripping with a sweetness that didn’t reach her eyes. She looked at Eric and Delia, who stood together near the foot of the Baron’s bed. "I’m very impressed."
Anne sat beside her mother, a small, sharp knife in her hand as she carefully peeled an apple, the skin coming off in one long, angry spiral. She was just silent, her entire being radiating a cold, petulant anger.
Eric smiled, unfazed by Augusta’s sarcasm. "The wedding will be a grand affair," he stated simply. "My mother wants nothing less for my bride." He paused, then added pointedly, "And after the wedding, Delia bids her final farewell to her ’family’ here."
Baron Henry, who had just managed to sit up straighter against his pillows, bead with genuine happiness. "That’s good. That is very good. It is fitting for the Carson family." He looked at his eldest daughter, his eyes full of a father’s pride.
Delia spoke, her gaze fixed on her father. "You are all coming to the wedding, right?"
"What do you an, my dear?" Henry replied, his voice full of warmth. "Of course, we are your family. I would not dream of being absent on my daughter’s big day."
Suddenly, Anne started laughing. It was not a happy sound. It was a sharp, brittle, and entirely humorless laugh that made everyone in the room look at her. After she was done, she looked directly at Delia, her eyes filled with scorn.
"I’m sorry," she said, though she sounded anything but apologetic. "It was just so funny." She set the half-peeled apple down. "You hate us, Delia. You despise every one of us in this room, except for Papa. Yet you want us to attend your grand wedding? Why is that? Are you scared the cathedral will be empty without us?"
"Anne!" Henry shouted, though his voice was weak and reedy, it was filled with fatherly authority. "Where are your manners? We have a guest present!"
Anne fell quiet, picked up her apple again, and continued her aggressive peeling, the rhythmic scrape of the knife filling the tense silence.
Henry, annoyed, turned to Augusta. "Now that Delia is settled, you can finally start to work on finding a match for Anne."
Augusta looked at him, surprised. "What do you an, Henry?"
"My good friend, the late Viscount Elliot, may his soul rest in peace," Henry began, "his son has now taken up the title and the estates of his father. He is a promising, serious young man, and I hear he is looking for a wife. I think he would make Anne the happiest woman in the world."
He looked at his wife, his expression firm. "I will set up a eting this weekend. You should go with her."
"You want to set Anne up with soone so soon?" Augusta replied, her voice laced with disapproval.
"What?" Henry asked, his own voice rising in frustration. "Wasn’t she the one who was desperate to marry at all costs, just a few weeks ago?"
The knife in Anne’s hand dropped onto the porcelain plate with a loud, sharp clinking sound. She turned to her parents, her face covered with annoyance. "My appetite is suddenly gone," she announced. "You can all share the apple, if it pleases you."
She then stood up and smiled, a terrifyingly sweet and empty smile, at her father. "I suppose I should probably start to lose so weight, to get ready for the new match my dear father has so thoughtfully set up for ." She picked up the wedding invitation that Delia had brought for her and, with a flick of her wrist, tossed it onto the table at Delia’s side.
"I’m afraid I have a tea party to attend to on that day," she said, her voice dripping with false regret. "Lady Cowper is hosting. I know I should be there, as your only sister, to catch your bouquet, but I am dreadfully sorry, I simply can’t make it."
She looked at Delia, her eyes glittering with malice. "And I know you don’t have any other friends to ask. I truly am sorry." She spat the final words and then swept out of the room.
A short while later, after Eric and Delia had left, the tense silence in the room remained.
"Did you really have to do that to Anne in front of His Grace?" Augusta finally said, her voice a low, angry hiss. "She hasn’t even healed yet from her... episode."
"It’s your fault, you know," Henry replied, his gaze fixed on the closed door.
"What did I do?" Augusta demanded.
"The way you have raised that child," Henry said, his voice full of a weary disappointnt. "I was humiliated today, in front of my future son-in-law. She is so immature for her age, so cruel, all because of how you overprotect her and fill her head with nonsense."
Augusta was silent for a mont. Then, she smiled. "I have been aning to tell you sothing, Henry," she said, changing the subject.
"What is it?" he asked, his tone still cold.
"When are you going to put Anne’s na on the deeds for the Ellington Textile Establishnt?" she asked, her voice now smooth. "You know how important family is."
"Right," Henry said. "Family is everything." Augusta nodded her head, sensing a victory. Henry continued, "Then I will give it all to Delia."
Augusta’s face fell, her expression turning to one of pure rage. "What?"
"Our future son-in-law, the Duke, has the biggest dye industry in the entire kingdom," Henry explained with cold, simple logic. "Once he marries Delia, I am sure the two of them, working together, will excel beyond our wildest dreams. It is the best decision for the future of the family business."
Augusta stared at him, her chest heaving with a silent, furious anger. She knew he was right. She smiled again, a tight, false expression. "Fine, Henry," she said. "You win this round."
She went to his bedside table and picked up his dicine bottle and a glass of water. "Ti for your afternoon dose, my dear."
Henry noticed sothing different about the pills she shook into her palm. "This isn’t my normal dicine."
Augusta’s smile was serene, almost beatific. "Yes," she replied smoothly. "The doctor said he had to change your dication. The old one wasn’t improving your health as much as he had hoped."
Henry nodded and swallowed the new dicine with a glass of water. "Thank you, my dear," he said, his voice softer now.
Augusta took the empty glass and the tray and walked to the door. As she closed it behind her, leaving him alone, she whispered into the empty hallway, her voice a chilling, triumphant murmur.
"Don’t ntion it."
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