Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

The next day, Mr. Rye drove Delia to the imposing, gray stone building that housed the kingdom's Criminal and Justice Division. The carriage came to a stop, and as Mr Rye opened the door, Delia saw him. George Pembroke. George was standing outside the building, waiting for her, his expression a mixture of desperation and exhaustion.

He walked towards her as soon as he saw her stepped down from the carriage. "I'm sorry, Delia," he said, his voice a low, miserable sound.

Delia was quiet. She simply looked at him, her own face a calm, unreadable mask.

"I know an apology isn't going to solve anything, I know that the damage has already been done" George continued, his gaze fixed on the ground in front of her feet. "But I truly mean it. I am so sorry."

Delia finally turned to face him fully. "What, exactly, are you sorry for, George?" she asked, her voice cool and direct.

Confused by her question, he looked up. "What?"

"Don't try to weasel your way out of this with a simple, empty phrase," she said, her eyes as sharp and as cold as blue ice. "I want you to think about every single thing that you have done, every betrayal, every lie. And then, I want you to apologize for it. Properly. If you can do that, then you may have a tiny, tiny shot at my forgiveness."

Then, to her complete and utter surprise, George went down on his knees, right there on the stone steps of the justice building, in front of the onlookers and the passersby. He stayed for a while trying to choose his words carefully not to get Delia more angry.

"I am sorry that I hurt you," he said, his voice now a loud, clear, and utterly humiliating public confession. "I am so sorry. I should not have done that to you. You never deserved to be treated that way and everything you have ever accused me of was true." He looked up at her, his own eyes now shining with shameful tears. "I was going to marry you, even though I was in love with Anne. It is true. I just wanted to use you as an excuse, as a way to be near her. I deceived you and I betrayed your trust and love because of my own selfishness and my own cowardice. I am so sorry, Delia. I am really, truly sorry. I know I'm not worthy of your forgiveness but please can you find a place in your heart to forgive me and my family for what we put you through?"

Delia stood there for a few long moments, listening to his pathetic, public confession. Then, she let out a harsh chuckle, a sound that held no humor, no warmth, no forgiveness. It was the sound of a heart that had been turned to stone.

"I am not going to settle for just an apology, George," she said, her voice now a low, dangerous whisper. "I am not the only victim in this situation. You have hurt my husband, and you have damaged the reputation of the entire Carson family."

"Then… what do I do?" he asked, his voice a desperate plea.

"Here are my terms," Delia replied, her voice now that of a queen delivering a sentence. "First, you will say everything you know about this entire affair and how Anne is involved, with proof to back it up. Second, you will write a full, public apology on paper, and you will have it printed and distributed at your own expense. And you have an hour to do so."

Meanwhile, in the grand, wood-paneled advisory council room of the Carson Textile Establishment, a different kind of judgment was taking place.

"Next on the agenda," the head of the advisory council, an old, respected man named Lord Hawthorne, spoke to the rest of the members on board. "Is the matter of the newly launched spring line department. We will be voting on the proposal to bring onboard Duke Eric Carson, the current president of the Royal Colors Dye Establishment, as the new department's director and vice president. Would anyone on the council like to speak on this matter?"

Eric and Philip sat at the long, polished table with the rest of the council members, a silent, tense distance between them.

One of the older advisors, a man known to be a staunch supporter of Philip, answered. "Director of the new department…" He looked down the table at Eric, who calmly returned his gaze.

"With all due respect, Lord Hawthorne, I do not think that is the best idea at this current time."

Another one of Philip's allies immediately replied in agreement. "Indeed. A great many eyes are on this establishment right now, from both inside and outside the business world. The timing of this appointment is a little… concerning."

Philip smiled, a small, almost imperceptible smirk of satisfaction. His plan was working. The council was already divided, with some of the older, more conservative members supporting him, and the rest either supporting Eric or waiting to see which way the wind would blow.

The head of the council asked, "What kind of concern do you have, Lord Everton?"

"It is a matter of public opinion," Philip said, speaking up for the first time, his voice a smooth, reasonable sound that was full of a false concern. He looked directly at his brother. "There are a lot of unfortunate chatters on the streets of Albion at the moment. Whispers and gossip. And whether these stories are true or not, the fact remains that a man who cannot even clear up his own negative publicity is perhaps not the best choice to lead such an important and public-facing new venture."

Murmurs began to erupt from the council members, especially from those who had read the vile gossip pamphlets from the past few days. Philip smiled to himself. His plans were moving forward, just as he had intended.