Chapter 147 - Hundred And Forty Seven

Words : 1002 Updated : Sep 27th, 2025

The chaotic painting class ended early because of Duchess Adeline’s disgraceful behavior. Lady Isla, looking mortified, had a private word with Lyra and Delia, promising that such a vulgar display would never happen again in her establishment. Now, Lyra sat in a quiet, private tea room just off the main establishment, across from Delia, who was nursing her stinging cheek. Delia held her hand to her red face, her gaze fixed on her own lap, unable to look her mother-in-law in the eyes. The silence in the small room was heavy, thick with unspoken words and hurt feelings. Lyra was the first to speak, her voice sharp, trying to mask the deep worry that was too plain to see on her face. "Who asked you to jump in like that?" she began, her tone a harsh reprimand. " Adeline has been targeting me, that I know but who asked you to butt in and take a hit that was meant for me? Did you think I would be grateful for your foolish heroics?" But Delia could see the truth. She could see the concern in the Duchess’s eyes, the way she stared at Delia’s hand on her face, the way her own hands were clenched tightly in her lap, a sign of her barely suppressed anxiety. "Don’t meddle in things like that again," Lyra continued, her voice a little softer now, but still stern. "I don’t want you to get hurt next time. And you should know," she added, her voice hardening again, "that this little display of loyalty won’t change my mind about what you two did." Delia slowly lowered her hand from her cheek to her lap, her fingers nervously playing with the folds of her dress. "I know It is a very hard thing," she said, her voice a quiet, sad whisper, "to win someone over. Especially when you have won them over and had their trust and then... you just lost it." She was showing remorse, not for standing up for Lyra, but for the deception that had hurt her so deeply. Lyra’s own voice rose, heavy with that very same hurt. "You knew that, and you still did such a thing? A contractual marriage? A one-year agreement with clauses for other lovers? Lovers, Delia. You want your husband to have a mistress?" The pain of the betrayal was still fresh, still raw. "Is that why you said yes to my secret request? Because you knew you wouldn’t have to keep your promise? Even if you don’t get Eric to come back to the Carson Textile company, you will still be free to just leave him after a year." Her voice was now at the peak, heavy with where it hurts the most. " I may have been weary of you at first, but I warmed up to you. I loved you, Delia. The same way I love Amber. But you!" She looked at Delia, at the tears that were now welling up in the younger woman’s beautiful blue eyes. Lyra’s anger immediately calmed. She let out a long, weary sigh. "Never mind," she said, her voice now quiet and tired. "It is too late for all of that now." "Mother," Delia spoke, her own voice choked with emotion. "I am sorry, mother. I was in a tight position. I..." Before she could explain, the door to the private tea room opened, and Eric came in. He immediately saw the tense, emotional atmosphere in the room, saw the tears in his wife’s eyes and the pained, angry expression on his mother’s face. He walked over and sat down beside Delia, his hand immediately going to cover her trembling ones. Lyra looked at her son, her expression one of a mother’s soft, sad anger. "How did you know I was here?" she asked, trying to act less concerned. "You always come to this room when you are angry or upset," Eric replied, his voice low. It was a testament to how well he knew her. "Why did you two do it?" she asked, the question directed at both of them, her voice full of a deep, motherly pain. "We didn’t have a choice, Mother," Eric spoke, his own voice low and serious. "She had to survive. You don’t know. You don’t know how Delia was treated by them in that house." Delia turned to face Eric, her hand moving from his to clutch at the sleeve of his coat, squeezing it gently, a silent plea for him to stop talking, to not expose her vulnerabilities. "Eric," she said softly. Eric looked at her, at the plea in her eyes, and he gently shook his head. He looked back at his mother. This was a story she needed to hear. "She doesn’t eat more than what she would normally eat at the Ellington manor, even now," he continued, his voice tight with a barely controlled anger. "Because if she does, her body rejects it. She throws everything up." Lyra’s eyes widened in horror. "The Baroness starves her," Eric explained, his voice a low, furious growl. "She has been putting it in Delia’s head since she was a child that no one wants a plump woman. Delia doesn’t even wear good dresses. The Baroness gives her hand-me-downs, so plain and lifeless, that even a commoner would frown at. That woman has been emotionally and physically abusing her since she was a little girl." "The Baroness did this?" Lyra asked, her voice a shocked whisper. Eric reached into his coat pocket and brought out the vile, crumpled gossip pamphlet that had been printed about Delia. "Look at this, Mother," he said, handing it to her. Lyra took the flimsy paper and read the cruel, twisted lies about her daughter-in-law. Her expression shifted from hurt to a cold, hard ire. "What is this?" she asked, her voice trembling with a new kind of anger, an anger that was no longer directed at Eric and Delia, but at the people who made up this gossip.

Chapter 147 - Hundred And Forty Seven

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