Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

The Ellington drawing room was a perfectly arranged stage. The sunlight was softened by the sheer lace curtains, casting a gentle, flattering glow on the room. A silver tea service sat gleaming on the low table, and a vase of fresh, white roses had been placed just so, their innocent scent filling the air.

A man with a neat coat and spectacles sat on a straight-backed chair, a small portable desk resting on his lap. He carefully uncapped his inkpot and sharpened the tip of his quill, his movement precise. He was about to get the story of the season.

"So if you are ready," the pamphleteer began, his pen poised over a fresh sheet of paper, "What are your thoughts on what happened last time? The public confession of Lord George Pembroke."

Anne, looking the very picture of a sad and repentant young lady, her eyes downcast, replied, her voice a soft, gentle whisper. "What happened last time?" She let out a long, heavy sigh. "It was mostly my fault, you see. I was in a great deal of pain." She looked up, her own brown eyes now shining with a carefully produced wetness. "After what happened, my dear sister Delia and I, we had so many long conversations. There were so many things we did not know about each other. So many misunderstandings."

She brought a delicate, lace-trimmed handkerchief to her eye and dabbed at a non-existent tear. The pamphleteer's quill began to scratch across the paper, capturing every word.

"At a young age," she continued, her voice trembling slightly, "it must have been so very hard for her. Being an illegitimate child, trying to fit in, living as a stranger in your own family. Why did I not know that sooner? Why did I not try to understand her pain?" She shook her head, a look of profound regret on her beautiful face. "I have so many regrets now." She dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief again, a perfect performance of a heartbroken but newly enlightened sister.

Augusta, sitting beside her, her own face a mask of a mother's gentle sorrow, added, "She was so heartbroken, too. My poor Anne." She looked at her daughter, then back to the pamphleteer, who continued scribbling down every word trying not to miss a thing. "It might be a little late for us," Augusta said with a sad, wise smile, "but we think of this as a process. A process to finally get to know each other as a real family."

The pamphleteer nodded his head, his expression now one of deep sympathy. "I see," he said. He then turned his attention to Augusta. "Baroness, if I may. After the Baron fell terribly sick and indisposed, you have been assisting him in the business, but now you are managing the entire establishment in his place. You have made so many changes. Some people in the business world are saying that your new ways are overly… aggressive. They say you are pushing people too hard."

Augusta sighed, a sound of a woman bearing a heavy, unfair burden. "I understand why some people might feel that way," she said, her voice clear and steady. "Change is always difficult. My father in law, Baron Edgar, built this company with his strength and vision. My husband, Baron Henry tried to protect it. I am only trying to protect what he holds dear." She looked the pamphleteer directly in the eye, her gaze unwavering. "The world of textiles is competitive. It is changing every day. If we stand still, we will be left behind."

She sat up a little straighter, her soft, sympathetic expression faltering for a second.

"No matter what choice I make from now on," she said, her voice full of a noble sincerity, "no matter what path I must follow, please know that it is all for the sake of the Ellington Textile Establishment. To protect my husband's legacy and the future of the families who depend on it."

"So, you sound like you are expecting some kind of turmoil within the establishment in the near future?" the pamphleteer asked, probing for a more sensational story.

Augusta chuckled, a soft, weary sound. "Turmoil? I do not know about that. I will simply do my very best to lead this establishment in a positive and profitable direction till my husband gets better."

The new pamphlet had already spread everywhere the following day. People in the tea shops and the social clubs were already buying in to the new, tragic, and heartwarming story of the Ellington family's reconciliation.

In the Carson mansion, Duchess Lyra was reading it. A cup of tea sat steaming on the small table beside her. A look of disgust was evident on her face.

"Their scheme is so painfully obvious," she said, letting the flimsy paper fall from her fingers onto the table as she took a sip of her cinnamon tea.

Amber, who was sitting across from her, reading a new book she had procured, looked up at her mother. "Huh? What scheme, Mama?"

"It is as clear as day," Lyra replied, her voice a low calculative murmur. "They are trying to get the public's support. They are playing the victim card. Anne wants to clear the terrible stain on her own name after her involvement with the Pembrokes was exposed. And Augusta," she scoffed, "she is trying to take over her husband company for good. She is using this story to make herself look like a strong, noble matriarch, to solidify her position as the new chairman."

Amber smiled, a look of genuine admiration on her face. "Wow, Mother. You can see all of that, just from reading this silly little story?"

"I have known women like Augusta my entire life," Lyra replied, her eyes now hard as stone. "They are all the same." She picked up her teacup, her expression now a mixture of anger and a strange, cold curiosity. "I just want to know," she said, her voice a low, dangerous whisper, "how far they are truly willing to go with this little game of theirs."