The Duke's carriage rolled away, leaving Delia standing alone in the bright afternoon sun. Mr. Rye's kind farewell, "Have a peaceful afternoon, Milady," echoed in her ears, a sentiment she wished were true. She looked up at the sun, high and hot in the sky, and felt a sliver of peace after the morning's confrontation. That peace, however, was short-lived.
As she walked towards the wrought iron gate to get into the manor's grounds, she saw a figure waiting for her on the path. It was Lady Pembroke. Delia's brief moment of calm evaporated, replaced by a weary annoyance.
"Why is this family so determined to pester me? she thought, her hand tightening on the gate's latch. First it was George, now his mother. Can't they just let me be?"
Mrs. Pembroke saw her and immediately moved to block her path, her face arranged in a look of cloying concern. "Delia, my child," she began, her voice overly sweet.