-Chapter 13-
To the devil with him.
The words echoed in Félix's mind, but his lips stayed shut. He would not waste breath on a man so undeserving of it. Baron Estefan. How little he knew of his own child and how much less of her worth. Not that he knew her personally, but no child deserved to be scornfully shunned by her father, regardless of the circumstances.
The carriage suddenly jolted out of balance after catching on loose stones. The sudden convulsion made Duke Félix turn in the coach. But no bodily discomfort could rival the weight grinding at his mind.
What had he done?
Slowly, he leaned his elbow against the window, his hand rising to his chin—the posture of a man ill at ease with himself. Guilt struck him from every side as he sat there, thinking about how he had only made matters worse for the girl whose family had thought her too beneath the Duke to appear before him.
Why had he reported her stealing from him, anyway, when he knew full well she had not? From all he could tell, she had likely lied about nothing she told him before also. Not her name. Not her shock when he had mistaken her for Coralie and seized her mouth before she could think to fight him off. And not her wish for freedom, because what else had her bold demands meant? A house. A freaking estate without guests. Far away from her father's reach.
The thought curled his hands into fists. Why else would a girl so young want to run away, unless there was cause enough to flee?
The Baron's readiness to have her stripped of name and protection after learning of her alleged theft was proof enough of what kind of father he was. Did he hate her that much? What man of any worth trusted the slander of a stranger over the word of his own flesh and blood?
Félix's knee bounced in restless agitation. His anger towards the Baron was sharp.
He did not notice when the color drained from his face and neck.
"Is all well with Your Grace?"
The voice belonged to Bach, faithful, insufferable Bach. Félix did not stir.
But the man would not be silent. "Forgive me, but I think Your Grace should have pressed the Baron further on the matter of the King's workers. It was, after all, the purpose of our journey to Cleverview."
Félix growled. His butler clearly needed to be taught how to read the room and know when to shut up.
Bach went on, "Speaking of the Earl, he looked rather gaunt, as if the sickness was slowly eating away at his insides. Ger was right, after all. The Earl is seriously sick. Heaven grants he survives this season in time, so he can resume his duties—"
"He has to," Félix said, his voice rising halfway through. "Matter of fact, he must. He is why I would have to see that bat-faced baron sooner than I would have liked. He has to pay for this."
"Your Grace?"
"Draw up an invite to have Vincent show up at the Estate in forty-eight hours."
"But Your Grace, the Earl is sick. He could barely even speak—"
"I don't care. Ask him over," Félix demanded. "And while you're at it, invite the Baron too."
"Yes, Your Grace," Bach answered resignedly.
At that, Félix nonchalantly returned his gaze to the outside of the window. The burnished view of the evening was a far better companion than his butler, who would not shut up about the Earl Vincent's health.
✯✯✯
"What did you say?" The baroness sprang to her feet, her mouth agape at what the baron had just uttered.
Estella stood, too stunned to speak. She must have heard wrong—she had to have.
"Did this rat really dare to approach His Grace?" Georgina spat, her eyes wide with disbelief, her brows knitted in confusion.
"When was this?" Geraldine asked sharply.
"Was it the other night at Lady Agatha's Ball? I knew there was a reason she snuck out that time. And all the while, it was to corner the Duke and steal from him? Who is to say she didn't try to seduce him, too?" Georgina's brows relaxed from the tension she had placed them in. She ran her index finger thoughtfully over her lips, as though considering the possibility.
"No. No. None of that is true. I didn't—"
Before she could say more, a blow landed to the side of her head from Geraldine. The baroness seized her shirt, gripping it with a fierce gaze. "What did you steal, girl? You must return it!"
"I… I didn't steal from him. I swear."
Estella did not have time to think about the pain from Geraldine's blow, nor the ache spreading through her. She sank to her knees once the baroness released her hair, yanking it painfully. She swallowed deep gulps of air, bracing herself for what would come next.
"But he said you stole from him," her father added, his voice sharp. "What reason would he have to lie about something you didn't do? Now that I think of it, I made a fool of myself trying to protect you before. I should never have denied your existence in this house. I should have sent you to him to face the consequences."
"And who says it's too late for that?" the baroness added. "Let us send her over. She should be jailed for theft. Imagine how she is trying to ruin the family name. I cannot bear this girl any longer."
"But I didn't do it." Estella's voice shook as she cried, tears falling, the snot running down her face. "Why won't you believe me?" she begged. "Why won't anyone believe me?"
"It would do you well to wipe away those crocodile tears before I deal with you properly," Geraldine said coldly.
"No wonder she wouldn't answer us when we questioned her. This insolent rat had the gall to steal from the Duke?" Georgina paused, and then laughed cruelly. "Mother, give us permission to handle this girl. Let us give her the beating she deserves and show her what she is: a common thief."
Another beating? Estella shivered, her whole body aching from the past torments they had already inflicted on her.
"So, what did he say?" The baroness turned to her husband, her face a mask of impatience. "What did His Grace decide? What is his offer? Tell me!"
Estella's thoughts were numb now, the pain of her cries mixing with the confusion and anguish in her heart. Why didn't he just say that he had kissed her? They would have punished her for that, but at least it would have been something. Better than being called a thief for something she had not done. How could she ever rid herself of the shame of being accused of theft?
"I didn't do it… please believe me…" she gasped, her voice raw, desperate. "I really didn't. I am no thief. Father…"
Her cries were growing more animalistic, her pain deeper than words could convey. But she knew it would not matter. They would never believe her. She cried harder still.
"Because of you, the Duke left in a fit, and now you've ruined our family's name," Georgina shouted. "Why are you crying so? Didn't you do it? Didn't you steal what he said you stole?"
Estella sniffled, her voice trembling. "What…" She paused, her voice barely audible. "What… did he say I stole?"
"You go figure that out on your own," the baron said, shifting his gaze. "He didn't say. So you tell us what of value you stole that made him come all the way here."