Chapter fifteen

Chapter fifteen

Monica squeezed her wet hair through the towel while she stalked behind Elizabeth into the sitting room. Why was she even agreeing to this? She had asked herself this question half a dozen times before she stepped into her cousin's carriage, and seven times more before she had reached here. No matter how closely related they were, she knew getting too attached might stir up ugly revelations in future.

But while she had been frowning in thoughts, she'd barely noticed when the other lady began throwing orders at the footmen and maids standing with them.

"I'd like to talk with her in private. Please leave," that came out as a desperate snarl even Monica found a bit fearful. Elizabeth turned to her afterwards and plastered another of those her smiles again, showing her to the best seat in the chamber, "Please have a seat my dear. What would you like to drink?"

The Scottish tilted her head, slowly studying her with disgust. After that happened for a while, she sighed and looked down at her hair still cringed out of wetness, "Wine will be fine."

Monica had not blinked once before her cousin swirled around and strode to the wine stand only a few feet away. It hung on a smooth silver platform, shaped into what looked like an eagle. Speaking of eagles, there was a very big one that stood in a massive cage right behind her, alive! It made a clicking sound with it's claws now and then, something that looked like a threat ever since she stepped into the office. She turned to meet it's grey gaze on her, the coldest look she had ever received. Monica couldn't help but admit how sick it made her feel, "I see your family has a thing for eagles."

Elizabeth traced her hands over all the glass decanters and stopped when she reached one with a blood red liquid. Just then, she snatched it and grinned at Monica, "Well my father used to be a wildlife researcher. He used to see them a lot in Africa."

When she walked back to her cousin, she took a seat across from her and poured the liquid into two clear glasses.

When that was over and their privacy was confirmed, Elizabeth wrapped her fingers round the stem of her glass and rasped, "Straight to the point, let's strike a deal."

It was out of pure disdain that Monica stayed quiet. She dragged her narrow eyes to the blonde who seemed to be teasing her with a similar stare. Finally, Monica sighed and muttered, "What makes you think I will agree to do anything with you. I'm suffocating sharing an office with you already."

Grinning as usual, Anfield's future duchess lowered her cup, fixing her blonde hair behind her ears. She stared into her wine and said, "It is your home we speak of. What possibly will you have to lose?"

"I'll give you a hunch," Monica said almost immediately after, "Will you ever trust anyone who can kill his own father?"

Elizabeth did not seem the least bothered that she knew about this. Instead, she pushed herself proudly and went to the wall length window overlooking the barns. With her fingers around the cup again, her eyes gazed down at the farmhouse. It took a while before she turned back to Monica, giving her the most serious of looks she had ever given, "You may not believe me my dear. But I care so much about you. I always have."

Contrary to what anyone would have expected, Monica burst out laughing. And from the choking sounds of it, it was out of anger, "Why! You have so many explicit ways to prove it, don't you?

Elizabeth saw this was not progressing at all, and with one deep sigh, she placed down her glass, "There's something I need to tell you."

***

"You see Monica," Elizabeth started, "the last Duke did not die of natural forces." The next part came as a slightly silent sound, "I killed him."

The Scottish shut her eyes, her breathing hard and desperate. Slowly, she peeked them open again and looked at Elizabeth, forgetting how to speak.

It seemed she needed some sort of confirmation that she'd heard that. And that was exactly what Elizabeth gave her.

"I killed Philip's father," she repeated.

So the Duke was about to marry his father's own murderer! And now she suddenly felt for him, her eyes slightly stung with tears. All she could manage from her mouth was "why" which was not really heard anyway.

Still, Elizabeth saw the question paint itself all over her face, so obvious Monica looked scared of her for the very first time. With a grimace, she faced the window again, trying to avoid Monica's glare on her. Her attention shifted to the beauty of the world outside her house. It was magical, with grazing horses and rolling lands. And blossoming flowers. But somehow, Monica's cold gaze from behind kept haunting her and sending an aura that seemed to interfere with the beauty outside.

She finally tore her gaze off it and looked at Monica again, the saddest look on her face, "He killed your father Monica!"

Now that was the height of anger. Sitting became a bit annoying now. At that, the Scottish damsel pushed herself from the seat, stalking so close to the blonde she could smell her cologne.

"Do not try to play the caring cousin now," she rasped, pushing herself closer to the other lady in a manner she forced to be threatening, "You've never changed from being selfish. And I'll never forget your family's neverending quest for power. The Duke's death and your betrothal to his son days after cannot be a coincidence, can it?"

The aura had become a bit tense, or maybe more than a bit. Both ladies exchanged glares just as daring, with secret intentions to strangle the beauty from the other.

However, Elizabeth calmed down, knowing too well a fight with Monica was not what she had planned, and even more aware she was too weak for that.

"Do not tag me a cold-blooded murderer," She began, "Besides, I was not certain the Duke would have picked me over many other maidens in Anfield. I had deeper reasons."

When looking into the angry, green eyes of the Scottish became a little above scary for her, she turned away and looked out to the farmhouse again. By now, her breathing had gone back to normal. She took her hair back into place and went on, "He was the main reason our family came apart. I lost you for over fifteen years and you think I found that exciting?" The last part of her sentence seemed to come with an angry snarl. Then she faced Monica again who seemed a little calmer now, "When depression goes unchecked, you start having crazy ideas including murder, maybe that was even why I killed papa."

Monica's glower seemed to soften, as though she was beginning to believe her. Still, she was quiet. She  even had more questions though, "So you left us to starve in the streets of England until now because you also cared, am I right?"

"I searched for you everywhere," Elizabeth answered almost immediately, "At a point, I thought you all were dead just until you decided to grace us with your presence the other day at the mansion." Her words did not seem to satisfy her cousin. While she tried to plead for her trust with her eyes, all Monica did was frown back at her.

"Believe me. If you still doubt me, you could ask Micheal. We were together in this," those were the last words she needed to say to make Monica look away defeated. That made her smile inside, mainly because she knew she had succeeded.

The silence that followed was comfortable and necessary, for the Scottish to swallow all the information and understand it, and for the English to cook up her next words.

"What is this deal about," Monica finally popped the cloud of quiet that had filled the room.

A sudden grin stretched through the entire length of Elizabeth's mouth, one too surprising given the rueful look she had earlier. With quick action, she clutched Monica's hands and pulled her gently to her seat. The blonde reached for the decanter of red wine just at her right, and with a steady show, she filled up both wine cups again.

"What is the main  thing you want," she asked the lass before her  afterwards.

"Kilmarnock," the answer came immediately afterwards, short and stern.

Although there was no sort of joke in it, Elizabeth found it amusing. With a raise of a brow, she grinned at her cousin, "So you have no interest in the Duke then?" She sipped her wine afterwards.

It was the first time Monica laughed since she sat with her, a laugh infectious and humorous. She also took one sip from her cup before smirking at the lady, "Ah him! He is all yours if that is your fear. You see I just need him as some sort of…key to Kilmarnock." She sent a wink to the blonde.

"First thing we have in common," she laughed back, "Can you do me a favour in the meantime darling?"

Monica raised a brow, "I'm listening."

As painfully expected, there was a bit of suspense that was annoyingly necessary. The blonde leaned back into the cushion with a comfortable smile, her glass cup dangling from her fingers in a manner that made her wealth obvious. It was not just about the style. The fingers themselves looked expensively manicured, not to mention the well trimmed nails and jewelry that must have cost a fortune. Even Monica found it shameful she had been admiring them for a long time.

"Until the compromise is over, you can at least pretend to be a friend. That will be very appreciated."

That stole a snicker from the Scottish that seemed to be forced, "I'll pretend, just as you said. What's in it for me?"

This time, Elizabeth quit beating around the bush, "With my wealth and acquaintances, helping you get Kilmarnock will be a fish in a barrel." Here, she took a small pause to build up the drama and continued again, "As for your part of the deal, just stick to your apathy for the Duke. I want to be sure to get married to him and you have to make sure you have no real interest to do the same. That seems easy enough."

Monica's agreement came as a smile. But what fun was in a deal without a bit of taunting, "To get what I want, seduction is a key role. If he gets interested in me, what then. Because love itself was made by Yours truly." She gestured to herself.

Her cousin grinned, finding her more interesting than she thought she was, "It's obvious we have more in common than we think we do." As she dropped her glass, she leaned in closer to the Scottish and whispered as if there was someone in the room to hear them, "In that case, you can have all the fun in the world with him. Go ahead. Seduce him. Make a child with him for all I care. The condition is, I get married to him in the end and you go away to Scotland. Far away and never come back."

Monica nodded to that with a small sign of sarcasm, "You are darn sure I trust you, aren't you?"

Elizabeth laughed, clearly not offended. She swirled the cup through her expensive fingers again and took it to her lips, "In case you still doubt me, I have my own part to gain."

Monica smiled at that but remained silent. That was a secret invitation for the blonde to go on.

And she did, "I want to be more than a Viscount's daughter. You were right about my quest for power. I want to be the Duchess of Anfield and take every single thing from our enemies. We will take everything from them Monica. You and I." Just like the beginning of every toast, Elizabeth raised her glass in the air.

There was a sudden negative feeling building in Monica's heart. Revenge had always been what she wanted right? But somehow, watching innocent Philip getting stripped off his home and position like that made her jerk.

Elizabeth was still smirking at her with her glass raised. Next, it felt her body had a mind of its own. Monica found herself clinking her glass with that of her cousin's in acceptance.

She had not understood the grievance of what she had done until she reached home. Had she just made a deal to destroy Philip?