DELILAH'S POV
"Will you quit all the mumbling and let us in?" Aunt Viv snapped. "Where is Mrs Blackwood? I have no patience for this kind of incompetence."
The maid stuttered, wringing her hands. "Mrs Thorne, I—I… there must be a mistake—"
Vivienne hissed in irritation, as she shoved the maid out of the way. "Where. Is. Mrs. Blackwood?" she demanded again.
The maid stammered, "She was informed of an emergency at the Blackwood Clinic and had to rush over. But…" The maid swallowed, glancing nervously toward the staircase.
"Then get me Mr. Blackwood," Viv ordered coldly.
The maid's gaze darted to me, then back to Vivienne. Her lips trembled. "Mrs Thorne… he is… with another lady right now. A lady who claims to be… Miss Duvall."
My stomach dropped. "What?" I rasped. This was supposed to be my moment, my one chance at being superior. I was supposed to carry the Blackwood heir, today!
The way Aunt Viv looked at the maid was not quite human. "Explain," she demanded.
"I'm sorry, Mrs Thorne. I have never met Miss Duvall." The maid wrung her hands. "The lady came in and said her name so I— I followed the instructions Mrs Blackwood left for me" she babbled on, words tumbling out. Her eyes were frantic, darting to the staircase, to us.
"I'm sure Mr Blackwood made the same mistake because the last I heard from his room—"
"Stop talking! Now!" Viv snapped. Her anger made the maid flinch as if struck. The woman's mouth snapped shut. "When Mrs Blackwood returns, I am going to personally ensure she fires you," Viv breathed slowly, "and oh… you will never get a job in any of the powerful houses… ever again."
The maid went pale, the color entirely drained as if Viv had squeezed it out of her.
"I'm so sorry, ma'am. Please forgive me!" The maid collapsed to her knees, palms pressed together in a public supplication. Her whole body trembled. Seeing that Viv wouldn't be swayed, her panic escalated — she crawled forward on the marble and, in a last-ditch gesture of desperation, reached for my feet.
It was humiliating and grotesque all at once. The maid's hands scrabbled at my shoe, fingers clumsy.
"Get off me, you idiot!" I snapped before I could stop myself. I yanked my foot back and the maid skidded backward, palms smearing the floor.
"How could you be so stupid?" I hissed. "How could you let someone steal my future like that?" I pushed off the wall. The idea of some woman masquerading as me in his room made bile rise in my throat. Was she pretty? Was she practiced? Did she laugh when Eric moaned my name when fucking her?
I wanted to tear through the house and find her, to claw and scream and reclaim every inch of what had been promised to me.
Vivienne's hand closed around my wrist. "Control your voice," she murmured. "Anger is useful when directed." Her eyes flicked up toward the staircase. "We do not beg for what is rightfully ours. We take it."
The maid sobbed into her hands.
"I am so sorry. I'll go up and try to get her out of there," the maid stammered. Her hands twisted in front of her. I could smell her fear. The maid's apology did nothing to calm the pounding in my chest. I felt fire crawl up my neck, the burn of humiliation laced with outrage.
Someone was upstairs, in his room, parading around as me—and this trembling disaster of a maid had just let it happen.
"I'm coming with you before you screw things up even further," I snapped. "Get your pitiful self off the floor and take me there!" The maid scrambled up, muttering a shaky, "Yes, ma'am,".
I climbed the stairs two at a time. What if the imposter had charmed him? What if Eric Blackwood was already under her spell? I shook my head hard enough to make my earrings jingle. No. Impossible. No one could replace me. Not me.
The maid hobbled ahead, trying to match my pace. "Will you move your stupid legs faster!" I barked. My irritation was at the entire situation. At the cruel absurdity of spending a sleepless night preparing to meet the infamous Eric Blackwood, only to discover that some fraud had gotten to him first.
I stopped at the landing, while the maid proceeded further down the corridor. She finally stopped near the end of the hall, fumbled in her pocket, pulled out a small key.
She inserted the key with trembling fingers, and the door clicked open. The maid poked her head through the crack. She made a few hand gestures, frantic little signals as if she was trying to coax a stray animal out of hiding.
And then she appeared.
At first, I thought it was a joke. A cruel, elaborate joke. Because the girl who stepped out of that room was… pathetic. There's really no other word. That dress—oh, saints preserve me—some washed-out cotton thing that hung off her shoulder like it had given up.
This? This was the woman who had dared impersonate me? The one and only heiress of Duvall? I stared at her in stunned disbelief, fighting the hysterical laugh clawing up my throat.
The girl walked toward me with that insolent, steady gait of someone who believed she belonged where she stood. She looked about my age. "Here she is, Miss Duvall," the maid announced. The girl's eyes snapped to mine, then narrowed in recognition. Of course everyone knew my name here.
It had been my name for nineteen glorious years.
"How dare you? How dare you steal my identity?" I screeched. Anger tasted metallic in my mouth; it rose hot and fast. The Duvall name was everything — inheritance, reputation — and here, in a single breath, this intruder stole it.
"What?!" the girl exclaimed. "I did no such thing." She turned to the maid, searching for a savior. Her hands curled into fists at her sides; there was innocence on her face. The maid, white-faced and shaking under my stare, offered no help.