Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) by Carole Williams (uplifting novels TXT) 📕

father, obviously seeing him as the bigger prize, and not only ensnared him but had born him a child … a bloody son … who would take precedence over his much older half-sister.  Delia was enraged; more than she had been in her entire life and wanted nothing more than to stand up and beat the whitewashed walls with her bare hands in sheer rage and frustration.

But all her acting skills had to come into play now.  She had to hide her feelings about Ruth and pretend she was distraught at losing her brother and in shock that Rocky could have killed him in cold blood and then tried to kill her before she shot him.   She also had to cry about her father as Mr. Danby had also informed her that on hearing the news about Richard he had suffered a heart attack, was rushed to hospital but was, for the moment, declared out of danger.  So, she had to be convincing that she was terribly worried about him.  She wasn’t, of course.  She utterly detested him and was glad he was suffering after what he had done to her, pushing her aside in favour of Richard and a bloody Frenchman to run the estate.  He knew how much she loved Canleigh.  She hated him with a passion for denying it to her … and then to produce another flaming son!

Delia hoped he would die and Ruth would become a widow.  Indeed, she wished all kinds of hell for Ruth.  She wanted her to die too … and she wanted the child to die.  Jesus Christ, all she had strived for … all that awful time in America, working on Rocky.  What a complete waste of her time and money.  Her life was in ruins now, well and truly.  Fate had dealt a cruel blow to her hopes and dreams and most of all it was down to Ruth dratted Barrett.  The woman had ruined everything … and how the hell had she achieved it?  Last time Delia had set eyes on her she was playing up to Richard and now she was married to their father.  Why on earth had the stupid man wanted to marry the wretched woman?  He could have just bedded her.  After all, he possessed enough wealth to buy anything he wanted … companionship … sex.  He certainly hadn’t had to marry someone with no breeding, no position and no money.

Delia wiped away a tear of bitterness impatiently.  How had it all come to this?  A dratted baby standing in her way.  Her dreams were utterly shattered unless something happened to him … and it would be so easy to get rid of a small infant.  Smothering, drowning in the bath … ideas flashed through her mind …but she dismissed them all as that wouldn’t be exactly clever.  She wouldn’t get away with another murder … that is if she could extricate herself from her present predicament.  A long jail sentence was not what Delia had in mind and she hoped desperately that all her meticulous planning would pay off and her story would be believed by the police and the courts.  She was positive she had covered everything carefully but if she had made one tiny mistake they would find out and lock her up for years.  In a cell, like this one.

She groaned, holding her head in her hands.  The prospect was too terrible to contemplate and anyway she had to get out of here and decide what to do next, although she would have to return to Canleigh.  Being away from the place had allowed events to occur which she had no power to prevent.  If she was actually in situ, at least she would know what was going on and if it wasn’t in her interests, might be able to do something about it.  Then there was Philip, of course, and Demon.  She had to get back there for them.

The official interview, an hour later, was a nightmare.  Two sour faced middle-aged detectives entered the interview room and sat down opposite her and Mr. Danby.  The eldest of the two turned on the tape recorder before looking Delia straight in the eyes and the most difficult few hours of her life began.

Mr. Danby had advised her to remain calm and composed throughout the questioning because as far as he was concerned, she had nothing to hide.  She had only acted in self-defence and would be released as soon as the interview was over but it was tougher than Delia had ever imagined.  She was used to being treated with deference as the Duke of Canleigh’s daughter but the detectives weren’t impressed by her title or her natural arrogance, and she struggled to prevent her words being twisted and misunderstood as question after question was fired at her.  It took all the late afternoon and evening and as the night wore on Delia began to think she would have to remain there until the morning, which filled her with horror.

The only breaks in the interrogation were for her to either use the toilet and return to her cell for the early evening meal, which in her opinion, was inedible.  The over-cooked fish fingers, mushy peas and a dollop of lumpy mashed potato followed by luke-warm jam roly-poly and runny custard revolted her.  Even the coffee was vile; too strong and made with powdered milk.  She didn’t drink it.    Feeling filthy and degraded, she longed for a relaxing soak in a warm bath.  She normally washed her hair every day but now it felt lank and greasy, probably because she kept running her hands through it in her anguish about her newly acquired stepmother and the new heir to Canleigh.  She itched all over, positive the last person to inhabit her cell must have had fleas.  Reluctant to sit on the bed she remained on her feet until nearly dropping with exhaustion, craving the