Meant to Bea

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

Carla did not let go of Bianca until she was certain it was alright to do so —several minutes later. Bianca immediately turned from her, silently dismissing her with her action, yet she couldn't bring herself to turn away. There was something about Bianca's sadness that tugged on the strings of Carla's heart, something that made her feel sorry for her sister.

Their relationship had never really been an actual relationship for her mother had made certain to keep them apart since they were little. Then, as Carla began to grow, she had been made to see Bianca as a rival, for it was Bianca's husband that was to inherit their father's wealth and title. Bianca would have everything —a wealthy husband and the title of a duchess— while Carla would be forced to find herself a man worthy enough to wed her. And for many months, she tried. The second she became old enough to attend balls, Carla sought tirelessly to find a husband —none of whose wealth could have scratched the surface of her father's. The realisation brought even more resentment to her heart toward her sister, for while she laboured to secure a future for herself, Bianca's future was already secured; it didn't matter who Bianca married, she would be the duchess of Leeds.

Until Race.

Carla should have turned Race's marriage proposal down, but her mother talked her into an even more sinister plan; pair Race with Bianca. It was her mother's idea that a they be married for a bastard could never be a duke.

Still, the idea might have come from their mother, but it was Carla who wrote the deceptive letter addressed to Race, informing him of her agreement to his proposal and her presence in his manor. It was Carla who convinced Bianca to deliver the letter to Race in Bath, unknowingly walking into a trap. It didn't matter that Carla hadn't expected the two to engage the shameful act that led to their forced marriage, Bianca's simple presence in Race's home without a chaperone would have sent the same message across, whether or not she and Race had indeed spent the night together. It was a complicated case of mistaken identity that Carla had propagated.

It was all her fault. Everything that happened —Bianca's forced marriage and her getting raped that evening because Carla and Race were at a ball together— was all Carla's fault, and because of her selfishness, her sister was not only almost killed, she was shamed before all of society.

Slowly, Carla turned around, the weight of her actions settling on her shoulders. It was an odd feeling of remorse, one compelled by the mere thought of losing the only family member she had left.

She sat in the drawing room the entire morning, going up to Bianca's room once it was time for luncheon, and being denied entrance. Knowing fully well that she couldn't blame her sister for her hatred, she decided to take a walk to clear her mind. She gathered her parasol and a light scarf to drape over her shoulders, before making her way out of the front door, her eyes immediately coming to rest on the carriage.

“Race?” She covered the distance between herself and the carriage, coming to a halt as he climbed down.

A small frown creased his face at the sight of her and she immediately knew he was displeased to see her. She knew she couldn't blame him, for after all she had done, it made sense that he would want nothing to do with her.

“Lady Carla.” He dipped his head slightly.

“May I please have a word, Mr. Belington?”

His frown deepened. “Is something wrong with Bianca?” He glanced up at the building, before turning back to her with question in his eyes.

“It is about her I must seek your audience, but I fear we cannot talk inside or we shall risk being overheard.”

The frown on his face maintained its position, suspicion clouding his eyes. “Perhaps I must decline, my lady? Bianca has been unwell all morning and I have spent more than enough time away from her.”