Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 58 - Fifty Eight

"Never mind," Lyra said, dismissing Delia’s clueless response with a wave of her hand. Her eyes went back to the tray of misshapen red cookies. A new, more practical thought seemed to occur to her. "You are going to feed these to my son, right?

Delia looked at the lopsided cookies, then back at Lyra, a confused expression on her face.

Lyra continued, her voice now taking on a low advisory tone as she gestured to the cookies. "Sprinkle some sugar on top. The fine, powdered kind. And use a small knife to carefully cut off the rough, burnt edges. Just make them look pretty. Eric has always loved pretty things." She looked at Delia this time. "He reminded me of that preference the last time."

Duchess Adeline, who was standing across from Delia, carefully decorating her own perfect cookies with silver pearls, let out a sharp, unpleasant laugh. "Look at you, Lyra," she said, her voice filled with sarcasm. "Already helping out your soon-to-be daughter-in-law with her wifely duties. I never thought you would be performing mother-in-law duties so soon."

The comment was a direct hit, meant to mock both Lyra’s sudden change of heart and Delia’s lack of skill. Lyra’s head snapped up, her eyes flashing with a protective fire.

"Hey!" she shouted at Adeline, her voice sharp enough to make several other ladies turn and look. "Look here, Adeline. Mind your own business. I am just being human. How can I see someone who clearly needs my help and not offer it? Is that a foreign concept to you, Adeline?"

Adeline glared back, her own face tightening with anger. The two duchesses gave each other a stern, challenging look, the air between them sizzling with hostility. Delia, caught in the middle, ignored them both. She was focused entirely on Lyra’s advice, her mind already working, thinking of how to make the cookies pretty for Eric and if he will like it.

Standing a short distance away, Lady Isla held a decorative box, ready to help package Delia’s cookies. She stopped, watching the tense scene unfold, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. Things were getting very interesting indeed.

~ ••••• ~

The first light of dawn was breaking over the kingdom, painting the sky in pale shades of grey and orange. The carriage pulled over in front of the quiet courtyard of Eric’s private residence.

Eric came down from the carriage, looking tired but content after a long night of work. Aiden, also tired, spoke from the carriage window. "Don’t worry, Your Grace. I will take care of the rest of the paperwork and see that the contracts are delivered."

Eric nodded his thanks. As the carriage left, carrying Aiden with it, Mr. Rye came out from the carriage house to greet him.

"Welcome back, Your Grace," he said with a respectful bow.

"Thank you, Mr. Rye," Eric replied. He looked up at the grand house. "Where is the Duchess?"

Mr. Rye’s eyes widened slightly in confusion. "Your mother, the Duchess, didn’t visit yesterday and today, Your Grace."

Eric shook his head, a fond smile touching his lips. "No, Mr. Rye. I meant my wife-to-be."

The title, spoken so naturally, so definitively, made Mr. Rye’s eyes widen even further. "A thousand apologies, Your Grace!" he stammered. "Lady Delia is inside. She has been here since the night before."

Eric looked up at the window of her bedroom. The light was lit, a warm, welcoming glow against the pale morning sky. He could see her silhouette appear for a moment through the closed curtain, a fleeting shadow that made his heart beat a little faster. He smiled, a deep, genuine smile of a man eager to be home. " Thank you, Mr Rye." He said.

" It is an honor, your grace." Mr Rye replied as he bowed and went back . Eric opened the front door with his key and went in.

As he walked through the quiet hall towards the drawing room, he saw her. Delia was coming down the grand staircase, dressed in a plain, simple day dress. Her hair was still a bit wet from a morning wash, and her dark curls fell softly all over her face. She looked so natural, so beautiful, so perfectly at home in his house. In that moment, all Eric wanted to do was walk over to her, hold her flushed cheeks in his hands, kiss her forehead gently, and run his fingers through those damp, lovely curls and hug her till all the stress evaporates from him.

Delia, coming down the stairs, saw him standing there, watching her. "You didn’t send a letter," she said, her voice full of surprise. "I thought you would come back much later today."

Eric, his eyes still fixed on her, replied with the first, simplest thought that came to his mind. "I’m hungry."

Delia blinked, confused by the sudden, almost childish sentence. "What?"

"I came back early because I wanted to eat," he said, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Is that bad?" He removed his coat and gloves, tossing them carelessly onto a nearby sofa, and then walked with purpose towards the kitchen.

Delia’s eyes widened in panic. The cookies! She had left them on the kitchen table. He mustn’t see them. They were hideous.

She blocked his way, stretching her arms out wide in front of him like a gate. "Wait! Wait right there! Don’t move another inch!"

Then, she turned and ran towards the kitchen. Amused and curious, Eric followed her, a lighthearted chase beginning as he ran with her. She burst into the kitchen, went straight to the table, and grabbed the box of her lopsided, misshapen cookies. She was about to throw the entire box into the waste bin, to destroy the evidence of her failure.

But just as she lifted the box, Eric caught her wrist, his grip gentle but firm. He easily took the box from her, a look of triumphant curiosity on his face. This was clearly the treasure she had been trying so desperately to hide from him and he’s dying to see, to know what they are

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