Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 69 - Sixty Nine

The invitation arrived on a crisp, sunny afternoon. It was a single, elegant card delivered by a Carson family courier, requesting the presence of Duke Eric and Lady Delia for a family dinner at the main estate that very evening. The summons had come directly from the Dowager Duchess Elena.

The moment Eric read the letter, his first thought was not of the implications of the meeting, but a much more immediate concern: Delia had nothing suitable to wear. He immediately went to the most exclusive modiste in the city, a woman named Madame Dubois who dressed royalty and the highest echelons of the aristocracy.

"I need a gown," Eric stated simply, entering the lavish, silk-draped boutique. "For a lady."

Madame Dubois smiled. "Of course, Your Grace. What color does the lady prefer?"

"Her eyes," Eric replied without hesitation, a soft, fond look on his face. "They are the most incredible shade of blue. Like the summer sky just after a rainstorm. Find me a gown that matches them."

After viewing several options, he selected a magnificent creation of flowing silk in a shade of periwinkle blue so perfect it seemed to have been spun from the sky itself. It was elegant, graceful, and stunning, without being overly showy. It was perfect.

Now, sitting in the carriage on the way to the Carson estate, Delia felt the soft, luxurious fabric of the new gown against her skin. She had never worn anything so beautiful in her entire life. But the beauty of the dress did little to calm the nervous fluttering in her stomach. Her hands were clasped together so tightly on her lap that her knuckles were white.

What if the Dowager Duchess has changed her mind? she thought, her mind racing. What if she thinks I’m selfish for choosing justice over my family? What if she thinks I don’t care about the people I love, as long as I get what I want?

Eric, sitting beside her, sensed her anxiety. He leaned closer, his voice a low, reassuring whisper in her ear. "Don’t worry about a thing. For Grandma to call for us so suddenly, it can only mean good news. Besides," he added, his gaze sweeping over her, "you look absolutely beautiful."

He was inches away from her now, his presence warm and overwhelming. He looked at her styled hair. "I love seeing your hair down," he murmured, "but I think I love seeing it in a low bun more. Do you know why?"

Delia was silent, her heart beginning to beat a little faster at his proximity.

"It’s because," he continued, his voice a soft caress, "it gives me a perfect reason to touch your face, to feel your skin, with the pretense of pushing back a stray strand of hair... just like this."

As he spoke, he gently reached out and tucked a loose curl behind her ear, his fingers brushing against her cheek with a touch as light as a feather.

Delia’s face instantly flushed a deep red, as vibrant as a ripened tomato. The unexpected, tender gesture was too much. She pushed him away playfully. "Your Grace," she said, her voice a little breathless.

Eric smiled, his teasing mission accomplished. He leaned back, his expression now serious. "How do you feel now? Are you still anxious?"

Delia shot him a glare, though there was no real anger in it. "No," she said, trying to sound annoyed. "You just made it worse."

"Sorry," Eric said, though the wide, triumphant grin on his face said he wasn’t sorry at all.

They arrived at the grand courtyard of the Carson estate. The moment the carriage stopped, servants came rushing to their beck and call, opening the doors, helping Delia down as if she were made of glass.

She had never been served before, and the feeling was both strange and wonderful. Eric put her hand on his arm, the gesture feeling more natural than it ever had before, and led her into the dining room.

The dinner was a warm, lively affair. The Carson family—the Dowager Duchess Elena, Duchess Lyra, and Amber—welcomed her not as a guest, but as one of their own. They laughed and talked, and for the first time in her life, Delia felt the uncomplicated joy of being part of a happy, loving family.

After dinner, as they were having dessert, Lyra brought up the topic she had with Elena earlier that day. "But Mother," she said, looking at Elena, "this is far too much. You want the wedding to happen in a month’s time?"

"The sooner the better," Elena replied with a decisive nod.

Lyra shook her head. "Mother, a month is too long to wait. I think the next two weeks will be perfect."

Eric looked at Delia, a wide, "I told you so" expression on his face. Delia smiled back, a genuine, happy smile that reached her eyes.

"Right?" Elena agreed with her daughter-in-law, a pleased look on her face.

Just then, a voice came from the doorway. "I’m home."

It was Philip. He stood in the entrance, his cane in his hand, a look of complete surprise on his face as he saw Delia sitting at the family table. "I didn’t know we had company," he said, his voice cool.

Delia, remembering her manners, started to stand up to greet him. "Good evening, Your..."

But before she could completely stand up, Eric grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her back down to her seat. He didn’t even look at his brother. He kept his gaze fixed on the two women at the head of the table. "Two weeks," he said firmly. "That works for us." He looked at his grandmother. "Like you said, the earlier the better."

Philip’s smile was tight as he walked into the room, the soft thud of his cane the only sound in the momentary silence. He called a maid to get him a glass of water.

Amber, who was the most happy about the news, clapped her hands together. "Wait, everyone! What about the invitations? The decorations? The flowers? And the wedding dress! There are so many decisions to make!" She raised her hand like an eager child. "I will take care of Delia’s wedding dress! I will dress her up to be the most beautiful bride the kingdom has ever seen." She looked at Eric mischievously. "So beautiful that even my dear brother will get jealous of any other man who even dares to look at her."

Everyone at the table laughed, the warm, happy atmosphere returning.

"But two weeks will be quite tasking on the guests," Elena said, looking at Lyra with a practical concern.

"It is a Carson wedding, Mother," Lyra replied with a confident smile. "The first one in a generation. Believe me, they will show up."

Philip, having finished his water, set the glass down with a click. "But Eric," he said, his voice cutting through the cheerful mood. "Why the incredible rush? Is she with child? The way you are rushing this, people might get the wrong idea." He smiled, a cruel, insinuating expression. "Or perhaps... it’s not the wrong idea at all?"

The vile words dropped into the room like a stone. The laughter died instantly.

Eric turned his head slowly and looked at his brother, his expression turning to ice. "That was an extremely rude thing for you to say, Philip."

Philip looked around and saw the entire family staring at him with disapproving eyes. He smiled, a flash of white teeth that held no warmth. "I’m sorry," he said, his apology utterly insincere. "I misspoke. I was just wondering why you would get married in such a hasty fashion."

"You cannot talk like that to someone’s face," Eric replied, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "You are not just questioning my decisions. You are indirectly insulting my duchess. And I will not stand for that."

"I apologize," Philip said again, though he looked anything but sorry. He bowed his head slightly and left the room, his cane tapping out a slow, deliberate rhythm on the marble floor.

Lyra, trying to soothe the already tensed atmosphere, turned to Delia with a kind smile. "Anyway," she said, changing the subject. "I will have to meet with your mother, the Baroness, to take care of the bigger details of the wedding planning."

The thought of Augusta having any part in her happiness made Delia’s stomach clench. "I apologize, Your Grace," she said quickly. "But could we perhaps leave her out of this? It will be very hard for my family to help with the wedding preparations."

Lyra looked at her, at the anxious plea in her eyes, and she understood completely. She reached across the table and patted Delia’s hand. "No, this won’t do," she said firmly, but her firmness was directed at the situation, not at Delia. "You should not have to worry about such things. Don’t you worry about it at all, then. I will handle everything."

Delia looked at the Duchess, at the genuine warmth and protection in her eyes, and smiled. She finally had a mother on her side.

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