Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 56 - Fifty Six

Lyra was curled up on a plush sofa, absorbed in a book of poetry, a glass of cool water resting on the table beside her. The peaceful atmosphere was abruptly shattered when the doors were flung open and her mother-in-law, Dowager Duchess Elena, barged into the room like a storm front.

Before Lyra could even register her presence, Elena swept over to the table and snatched the glass of water from her hand. Lyra flinched at the sudden movement, her book nearly falling from her lap. She relaxed when she saw the furious, flustered face of the Dowager Duchess.

Elena, her chest heaving with annoyance, gulped down the entire glass of water in one long, desperate go. She slammed the empty glass back down on the table with a clatter that made Lyra jump.

Lyra carefully closed her book and placed it on the table. "Mother," she began, her voice a mixture of surprise and concern. "Where have you been? Did you get hit by a pack of hungry wolves on your way home?"

"Hit?" Elena retorted, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. "Yes, a pack of wolves did hit me. First a wicked, scheming stepmother, now a shameless old grandfather. This family... honestly." She threw her hands up in the air. "But it’s nothing new. I have seen far worse in my time."

Lyra listened patiently as the Dowager Duchess began to rant about her day, her words a series of complaints about pushy old men, public humiliation, and the general decline of aristocratic decorum.

"Maybe it’s a good thing she’s an illegitimate child," Elena fumed, continuing her rant. "At least that way she won’t have to officially share in the disgrace the Ellington family name has accumulated over the years!"

Lyra was now completely confused. "What are you talking about, Mother?"

Elena didn’t answer her directly. She seemed to be speaking more to herself now, her anger beginning to cool into a new, sharp resolve. She stopped her pacing and sank into the sofa opposite Lyra. "I need to write a letter," she declared. "I need to write a letter to that girl."

"A letter to Delia?" Lyra asked, surprised. "Why are you sending her a message now?"

Elena didn’t say anything for a long moment. She leaned her head back against the cushions, a thoughtful, calculating expression replacing the anger on her face. "I need to examine her myself," she murmured, her voice low. "Away from all these other fools. I need to see what she is truly made of."

~ ••••• ~

At the grand but somber estate of Baron Edgar Ellington, Delia arrived at the large, imposing entrance door. She pulled the cord for the bell.

"Who is there?" a butler’s formal voice rang out from behind the heavy door.

"It’s me, Delia," she replied clearly. "I came to see my grandfather."

In less than two seconds, the sounds of bolts being drawn echoed, and the large door swung open. The butler, a kind-faced man named Preston, bowed deeply. "My lady. A pleasure." He took the simple hat from her head. "The Baron is in his room. He has not been feeling well since he came back from his outing."

"Thank you, Preston," she replied. As she walked towards the grand staircase, she saw a young maid carrying a silver tray with a plate of fresh fruits. The maid saw her and immediately curtsied.

"My lady," the maid said respectfully.

Delia smiled at her. "That is for my grandfather, isn’t it?" The maid nodded. Delia reached for the tray. "Let me take it. You must be busy."

The young maid looked flustered. "No, my lady, it is not for you to..." ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

Delia cut her short by gently but firmly taking the tray from her hands. "It’s fine," she said, her smile reassuring. "I want to do it."

She carried the tray up the stairs and down the long, quiet hallway to her grandfather’s room. She knocked softly on the door.

A grumpy voice from within called out, "Go away. I told you I’m not hungry."

Delia smiled to herself. "Are you sure, Grandfather?" she asked, her voice clear.

There was a pause, and then the voice from inside softened considerably. "Delia? Is that you? Come in, child, come in."

Delia entered the room and placed the tray on the table beside a large, comfortable armchair. She then went to sit on the edge of her grandfather’s bed. "How are you feeling, Grandfather?"

He sighed, a weary sound. "I’m fine, my dear. Just old." He looked at her with sad eyes. "No one visits me anymore, except for you."

Delia smiled, trying to cheer him up. She went to the tray, picked up a crisp red apple and a small paring knife, and sat in the armchair beside his bed. She began to peel the back of the apple, the red skin coming off in a long, perfect spiral. She noticed his mind was somewhere else, his gaze distant and troubled.

"What’s wrong, Grandfather?" she asked gently.

Edgar sighed again. "It’s nothing. I just... I feel like I might not be of any real help to you."

Delia stopped her peeling, setting the apple and knife down. "What do you mean?" she asked, confused. "A week ago, you sent that letter giving your approval for my marriage. Thanks to you, Father and the Baroness finally had to agree. You were a great help."

"Don’t thank me for that," Edgar replied, waving a dismissive hand. "That was the least I could do. Compared to what I truly owe you, this is nothing. I need to pay you back properly, my dear."

Delia was puzzled. "What is it that you owe me, Grandfather?"

A sad smile touched his lips. "Don’t you worry about that now. I will take care of it." His eyes seemed to regain some of their old fire. "I will make sure you have the best wedding this kingdom has ever seen. It will be so grand, so beautiful, that people will talk about it for days, for years even. That is my promise to you."

Delia returned his smile, her heart touched by his sincerity, even if she didn’t understand the source of his guilt. "Okay. Thank you, Grandfather."

She picked up the apple again and, once it was fully peeled, she carefully cut it into small, neat cubes. She speared one with the small fork from the tray and held it out to him. He opened his mouth, and she fed him the apple, a simple, loving gesture between a granddaughter and another man in her family who had never, not once, made her feel like she was worth any less than the world.

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