Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

The city hummed with a quiet energy, the calm before a storm that only a select few knew was brewing. On that same day, three separate, fateful meetings were taking place.

In a discreet, private parlor of an expensive inn, the air thick with the scent of conspiracy, Duke Philip spoke to Baroness Augusta, who was sipping her tea across from him.

"I am going to assemble the advisory council for a meeting soon," Philip said, his voice a low, confident murmur. "It will be regarding the formal appointment of Eric as the second head of the Carson Textile Establishment. A co-leader, if you will. This has to happen before Grandmother makes her final decision on the main successor."

Augusta placed her teacup down on the saucer with a clink, her sharp eyes watching him carefully. "Will this be a problem for our plans?" she asked.

"No," Philip replied, a cold, calculating smile on his face. "It will not. Besides, the request to give him a position of authority came directly from the Dowager Duchess herself. I am merely being an obedient grandson." He leaned back in his chair.

"But even if his appointment is just for show, it doesn't mean anything. There will inevitably be a moment, a crucial test, where he will have to prove himself. A moment where he must show everyone that he is worthy of leading the great Carson Establishment."

He picked up his own teacup. "We just need to continue tarnishing his and his new wife's public image until that day arrives. Since he is so hell-bent on competing with me for the succession, I will give him something else to fight for in the meantime. Something to distract him from the real prize. I have the whole thing figured out already."

Augusta smiled, a look of genuine admiration on her face for his ruthless strategy. "That is a perfect idea, Your Grace." She paused, then continued, her own voice dropping lower. "Speaking of our plans, may I ask you for a favor?"

"Go ahead," Philip replied.

"I find myself in need of some extra funds," Augusta said. "Can I request a loan? Do not worry," she added quickly, seeing the flicker of question in his eyes. "I want to use it to set a trap, just process the process the loan and leave it, don't send. I believe there is a mole in our midst, someone who is feeding information to Delia. Either on your side, or on mine. If there's throughly a mole, they will take the bait and inform Delia which she will try to stop the loan process. I need it all for my plan."

Philip considered this for a moment. A mole would explain many things. "Alright," he agreed without hesitation. The sum of money she was likely asking for was insignificant to him, but the information she might gain from her trap could be invaluable.

Meanwhile, in a noisy, crowded tavern on the other side of the city, Duke Eric sat across from a very tense-looking Lord George Pembroke.

"I heard you frequent this place," Eric said, his voice calm and slightly amused as he looked around the rough, dimly lit room with an expression of clear distaste. The air smelled of stale beer and sawdust, a world away from the refined establishments he was used to.

A server brought two large, frothy mugs of beer and placed them on the sticky wooden table. Eric looked at the cheap, cloudy liquid and gave a slight, almost imperceptible shake of his head. "I think I know why you like it here," he said. He pushed his own untouched mug towards George. "You can have mine as well. This is not to my taste."

George, who had been sitting in a state of rigid, nervous silence, finally spoke. "I received your letter," he said, his voice a little shaky. "And your threat." He pulled the crisp, folded piece of paper from his inner coat pocket and dropped it on the table between them. "I am here now. What do you want to discuss with me about, Your Grace?"

Eric smiled, a slow, disarming expression that seemed entirely out of place in the grim tavern. "Don't worry, Lord George. Relax." He gestured to the letter. "I only sent that rather harsh threat along with the invitation to ensure your attendance and you see it worked. I apologize if it was too much." He then looked at the two untouched mugs of beer and gestured to them. "Go ahead. Feel free to drink. That is why I chose this particular venue. I wanted you to be comfortable."

"What do you want, Your Grace?" George asked again, refusing to be disarmed by his opponent's strange, playful demeanor.

Eric finally dropped the act. He leaned forward, his expression now serious, his voice a low, direct command. "So, Lord George. What do we do about this nasty gossip that is circulating around the city?"

"What?" George asked, confused by Eric's question.

"You are a part of this gossip, are you not?" Eric replied, his voice calm, his gaze unwavering. "The pamphlet paints you as the tragic, jilted lover. Some even are even saying you are having extra marital affairs with Delia. So I am asking for your opinion. What do you suggest we do about it?"

George kept quiet. He didn't know what to say. He was a cornered animal, unsure of which way to turn.

Eric laughed, a short, humorless sound. "Your silence is telling me something else, Lord George," he mused, leaning back in his chair. "Are you suggesting that we should do nothing? Let these lies spread? It is your name being tarnished as well. Don't you want to clear your own name?"

George was still silent, his mind going blank from too much thinking.

"Are you trying to avoid the issue?" Eric asked, his voice now losing its playful edge, replaced by something harder. "Or are you perhaps trying to make a much bigger one?"