Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

The grand salon of The Gilded Cage was beginning to empty out. The day's activity, a careful and quiet session of embroidery, was over. Delicate hoops holding half-finished flowers and monograms were being carefully packed away into velvet bags, and the gentle, polite chatter of the noblewomen filled the air as they prepared to leave.

Delia was cleaning her own workstation, her movements slow and deliberate. She neatly folded the piece of fine linen she had been working on and placed her needles and colorful silk threads back into a small, carved wooden box. All morning, she had been looking at the door, a small, anxious knot in her stomach, waiting and hoping to see Duchess Lyra arrive, even if she would be late. But she never came.

With a quiet sigh of disappointment, Delia finished cleaning her space and went to the small washroom at the back of the main room to wash her hands. As she ran the cool, clean water over her fingers, she heard the low murmur of voices from the main room, the conversation turning to the topic that was on everyone's mind.

"Did you hear about the new pamphlet that is circulating this morning?" one woman whispered, her voice a low, excited buzz.

Another woman replied, her tone a mixture of disapproval and fascination. "Well, someone is certainly giving them something new to talk about every single day, aren't they?"

There was a pause, and Delia could feel their eyes on her, even though her back was turned. She continued to wash her hands, pretending not to hear them.

"Every day, it is a new story," the first woman continued.

Another voice, a little more sympathetic, spoke up, her voice low. "But the whole thing is becoming quite unfair to Duchess Lyra and the Carson family, don't you think? They are such a respectable family, and now they are being dragged into all of this… mess."

Another woman, one with a particularly sassy and unpleasant tone, then spoke up, her voice loud enough to carry clearly to where Delia was standing. She turned to the club's owner, Lady Isla. "Lady Isla, my dear," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, "I do think you need to start keeping the water cleaner around here."

The insult was a clear jab, referring to Delia as some sort of dirty water that was polluting their clean, exclusive space.

Lady Isla, who had been helping another member pack away her things, was about to talk, to defend Delia. But before she could, Delia turned off the water, dried her hands on a soft linen towel, and walked calmly out of the room, towards the woman who had just insulted her.

"Excuse me," Delia began, her voice polite but with an underlying edge of steel. "What is wrong with the water here? I am quite sure it is much cleaner than the water you have in your own house. In fact, that is probably why you always come here, is it not? To get the feeling of what a truly clean glass of water tastes like."

The direct, cutting insult, delivered with such a calm and ladylike demeanor, took the sassy woman completely by surprise. She scoffed, her face flushing a deep, angry red, but she could think of no clever retort. She simply turned on her heel and left the club in a huff, her own poison having been turned back on her.

After everyone else had finally gone, leaving a trail of whispers in their wake, Lady Isla walked over to where Delia was now standing, a quiet, thoughtful expression on her face. She began to help Delia pack away the rest of her embroidery things.

"Lady Isla," Delia began, her voice now a little softer.

"I must admit," Isla said, a small, appreciative smile on her face, "I did wonder how today's class would be without your mother-in-law, the Duchess Lyra, here to support you. But I was worried for nothing. You are very brave, Delia."

Delia's own smile faltered a bit at the kind words. "I am so sorry, Lady Isla. I feel that I keep giving you reasons to worry. I seem to bring trouble with me wherever I go."

"Nonsense," Isla replied. "You do not bring trouble. Trouble seems to find you. There is a very big difference." She paused, then looked at Delia, her expression now warm and friendly. "Then can you do me a small favor, to make up for all this 'worry' you have caused me?"

"What is it?" Delia asked.

"Have lunch with me," Isla replied.

Delia, surprised by the simple, genuine offer of a meal, nodded her head. "I would like that very much."

A FEW MOMENTS LATER…

Lady Isla had spread out a wonderful lunch on the table—a light, clear soup, freshly baked bread, a platter of sliced cold meats and cheeses, and a bowl of fruit.

Delia sat down and, without the hesitation she usually felt, had a bite of the warm, crusty bread. Then another, and another. Isla watched her, a gentle, pleased smile on her face. She drank from her bowl of soup.

"How is it?" Isla asked.

Delia nodded enthusiastically, her mouth full of bread and cheese. Isla smiled. "Is it okay, then?" Delia nodded again. After she had finished chewing and had taken a delicate sip of water, Delia finally spoke.

"I must trust you a great deal, Lady Isla," she said, her voice full of a quiet wonder. "I normally have a very hard time eating food that someone else has made for me. But I find that I can eat the things you or my husband make, without any worry at all."

Isla's smile widened, her eyes shining with a genuine warmth.

"It tastes so good," Delia continued, a small, happy blush on her cheeks. "It is as if I can feel that you cooked all of this with a great deal of love."

"Love?" Isla asked, a teasing glint in her eye.