Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

The rhythmic clatter of the horse-drawn carriage on the cobblestone streets was a familiar sound, but Eric hardly noticed it. 

He was staring intently out the window, his gaze unfocused, seeing not the bustling city streets but the memory of a firelit room and a woman with bold blue eyes. His thoughts kept drifting back to the moment he had held Delia in his arms, the faint, clean scent of lavender that clung to her hair, a scent that now seemed to linger on his own coat.

Aiden, his trusted aide, sat across from him in the plush carriage. He was a sharp, observant young man who had arrived from the city estate that morning, expecting to brief the Duke on urgent business matters. Instead, he found his employer lost in a world of his own.

"Your Grace," Aiden finally ventured, breaking the long silence. "Are you expecting someone?"

The question pulled Eric from his thoughts. He sat up straight, turning away from the window, his expression clearing. "No," he replied, a hint of surprise in his voice. "Why do you ask?"

"You have been staring out that window for the better part of half an hour now, Your Grace," Aiden said respectfully. "It is unlike you to be so… distracted."

Eric raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" He leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. Then, something else came to his mind, a puzzle he wanted to examine from another angle. "Aiden," he called, his tone shifting.

"Yes, Your Grace?" Aiden replied, leaning forward slightly, ready to receive an order.

"If a woman," Eric began slowly, choosing his words carefully, "proposed a marriage of convenience to you one night, and then disappeared in the morning after drinking all your wine, what would it mean?"

Aiden blinked, taken aback by the highly unusual and personal question. He considered it for a moment. "Well, Your Grace," he said, "perhaps she's playing hard to get. A tactic to make you pursue her." He paused. "Or, perhaps she isn't interested anymore and regretted her proposal."

Eric shook his head, a firm, decisive movement. "No," he said, more to himself than to Aiden. "I don't think that's the issue here."

Aiden, momentarily forgetting the strict line between a duke and his aide, began to talk more casually, as if they were two friends discussing a tavern romance. "Or maybe," he mused, "she spent the night thinking about it and realized you weren't her type." He paused, the words hanging in the air.

He and Eric locked eyes.

The carriage was suddenly silent, save for the rumbling of the wheels on the stone. The full weight of what he had just implied—that a woman might find a Duke, his Duke, not to her liking—crashed down on Aiden. He swallowed hard, his face turning pale.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Your Grace," he stammered, his head bowing low.

Eric's expression was unreadable. "What are you sorry for, Aiden?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm.

Aiden's head sank even lower, his eyes fixed on the floor. "For speaking out of turn, Your Grace. It was improper of me."

Eric let the silence stretch for another moment before he sighed and rested back against the velvet chair. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"I'm very sorry, Your Grace," Aiden apologized again, his voice full of genuine remorse.

Eric groaned, a sound of mild annoyance. "I heard you the first time, Aiden. It's fine."

Aiden looked up, a relieved smile spreading across his face. The crisis had been averted.

Soon, they arrived at the grand Carson mansion. Servants rushed out to greet them. As one took his hat and gloves, another reached for his coat. He went directly to the sunlit drawing room, where he found his mother, Duchess Lyra, having tea with her old friend, Baroness Dupont.

Eric came up behind his mother's chair and leaned down to kiss her cheek. "I'm home, Mother."

Lyra startled, then her face broke into a radiant smile. "Eric! You're back so soon." She looked him over with a mother's observant eye. "Don't tell me you were working all night at that cabin again. Have you had breakfast?"

Eric shook his head. Lyra immediately called for a servant to bring him a full meal, but Eric held up a hand. "I'll have some tea first, Mother," he said, taking a seat opposite the two women.

As a servant brought a fresh cup and saucer, Eric glanced around the room. "Where's Amber?"

"She went out socializing with her friends," Duchess Lyra replied with a fond sigh. "You know how she is."

"She didn't even wait for her older brother to come home," Eric said, a mock-hurt tone in his voice as he took a sip of his tea.

His mother smiled knowingly. "Perhaps if her older brother gave her a sister-in-law to socialize with, she would be more inclined to stay home." She watched him carefully. "Speaking of which, are you feeling more open-minded about the topic of marriage now?"

Eric choked on his tea. The hot liquid went down the wrong way, and he erupted into a fit of coughing, setting his cup down with a clatter. Lyra and Baroness Dupont looked on with concern.

Once he caught his breath, he looked at his mother, his eyes shining with a strange, new light. "Yes, Mother. I am," he said clearly. "In fact, I'll be getting married soon."

Lyra's face lit up with a joy so pure it seemed to make the whole room brighter. "Oh, Eric! That's wonderful news!"

Baroness Dupont preened, turning to Lyra with a smug smile. "You see? I knew he would like Lady Anne. She is a perfect match. That is why I recommended her to you so highly."

Eric interrupted the celebratory conversation, his voice firm. "No. Not Anne."

The joy on his mother's face was replaced by shock. "Not Anne?" she repeated. "Then who, Eric?"

"Her sister," Eric replied simply. "Delia."

Baroness Dupont let out an unladylike snort. "Delia? Why her? That girl has scandals following her wherever she goes. First her broken engagement, and now a disappearing act from the ball last night."

Eric ignored the Baroness's reply completely, his attention focused solely on his mother. His expression softened. "I like her, Mother. She's pretty," he said, a genuine smile touching his lips at the memory of her face.

Baroness Dupont, however, would not be ignored, thinking of the bride Augusta gave her. "Pretty? She's an illegitimate child who doesn't even have a proper place in her own family! How could she possibly be better than the lovely Anne, whom we set up for you so carefully?"

Eric's head snapped towards Baroness Dupont, his smile vanishing, his eyes turning to cold, hard steel. A low growl rumbled in his chest. "Baroness," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "I advise you to stay within your limit. Do not speak of her that way again. And do not blame me when I get disrespectful if you continue."

The threat, though spoken softly, was unmistakable. Baroness Dupont shrank back in her chair, her face pale, and wisely kept quiet.

Eric turned back to his mother, who was still looking at him with shocked eyes. He leaned forward, his expression now earnest and sincere. "Mother, I want her. I don't think I've ever wanted anything more in my life."

Duchess Lyra looked at her son, at the raw determination and desire in his eyes, and didn't know what to say. She had been waiting years for him to show this kind of passion for anything other than his work.

Eric pulled a gold pocket watch from his vest and glanced at the time. A sense of urgency seemed to fall over him. He stood up and turned to Aiden, who had been standing silently by the wall.

"Get the carriage ready," he commanded.

Aiden bowed. "Yes, Your Grace." And he was gone.

"You just got here," Lyra said, bewildered. "Where are you going now?"

Eric smiled down at her, a smile full of affection. "Mother," he said, his voice ringing with a new energy. "The woman who is to be my wife is in trouble. I need to go and save her." He leaned down and kissed her again on the cheek. "I can't just sit here and do nothing."

And with that, he strode out of the room, leaving his mother and her friend in stunned silence.