Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 36 - Thirty Six

"I told her to come," Duchess Lyra said to Delia, her voice as smooth and cool as the polished marble floor. She gestured towards Anne. "I hope that’s okay with you?"

It was not a question; it was a statement. Delia didn’t say anything. She had walked directly into a carefully laid ambush. She simply took her seat at the elegant table, her back straight, her expression carefully neutral. Anne, looking smug, sat down as well.

The man who had greeted them at the door leaned in to whisper something to the Duchess, and she nodded, rising from her seat to attend to it for a moment, leaving the two stepsisters alone in a bubble of tense silence.

Immediately, Anne turned to Delia, her friendly facade dropping like a mask. "Wipe that look off your face," she hissed, her voice a low, bitter whisper. "We are in the presence of the Duchess. We don’t have to make it so obvious that we hate each other."

Delia met her sister’s angry gaze without flinching. "Why can’t we make it obvious?" she replied coolly. "Don’t we actually hate each other?"

Anne recoiled slightly, taken aback by Delia’s directness. "What?"

"I don’t want to act fake," Delia stated simply. "You can if you want to. You’re much better at it than I am."

Before Delia could say more, Anne stood up abruptly and left the private section.

Moments later, she returned, followed by a servant carrying a heavy silver tray. On it was a steaming, fragrant teapot, another hot one, and a new set of fine porcelain cups and saucers. By this time, Duchess Lyra was already back and seated, watching the exchange with an observant, unreadable expression.

The servant placed the tray on the table and left. Anne sat down, her composure completely restored, her face now a picture of grace and thoughtfulness.

"I heard from Baroness Dupont that you love cinnamon tea, Your Grace," Anne said, addressing Lyra with a sweet, deferential smile. "So I took the liberty of ordering a fresh pot for you."

The rich, warm scent of cinnamon began to saturate the air as Anne skillfully poured the dark, steaming liquid into a cup for the Duchess.

Lyra’s stern expression softened almost immediately. "Thank you, child," she said. She took the cup and took a small, appreciative sip. "It’s really delicious."

Anne beamed, soaking in the praise. She then turned her attention to Delia, her movements a perfect performance of sisterly care. She placed a clean teacup and saucer on Delia’s side of the table.

"And Earl Grey for you, sister," she said, her voice dripping with false affection. "Be careful, it’s hot." She poured a cup for Delia, the gesture looking generous to an outsider, but feeling like an insult to Delia.

Delia ignored the tea. She ignored Anne completely.

Lyra took another sip of her cinnamon tea, her sharp eyes noticing the palpable hostility between the two girls. She set her teacup down with a soft click. "You two don’t get along?" she asked, her tone casual, but her gaze was piercing.

Anne smiled quickly. "No, no, Your Grace, we get along wonderfully..."

"No," Delia interrupted, her voice clear and firm. "We are not very close."

Lyra nodded her head slowly, as if accepting this fact. She picked up her teacup again, stirring the contents with a small silver spoon. "Well," she said with a dismissive shrug, "it’s not my family’s business. It’s fine." She took another sip before setting the cup down again, her gaze hardening. "But, two sisters fighting over the same man... how can I say this?" She paused, letting the tension build. "It’s not a pretty sight to see. Am I wrong?"

Neither of the girls answered. The silence was thick with resentment. Lyra turned her full attention to Delia. "I think you should give up, Delia."

Delia’s head snapped up. "What?"

"Anne was the one who met him first," Lyra continued, her voice calm and reasonable, as if she were settling a childish squabble. "Anne was the one I originally arranged for him to meet. And frankly, with her upbringing and connections, I think she is more on Eric’s level anyway." Her gaze was cold. "I’m sure your mother always tells you to be the big sister and give in to the younger one’s wishes."

Anne’s smile became broader, a look of pure, triumphant joy spreading across her face.

"But," Delia started, her voice quiet but unyielding, "the problem is, I have never once let Anne have something that was truly mine in my whole life."

Lyra relaxed back in her chair, an unreadable expression on her face. "Really? You are more selfish than you look, Delia."

Delia smiled, a sad, knowing expression. "There’s nothing to be selfish about," she replied. "Because there has never been anything that was truly mine in that house for her to take."

Anne chuckled nervously, her face flushing. "Delia, what do you mean? Her Grace might get the wrong idea."

"I know what you all mean," Delia said, ignoring Anne and speaking directly to the Duchess. "But negotiation isn’t going to solve this." She took a breath. "And moving forward, I would prefer not to have any more meetings with Anne present."

Duchess Lyra’s eyes narrowed. "Talking back at every sentence. Are you always this rude?"

"You’re the rude one, Mother."

The new voice, male and filled with irritation, sounded from the entrance of the private section. The three women looked up in shock. Eric stood there, having just pulled back the velvet curtain. He was not dressed formally. His hair was stylishly messy, and he wore a simple but expensive-looking day coat. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

"I don’t know what the hell is going on here..." he began.

"E-Eric!" Lyra stammered, completely caught off guard. "How did you..." She turned her accusing gaze to Delia. "Did you tell him you were here?"

Delia, just as surprised as her mother-in-law-to-be, shook her head. "No," she said honestly. "I was with you all day. I couldn’t have possibly gotten the time to send a letter."

"I came to pick you up from your afternoon tea," Eric explained, his eyes fixed on his mother. "I walked in and heard the tail end of this... conversation. I wanted to win some points with you, Mother, but I don’t feel like it anymore." He turned to Delia, his expression softening.

"Let’s go." He held out his hand to her.

Delia looked at his offered hand, then at his mother’s furious face.

"Stand up," Eric said, his voice soft but firm, a clear command.

"My goodness, this is ridiculous!" Lyra exclaimed, her composure crumbling. She looked at Delia with contempt. "You came out of nowhere to change my son! Now he’s getting agitated about every little thing I might say to his new woman!" She turned her anger on Eric. "I am the one who should be offended here, Eric!"

"Mother, I..." Eric started, but Delia interrupted them. She had to try to fix this.

"I’m sorry for coming out of nowhere, Your Grace," she said, looking directly at Lyra. "I may be out of line, but I thought... I thought you, of all people, might understand how I feel. As Eric’s mother."

Lyra looked at her, skeptical. "Me? And why is that?"

Delia smiled, trying to find common ground. "Because you also overcame your own family’s disapproval, especially your brother’s, the King, to marry into the Duke’s family. Just like me now."

Lyra’s expression crumbled slightly. "No," she said sharply. "My situation was completely different from yours. My brother didn’t want me to reduce my title from a Princess, or give up my chance to become a Queen in another kingdom, just to become a Duchess. And besides," her voice softened with memory, "I loved Julian. Mine was for love."

She leaned forward, her gaze piercing Delia. "I heard you broke off your engagement just before meeting my son. There are many young ladies in this kingdom trying to leech off Eric’s wealth and title. How am I to be sure that you are not just one of them?"

Delia wanted to defend herself, to scream that this was about revenge and survival, not money. "No, Your Grace, I’m not..."

Lyra interrupted her with one final, devastating question, a question that left Delia completely speechless, with no answer to give.

"Do you even love Eric?"

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