Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 67 - Sixty Seven

A series of sharp, insistent knocks on the entrance door woke Delia from a restless sleep. She sat up, her head fuzzy, and glanced at the window. The sky outside was still a pale, pre-dawn grey. "Who could that be this early in the morning?" she mumbled to herself, her voice thick with sleep.

She shrugged on her silk robe, tying the belt loosely as she padded to the door. She opened it, expecting to see a servant or perhaps even Mr. Rye with an urgent message. Instead, she found herself face to face with a woman she had never seen before.

The woman was almost the same age as her, dressed in an elegant but practical travelling suit. Her hair was styled simply but perfectly, and she carried a sturdy leather bag. She looked at Delia with intelligent, observant eyes.

"I am so sorry to bother you so early in the morning," the lady started, her voice clear and confident. She peered past Delia into the hallway. "Is Eric in?" she asked.

Delia was taken aback by the informal, almost casual way she used the Duke’s name. No one called him just ’Eric’. "I’m sorry," Delia said, her own voice still a little rough from sleep. "Who are you?"

"A friend," the lady replied simply.

Delia was confused. A friend? she thought to herself. How can a man and a woman be just friends without having some kind of romantic relationship? The idea was foreign to her.

The lady cleared her throat, a polite but impatient sound. "Uhm, may I?" she asked, indicating with a tilt of her head that she wanted to come in. freeωebnovēl.c૦m

"Of course," Delia replied, stepping aside automatically.

She could tell that this lady had been to the residence countless times before. She walked with a familiar confidence, heading straight for Eric’s room without needing any direction. She didn’t even knock. She just opened his door and went inside, her voice floating back into the hallway as she began scolding him. "Eric, how many times do I have to tell you not to..." And then the door was shut, cutting off the rest of the sentence.

Delia stood alone in the hallway, completely bewildered. She decided it was none of her business and went to her own room to bathe and change into her day clothes. Later, she went to the kitchen to prepare the calming tonic the doctor had given her the previous night. As she stirred the herbs into the hot water, her gaze kept drifting towards the hallway that led to Eric’s room.

Then, she heard the sound of his door closing and footsteps coming down the stairs. She quickly drank her tonic and walked out of the kitchen, coming face to face with the lady from before.

The lady smiled, a warm and genuine expression this time. "I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t get to say a proper hello. I am Lady Blair." She held out her hand to shake Delia’s.

The gesture was odd. Women in their society normally curtsied to one another; they did not shake hands like men. Maybe she grew up in the midst of male figures, Delia thought to herself as she hesitantly took Lady Blair’s offered hand. Her grip was firm and confident.

"Hi," Delia said softly.

"I’m Eric’s doctor," Blair continued, getting straight to the point. "You could say I’m a doctor of the mind."

Delia looked at her, confused. A female doctor was almost unheard of.

Blair chuckled, seeming to read her mind. "Oh, you must be wondering what a woman is doing in the medical field." Delia started to shake her head, to deny it, but Blair continued. "It’s quite simple, really. My father was a renowned physician who specialized in ailments of the mind. He believed women could be just as capable as men, a very radical idea for his time. He had no sons, so he secretly taught me everything he knew. I’m simply carrying on his legacy." Her explanation was logical and delivered with a confidence that left no room for doubt.

"Now," Blair’s expression turned serious.

"About His Grace. How is his mind? Will he be fine?" Delia asked, her voice full of a worry she couldn’t hide.

"He has Panic Disorder," Blair replied directly.

Delia’s eyes widened. "Panic... disorder?" The term was completely foreign to her ears.

"Yes," Blair confirmed. "It’s a condition of the mind, brought on by a severe trauma from his past. It causes sudden episodes of intense fear, trouble breathing, a racing heart... what you witnessed last night. He has been doing well under my care for two years now, but what happened yesterday was a very serious episode. The most serious he has had in a long time."

"Are you saying," Delia asked, trying to process the information, "that His Grace is... suffering from Panic Disorder?"

Blair looked at her, a genuinely confused expression on her own face. "Oh... you didn’t know? He didn’t tell you?" Delia was silent, the truth of her ignorance plain on her face. Blair crossed her arms, looking from Delia to the top of the stairs and back again. "I heard you two are engaged to be married. Isn’t that true?"

"Yes, it’s true, but..."

"Blair." Eric’s voice, sharp and angry, cut her off. He was standing at the top of the stairs. He came down quickly, his facial expression cold. He walked right past Delia and took the young woman by the wrist, starting to drag her towards the door.

"Eric, stop it!" Blair protested, trying to fight back against his grip.

"What happened to patient confidentiality?" he demanded, his voice a low growl as he pulled her outside onto the porch.

"In important circumstances, confidentiality doesn’t matter anymore!" Blair argued back, trying to reason with him. "Especially when your symptoms are getting worse! She is going to be your wife soon, Eric! She has a right to know what she is getting into, so..."

Eric took her outside and firmly closed the door in her face. From outside, Blair shouted, "Eric, my bag!"

Within seconds, the front door was opened again just wide enough for her leather doctor’s bag to be thrown out onto the porch. Before he slammed the door shut again, Eric spoke through the gap. "I will meet with you soon to discuss more on the treatment."

He turned and walked back to where Delia stood, frozen in the middle of the hall. There was a tense silence for a moment before he spoke, his voice now carefully controlled.

"Don’t pay any heed to her words," he said, avoiding her gaze. "Sometimes she exaggerates things. It’s not that serious. I can actually control it."

"Yesterday you couldn’t," Delia replied softly, her words a simple, undeniable truth.

The silence returned, heavier this time. She continued, her voice full of a genuine concern that went far beyond their contract. "Is there anything else I need to know? Or is there anything I can do to help?"

Eric finally looked at her, his angry facade crumbling slightly, replaced by a deep weariness. "Yes," he said. "Don’t pay any attention to Philip. Don’t meet with him. Don’t listen to his lies. This is an important time for us. Let’s just focus on one thing." He looked at her, his expression softening. "Our wedding."

He reached out and gently pushed a stray strand of her dark hair back into place, his fingers lingering for a moment on her skin. The small, tender gesture spoke volumes.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" he asked, his voice now soft and full of a familiar, caring warmth.

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