Reborn: The Duke's Obsession
Chapter 108 - Hundred And Eight

Chapter 108: Chapter Hundred And Eight

"Your condition isn’t improving, Henry," Augusta said, her voice ringing with a forced melody of wifely concern. She handed him the small pills for the morning, the new ones the doctor had supposedly prescribed.

He took them with a cup of water, his hand trembling slightly. "It seems I must have hurt Catherine so much in the past," Henry said, his gaze distant as he stared out the window. "And now she is punishing me from beyond the grave."

Augusta took the empty cup from his hand, her own expression carefully neutral. Still thinking of your old flame, even on your deathbed, she thought to herself, a wave of disgust washing over her. Disgusting. She let out a gentle, sympathetic sigh.

"You are not giving your body enough time to rest and regenerate, my dear," she said softly. "I was quite surprised when Preston told me you were asking for the business ledgers again."

"You know I was trying to reform the business," Henry replied, his voice full of a weary regret. "I wanted to remove the bad name my father brought upon it, to give it a new, respectable reputation. But then my health started to fail me. I just wanted to know how things are going now."

Augusta looked at him with a slight, hidden annoyance. His meddling in the business was an inconvenience to her own plans. She continued her pretense of concern. "I am just so worried that something might happen to you, Henry. I don’t want you to have any regrets later on."

He reached out and tapped the back of her hand softly. "Don’t worry so much, my dear. I will be fine." A rare, happy smile touched his lips. "Besides, it is the weekend, and the newlyweds are coming to see us. I am so happy to finally meet them properly. Will you help me get dressed? I want to have a meal in the dining room today. It has been such a long time since I had a meal together with my family."

Augusta returned his smile with a false one of her own. "Of course, my dear," she said. "Anything you wish."

The grand Ellington dining room, a room that had been silent for months, was finally filled with the soft clinking of silver on china. Henry was seated in his wheelchair at the head of the long, polished table, a look of genuine happiness on his pale face. Augusta sat at his right side, the perfect picture of a dutiful wife. Eric sat at Henry’s left, with Delia seated beside him. The only empty chair was Anne’s.

The maids, moving swiftly, began serving the appetizers. A rich, fragrant, and creamy soup was ladled into each delicate porcelain bowl.

Delia looked down at the food, and a familiar knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach. It was Cream of Lobster Soup, a delicacy she knew she could not eat. The rich shellfish always caused a terrible reaction, making her skin break out in an itchy, red rash. And Augusta knew it. This was not a mistake. This was a deliberate, petty act of cruelty, a way to make her feel unwelcome and out of place, even now.

As the server left, Delia was hesitant to even pick up her spoon. She didn’t want to make a scene by refusing the food, but she couldn’t possibly eat it.

Eric noticed her hesitation immediately. He saw the anxious look in her eyes, the way her hands were clenched in her lap. Without a word, he leaned over and, in one smooth, seamless motion, took her full soup bowl and placed it beside his own. He began to eat from both, alternating spoonfuls, thanking Augusta for the delicious appetizer.

He then turned to Delia and, under the cover of the table, gently touched her cheek, his thumb caressing her skin. "When we get home," he whispered, his voice for her ears alone, "I will prepare a grand banquet just for you."

Delia smiled, a real, grateful smile that reached her eyes.

Just then, Anne came down the stairs and entered the dining room. She sat down beside her mother, her expression a mixture of boredom and disgust as she looked at Delia and Eric. She picked up her own spoon and began to eat her appetizer without a word to anyone.

Henry, however, had noticed that Delia’s bowl was gone. He looked at her, his happy expression fading into one of concern. "Is anything wrong, my dear? Are you feeling sick?"

"No, Father," Delia replied, her voice soft. "I am fine. I just... I do not eat that particular appetizer."

Henry looked sad. "Oh," he said, his own appetite diminishing. "I wasn’t aware."

Of course you wouldn’t be aware, Father.

Delia thought to herself, a wave of pity for the kind, oblivious man washing over her. Augusta only ever made me sit at the main table to eat when you were having a meal with the family. You were kept in the dark about everything that happened in this house. She smiled to reassure him. "It is fine, truly."

But Henry’s gaze had now shifted to his wife, his expression turning angry. "Augusta," he said, his voice sharp. "Did you know that she doesn’t eat this? And you still had the kitchen prepare it?"

"I had no idea, Henry," Augusta replied, her face a mask of pure innocence. "I suppose it is a new development, with her change of environment and her new, refined tastes."

Henry’s anger simmered down at her plausible, if false, explanation. He turned back to Delia. "I will get the kitchen to make something else for you right away."

"Don’t worry, Father," Delia said, stopping him. "I will just eat the main course. It is no trouble at all."

Henry nodded his head, but he still looked troubled.

Eric, wanting to change the subject and ease the tension, asked Henry, "Are you feeling better now, Father? I heard from Delia that you were terribly sick."

"I am much better now, thank you, Eric," Henry replied. "I have been stressing my body too much lately, that’s all." He looked at the powerful, handsome young man who was now his son-in-law. "I feel so terrible in front of you," he admitted, his voice full of regret. He then looked at Delia. "I feel like such a terrible person. I couldn’t even attend my own daughter’s wedding, or even walk her down the aisle." His eyes grew misty. "I know you must hate me for it, my dear."

"Never," Delia replied, her own voice thick with emotion as she reached across the table to take his hand. "I would never, ever hate you, Father."