Reborn: The Duke's Obsession
Chapter 89 - Eighty Nine

Chapter 89: Chapter Eighty Nine

The carriage rolled to a stop in the dark courtyard. Immediately, before Mr. Rye could even get down from his seat, Eric opened the door himself and gently carried Delia’s limp form out into the cold night air.

He turned to his trusted driver. "Mr. Rye," he said, his voice urgent and strained. "Could you please go and call for Mrs. Agnes? She lives just down the lane. Tell her it’s an emergency. I need an extra hand in taking care of Lady Delia tonight."

"Right away, Your Grace," Rye said with a worried nod. He bowed and left at once, disappearing into the darkness.

Eric carried Delia into the grand, silent house. He didn’t take her to the drawing room or her own bed. He carried her straight up the stairs, into her room, and through to her private bathing area. He gently sat down on the cold floor, cuddling her close to his chest as if to shield her from the world with his own body. He held her there, in the quiet darkness, just waiting.

A few moments later, a short , kind-faced woman in her late fifties hurried into the room, her expression full of concern. It was Mrs. Agnes, a retired head housekeeper from the Carson estate who now lived a quiet life nearby and comes to clean Eric’s residence from time to time.

"Your Grace?" she called out, her voice a soft, respectful query.

"In here, Mrs. Agnes," Eric replied, his voice heavy.

Mrs. Agnes followed the sound and entered the bathing area, her hand flying to her mouth. "Good heavens," she exclaimed, seeing the Duke on the floor, cradling the lifeless-looking young woman in his arms. "Whatever is the matter?"

"I’m sorry for calling you out so late at night," Eric said, his voice full of a weary gratitude.

"It is not a problem at all, Your Grace," Mrs. Agnes replied, her work side taking over. "Anytime His Grace needs my services, I will always be there." Her kind, experienced eyes took in Delia’s pale face and soaked, muddy dress.

"Can you draw a warm bath for her?" Eric asked. "And... and bathe her for me, of course?" The request was a delicate one, but necessary.

"Of course, Your Grace," Agnes bowed, immediately turning to the task.

Eric watched as the capable older woman prepared the bath, the sound of running water filling the quiet room. She added fragrant bath salts, and soon the air was filled with the calming scent of lavender.

"Your Grace?" Mrs. Agnes said gently, indicating that the bath was ready.

Eric stood up, lifting Delia with him. He held her for a moment, his hand gently touching her cold cheek, his heart aching at her empty, vacant expression. He then carefully handed her over to the housekeeper and left the bathing area, giving them their privacy.

Mrs. Agnes carefully undressed Delia and helped her into the warm, fragrant water. She bathed her gently, washing the dirt and the trauma of the night away. She then changed her into a clean, soft nightgown.

As Mrs. Agnes sat Delia down at the vanity table, Eric, who had been sitting anxiously on the edge of her bed, walked towards the vanity.

"I will take it from here, Mrs. Agnes," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Thank you. You can take one of the guest rooms for the night. It will be easier for you to work in the morning before you go home."

Mrs. Agnes, understanding his need to be the one to care for her now, simply bowed and left, closing the door softly behind her.

Eric took a soft, clean towel and began to gently dry Delia’s long, dark hair. He then took a brush and slowly, carefully, worked through the tangled curls until they were smooth and shining. He went to the medical kit in the bathing area and found a pot of healing ointment. He knelt before her, took her small, bare feet into his lap, and began to gently apply the soothing balm to the cuts on her soles.

After he had finished taking care of her, after he had tended to her every need with a focused, loving devotion, he picked her up once more and carried her to her bed. He laid her down gently and pulled the covers up to her chin.

For the first time since he had found her, she moved on her own. She turned to the other side of the bed, her back facing him, avoiding his gaze. It was a small movement, but it was a sign of life, a sign that she was still in there, somewhere.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his heart aching for her. He spoke in a soft, loving tone, his voice a gentle caress in the quiet room. "I don’t know what happened to you tonight, Delia," he murmured. "But if you want to cry, you should. Let it out. It will help to relieve yourself of the pain and the hurt."

It was as if his words were a key, unlocking a door she had kept sealed shut for far too long. A single tear escaped her eye, then another. Her shoulders began to shake. Then, soft sobs broke the silence, which quickly grew into a full-blown, heartbreaking cry.

She cried her heart out, releasing all the pain, the fear, the betrayal, and the confusion of the past few days. She cried for the mother she never knew, for the grandfather whose secrets were a heavy burden, for the life that had been stolen from her.

Eric sat there, listening, and every sob felt like a stab to his own heart. He felt the same pain in his chest, a deep, helpless ache. He stretched out his hand, wanting to pat her shoulder, to offer some small comfort. He hesitated at first, not wanting to intrude on her private grief. But he couldn’t just sit there. He gently placed his hand on her trembling shoulder.

He stayed by her side the entire night. He just sat there, watching over her, hearing her cry, and offering the silent comfort of his presence as she finally, finally, let herself fall apart.