Chapter 263: Chapter Two Hundred And Sixty Three
Six Months Later...
The Duke of Elinburgh’s residence was now thrumming with life. The morning sun streamed through sparkling clean windows, illuminating hallways where maids bustled with dusters and footmen carried trays of fresh flowers. The distant, cheerful clatter of pots and pans from the kitchens and the scent of baking bread mingled with the faint aroma of lemon polish, creating an atmosphere of a happy, well-run home.
In the Duchess’s dressing room, a chamber now filled with light and laughter, Delia stood on a small platform while three maids attended to her. The process of dressing was one her most dreadful routine of the morning.
"Ouch!" She shouted, her breath catching as one of the maids gave a final, firm tug on the laces of her corset. The whalebone structure cinched her waist, pushing her figure into the fashionable hourglass shape.
"I’m so sorry, Your Grace!" the young maid said, her hands flying away from the laces. She stopped and bowed her head, her face flushed with embarrassment.
The other maids continued their work, one arranging the soft chemise and drawers, the other preparing the formidable structure of the bustle that would give her skirt its dramatic, sweeping shape.
"It’s fine, just be careful," Delia replied, her voice kind. She looked at her reflection in the tall, gold-gilded mirror. She barely recognized the serene, confident woman looking back at her. "Where is Owen?" she asked.
One of the older maids, who was now carefully lowering a silk petticoat over the bustle frame, replied, "The young master is waiting for you downstairs, Your Grace. He’s already dressed and is quite excited for your outing."
"And my husband?" Delia asked, a soft smile playing on her lips.
The maid smiled back. "His Grace is..."
"Right here," a deep, familiar voice cut in.
Eric stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. He looked impossibly handsome in his perfectly tailored day suit. Delia’s heart gave a familiar flutter. She stepped off the platform, the soft petticoat rustling around her, and went straight to him. He met her halfway, and she rose on her toes to give him a lingering kiss.
"I woke up and the bed was empty," she murmured against his lips.
"I’m sorry," Eric replied, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. "I had something urgent to take care of at the establishment early this morning."
"Your dress, Your Grace?" one of the maids prompted gently.
Delia pulled away from Eric with a reluctant smile and looked at herself, still in her underpinnings. Eric chuckled, a warm, rich sound that filled the room. He walked over to a plush armchair in the corner, sat down, crossed his legs, and watched with open admiration as his wife was being dressed.
The maids brought forward the dress itself. It was a day gown of deep sapphire blue silk, the bodice adorned with beautiful beadwork that shimmered in the morning light. They carefully lowered it over her head, the fabric cool and smooth against her skin. They fastened the long row of tiny buttons up her back, adjusted the sleeves, and made sure the elegant sweep of the bustled skirt fell just so.
"So where are you taking Owen..." Eric asked, his eyes traveling over the stunning vision she was becoming, "...dressed so beautifully?"
"I’m going to my mother’s manor," Delia replied, as a maid helped her with her long, matching gloves. "She invited Amber, too. She’s making a feast to celebrate the start of spring."
"Good," Eric said, a serious note entering his voice. "Eat a lot of delicious things. I’m worried you are getting thinner lately." He leaned forward, a playful glint in his eyes. "People are going to think I’m going too hard on you."
Delia laughed, the sound bright and carefree. "Okay, fine. I will eat a lot just for you, and I’ll even bring some back for you."
She had finished dressing. The maids gathered their things and left the room with a series of respectful curtsies, leaving the couple alone. Eric stood up and walked towards her slowly, his gaze full of a love so profound it was almost a physical presence in the room. He took in every detail, from the elegant sweep of her hair to the tips of her silk shoes.
"You look beautiful," he said, his voice a low, intimate murmur. " You are beautiful."
Delia smiled, a faint blush on her cheeks. "You say that every day."
"And I don’t say it enough," he replied. He took her gloved hand and raised it to his lips, placing a soft, lingering kiss on the back of it. "Take care of yourself, and Owen too."
"I will," Delia promised.
Just then, a servant appeared at the door. "Your Grace, the carriage is ready."
~ ••••• ~
Catherine’s manor was filled with the savory aroma of roasted chicken and freshly baked bread. Amber, her face glowing with pride, was putting the finishing touches on a beautifully set dining table.
"Wow!" Owen said as Delia led him into the dining room. His eyes were wide as he took in the incredible spread of food.
There were platters of meat, bowls of colorful vegetables, fresh fruits, and a large, golden-crusted pie. "Thank you, Grandmother! Thank you, Aunt Amber!" he said, his voice full of the genuine, heartfelt enthusiasm of a child.
Amber beamed and leaned down to kiss his forehead. "You are most welcome, my little man."
"You cooked all this?" Delia asked Amber as they all sat down at the table, a look of impressed surprise on her face.
Amber nodded, a little shyly. "Actually, it was harder than I thought. It’s an exhausting work! But I made it with love for you and Owen. Your mother taught me all the basics."
Delia smiled warmly at Catherine. "My mother is the best."
Catherine chuckled, her heart full. "Amber worked really hard. I’m very proud of her."
Amber looked up from serving a slice of pie. "Have you heard from Mr. Rye lately?"
Delia took a sip of water. "We relieved him of his official duties last month. He’s back home with his family now, on a generous pension. He served us well, but he needed to be with them."
Amber nodded, pleased to hear it. "That’s good. He was a kind man." She then placed a spoonful of a creamy chicken dish onto a small plate. "Here, try this one first, Delia. It’s my specialty."
Catherine, meanwhile, was happily dishing out a plate for Owen, making sure he got a little bit of everything.
Delia smiled at Amber and picked up her spoon. She brought the food to her mouth, the savory aroma filling her senses. But the moment the food touched her tongue, something was wrong. A sudden, powerful wave of nausea washed over her. A sour taste rose in the back of her throat, and the room seemed to tilt for a second.
The silver spoon fell from her nerveless fingers, clattering loudly against the polished wooden floor. Her other hand flew to her mouth, a desperate attempt to hold back the sickness that was churning in her stomach. The color drained from her face, leaving her shockingly pale.
Owen, who had been about to take a large bite of his pie, stopped and looked at her, his happy expression instantly replaced with one of deep concern. "Mother," he asked, his young voice filled with worry, "are you unwell?"