Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

THE NEXT DAY…

The sun rays that streamed through the open window kissed every thing it touched with a warm golden glow. Stacks of ledgers, shipping manifests, and letters from merchants were arranged in neat piles on his large desk. The head worker of the main production floor stood before him, his facial expression deep with worry.

"Your Grace," the man said, his voice grave. "We are critically short on workers for the next batch of production. Five of them have gone on leave just this morning due to a mild spreading illness. And if you add those numbers to the ones that went home yesterday, and the day before that, the total is increasing. The number of available workers is dwindling fast."

Eric leaned back in his chair and rubbed the spot between his eyebrows where a headache was beginning to form. He looked at the worried man before him. Panic would solve nothing. He needed a clear, logical solution.

"First," he began, his voice calm and decisive, "put up signs on the main streets and at the port for temporary employment. Offer a fair wage. That should bring in some help to see us through this." He continued, "Second, tell any of the remaining workers who are experiencing even the slightest symptoms to go home immediately. We cannot risk them infecting the others."

He paused, then added, "Let Aiden know the estimated amount of money that would be enough for the proper medical treatment of all those who are on leave. The company will cover their expenses."

He finally looked up and met the head worker's gaze. "And for the rest of you who are still healthy… do your best and take care of yourselves. That is all I can ask."

The head worker, who had been expecting a much harsher response, bowed his head in deep, genuine respect. "Thank you, Your Grace. We will do our very best."

Just as the man was about to turn and leave, the study door was thrown open with such force that it barged into the room, making both Eric and the head worker flinch in surprise.

"Your Grace!" Aiden shouted, his voice full of an urgency that was completely out of character for the usually composed aide. He was panting, his face pale.

"Aiden, you startled me," Eric replied, his voice laced with a slight annoyance. "What is it? You didn't even knock. It's unlike you."

"Your Grace," Aiden said again, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Something has gone very, very wrong. It is about the Duchess."

Hearing that the situation was about Delia, all of Eric's annoyance vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp dread. He sat up straight in his chair and looked at the head worker. "You are dismissed," he said, his voice now a low, serious command.

The man bowed and quickly left the room, closing the door behind him. Now they were alone.

"What happened to my wife?" Eric asked, his heart beginning to pound in his chest. "Is she hurt?"

Aiden didn't answer. He simply held out a folded, cheaply printed gossip pamphlet. Eric took it from his aide's trembling hand. He unfolded it and read the bold, ugly headline, printed in thick, black ink.

SCANDAL OF THE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW OF THE GREAT CARSON FAMILY: EXPOSING DUCHESS DELIA'S MESSY PRIVATE LIFE

He read down the page, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the flimsy paper.

"To put it simply, it seems the new Duchess Delia cannot live without a man by her side. This publication has discovered, from a highly reliable source, that the Duchess dumped a man she was set to marry in just one month, a man she had been engaged to and seemingly loved for years. She then immediately met someone new, His Grace the Duke of Elinburgh, and signed a scandalous marriage contract with him and was wed in a matter of weeks. What's more, our source confirms that the new man and the ex-fiancé know each other quite well. How can a human being do something so heartless and calculated? Who knows what other man graces her bed when her husband can't feed her greed?"

Eric's rage, a cold and terrifying thing, began to boil in his veins. He slammed his hand down on his desk, the sound echoing in the silent study like a gunshot. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

Aiden, knowing better than to answer a question that was not really a question, wisely remained silent.

Across the city, in a peaceful, sunlit public garden, George Pembroke was sitting on a bench, reading the very same pamphlet. The story was everywhere, being sold on every street corner by grinning paper boys.

"…The deception runs deeper still. Our source, who witnessed the event firsthand, reports that when Lord Pembroke's heartbroken mother went to plead with Duchess Delia, she was met with shocking cruelty. His mother was on her knees, begging her not to leave her son, saying the heartbreak would surely kill him. But the new Duchess only mocked her, and then shoved the poor, weeping woman to the ground, humiliating both Lord Pembroke's mother and his sister in front of a crowd of onlookers."

"It is clear she went for the new man only because of his title, his money, and his status. That is why, our source reveals, she insisted on signing a cold, business-like contract, ensuring she would be well-compensated for her time. A true love match, this is not."

George cursed under his breath, crumpling the pamphlet in his fist. He knew this was the work of his sister. The story was a disgusting exaggeration, a malicious twisting of the truth, designed to make Delia look like a monster. He wanted to separate Eric and Delia but not this way, not tarnishing her reputation. And knowing Eric, he would not sit down and fold his hands.

"Evelin," he whispered to the empty air, a feeling of rapt fear washing over him. "What have you done?"