CHAPTER 201: CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED AND ONE

The grandfather clock in the great hall chimed ten times, its deep, resonant tones echoing through the quiet, sleeping house. A single lamp was lit on a side table, casting a warm, golden circle of light on the polished marble floor and leaving the rest of the vast space in deep, comfortable shadows. Eric stood near the bottom of the grand staircase, waiting. He had been waiting for the better part of an hour, a small, anxious knot tightening in his stomach.

Finally, he heard the faint sound of a carriage arriving, the soft crunch of wheels on the gravel outside. A few moments later, the heavy front door opened and closed with a soft, definitive click. Delia was home.

Eric’s face broke into a relieved smile. He walked towards her as she removed her cloak, his initial tone light and teasing. "You’re home late, my duchess." He took the cloak from her hands and hung it on the stand by the door.

Delia didn’t say anything. She just stood there, her shoulders slumped slightly, her usual vibrant energy completely absent.

Eric turned back to face her, his smile still in place, though a flicker of concern had entered his eyes. "You don’t know how your poor, lonely husband has been waiting for his wife," he continued, trying to coax a reaction from her. "I missed you, I was about to..."

He couldn’t finish his words. His playful sentence was cut short by her sudden movement. In the space of a heartbeat, Delia closed the distance between them. She didn’t speak, didn’t look at him. She simply wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and buried her head in the solid wall of his chest. She pressed into him, a deep, shuddering sigh escaping her lips as if she were releasing a weight she had been carrying all day. She snuggled into him, seeking not just comfort, but an anchor in a world that had suddenly tilted on its axis.

Eric was taken completely by surprise. For a few seconds, he stood frozen, his arms stiffly at his sides, his mind racing to understand. His concern instantly washed away his teasing mood, replaced by a deep, protective instinct. He wrapped his own strong arms around her, pulling her into a secure, encompassing hug. One hand rested on the small of her back, while the other gently patted her back in a slow, rhythmic motion.

She let out another soft sigh, her body relaxing against his. They stood like that for a long time, locked together in a comfortable, profound silence in the middle of the dimly lit hall. The only sound was the steady ticking of the clock, marking the passage of a moment that felt suspended in time. It was a hug that said everything words could not.

Eric was the first to break the silence. He didn’t loosen his embrace, but simply rested his chin on the top of her head. "Are you alright, my love?" he asked, his voice a low, gentle rumble against her ear.

Her reply was muffled by the fabric of his shirt. "My mother is still alive."

Those simple words were a bombshell. Eric’s whole body tensed in shock. He wanted to break the hug, to pull back and look at her face, to see if he had heard her correctly. "Your mother?" he said, his voice laced with confusion. Catherine Dalton had been dead for twenty three years.

But as he tried to pull away, Delia held him tighter, refusing to let go. Her grip was surprisingly strong. "Don’t," she whispered. "It doesn’t feel real yet. I can’t talk about it. And besides," she took a shaky breath, "we have something more urgent to deal with. I don’t want to think about anything else right now."

Eric understood immediately. She was overwhelmed, emotionally saturated. She couldn’t process the return of her mother, not now, not while the threat of Augusta loomed over them. She was compartmentalizing, pushing the monumental, personal revelation aside to focus on the clear and present danger. He stopped trying to pull away and instead held her even closer.

His hand moved from her back to her hair. With gentle fingers, he found the pins that held her elegant hairstyle in place. He pulled them out, one by one, letting the curly, dark tresses tumble down her back. He then began to gently stroke her hair, his fingers running through the long strands from the crown of her head to their ends. It was a gesture of tenderness, a silent promise that he was there, that he would be her calm in the storm.

They both stayed in that position for another long while, Delia drawing strength from his steady presence, and Eric offering his silent support. He broke the silence again, his tone shifting from personal concern to their shared purpose. "I met with Fredrick Garrison."

This time, Delia did pull away. She broke the hug and looked up at him, her wide, blue eyes staring into his. The news had cut through her emotional fog. "What?"

"He was released from penitentiary yesterday," Eric explained, his hands now resting on her shoulders. "I wanted to check him out first, to see how dangerous he is, what kind of man we’re dealing with."

Delia’s mind was now fully engaged. The raw emotion from moments before was now shielded by a layer of focused intensity. "Did you get anything from him?" she asked urgently. "Did he say anything about the accident? About Augusta?"

Eric’s expression was grim. He shook his head slowly. "As expected, he’s not a fool. He doesn’t want to incriminate himself by opening his mouth. He was clever. He gave nothing away."

A flicker of disappointment crossed Delia’s face. She looked down, her gaze falling on the buttons of his shirt. "Then is there no way?" she asked, her voice quiet. "We have no proof against her."

"I am not sure," Eric replied, his voice heavy. "He is protecting her for some reason. At this point, it might be up to Baroness Augusta herself. Her own actions might be what forces his hand."

Delia didn’t look up. The weight of it all—a mother she didn’t know how to feel about, an enemy who was always one step ahead, and a key witness who refused to talk—pressed down on her. She felt bone-weary, drained to her very soul.

Eric saw the exhaustion on her face. He gently cupped her face in his palm, his thumb stroking her cheek. "You must be tired," he said softly. He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead.

She nodded, a simple, weary admission.

Without another word, Eric scooped her off the floor and into his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all. Delia let out a small gasp of surprise but didn’t protest. She looped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder, finally letting go of the need to be strong.

He carried her up the staircase, his steps sure and steady in the quiet house. As they reached the top landing, he turned towards his own room and whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her skin.

"You’re sleeping in my room tonight."