Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 57 - Fifty Seven

Today’s activity was baking cookies. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, glinting off the polished copper pots and pristine marble countertops. The air was thick with the warm, sweet smell of sugar, butter, and cinnamon.

"Okay, ladies. Be careful now. The trays are still hot," Lady Isla announced, her voice cheerful as she placed her own tray of perfectly golden-brown cookies on a cooling rack at the central table. "We’ll leave these to cool for a moment. In the meantime, I will be coming around to see all of your wonderful works."

She started to move from table to table, a graceful and encouraging presence, complementing one lady on the uniform shape of her cookies and correcting another on her baking time. Delia had just pulled her own tray from the oven. She looked at the other ladies’ cookies—all perfectly round, uniformly baked, and elegantly arranged. Then she looked at her own. They were... different.

They weren’t perfectly round; some were shaped more like ovals, and others were slightly shapeless blobs. The edges were a little too brown, but the color of the cookies themselves was a beautiful, vibrant red, thanks to the strawberry food dye Lady Isla gave them. A worried frown creased her brow.

Across the room, Duchess Lyra had just set down her own tray. Her cookies were flawless, each one a perfect circle, smelling deliciously of cinnamon and almond. She smiled, pleased with her work. As she gazed at her own creations, her eyes drifted across the room and landed on Delia. She saw the younger woman’s worried expression, the way she anxiously compared her misshapen cookies to everyone else’s.

Just as Delia looked up, their eyes met. For a split second, there was a connection, a moment of silent observation. Then, Lyra immediately averted her eyes, turning back to her own perfect cookies as if she had been caught committing some terrible sin by simply looking at Delia.

A small, amused smile touched Delia’s lips at Lyra’s surprisingly childish behavior.

Lyra, meanwhile, was having a fierce internal conversation. "Wait a minute, why are you avoiding her, Lyra Carson?" she chided herself. " I didn’t do anything wrong. Or did I? Is it wrong to feel a sliver of pity for the girl?" She watched as Lady Isla made her way over to check on Delia and her questionable cookies.

"Let me see yours, Delia," Isla said, her voice kind.

Delia gestured to the tray, a nervous smile on her face. "What do you think, Lady Isla?"

Isla smiled, pointing to the cookies. "Well," she began, her eyes twinkling, "they certainly look... unique." She let out a soft, gentle laugh, a sound meant to put Delia at ease, not to mock her. Delia, sensing the kindness, joined in with a small laugh of her own.

"What do you think?" Isla asked. "Do you enjoy cooking?"

Delia paused, then shook her head slowly. "No," she admitted honestly. "Not very much."

Isla smiled. "Well, I suppose nothing can beat your dyes, then."

Delia smiled back, a genuine expression of relief.

"Oh, and speaking of your dyes," Isla continued, raising her voice slightly so the other ladies could hear. "The beautiful red food dye you all used for this cooking activity is the very same one Delia gave to me last week. I must say, I have never seen a more nutritious and satisfyingly vibrant dye. I love it so much."

Delia’s hands flew to her mouth to hide her gasp of pure, unadulterated excitement. "Really?" she asked, her voice muffled by her fingers.

Isla nodded. "Absolutely. The color is magnificent, and it has no aftertaste at all."

Delia’s heart swelled with a joy so intense it felt like it might burst. "I’m so glad," she said, her eyes shining. "That was the first dye I have ever sold."

"You must have been doing this for a very long time, and at such a young age, to be this good at it," Isla remarked.

Delia, still smiling, nodded. "Yes, since I was little. I was told to always watch with the workers at my family’s establishment when they made new dye batches. Then I would go home and practice what I had seen."

Lyra, who was pretending to arrange her cookies on a plate, was listening to every single word. A strange feeling bloomed in her chest. A mixture of admiration for the girl’s skill and a pang of something else... jealousy? She watched the easy, informal way Delia spoke with Lady Isla.

"Why isn’t she speaking to me like that?"Lyra thought, a touch of irritation pricking at her. "Why is she so comfortable with Isla, but so formal and distant with me?"

"It’s only going to get better from now on," Isla said to Delia, giving her an encouraging smile. She reached out and gently smoothed a stray strand of hair from Delia’s perfectly packed low bun.

"So, are you going to wrap these up to take home?" she asked, giving Delia a teasing smile.

Delia nodded her head.

"For a brother, perhaps?" Isla prodded playfully. "Or a special friend? Or maybe... a husband?"

At the mention of the word "husband," Delia’s bright smile immediately dropped. A shadow passed over her face. "No," she said quickly. "No, I am just going to eat them myself."

Isla, sensing she had touched a nerve, quickly changed the subject. "Really? Well, they do smell delicious. Okay, I’ll be right back. I need to get a box for you." She gave Delia’s shoulder a final, friendly pat and left.

As if she had been waiting for that exact moment for Isla to leave, Lyra walked over to Delia’s table. Delia was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice her approach until the Duchess was standing right beside her. Delia flinched, startled by her sudden, silent appearance.

"Mother!" she exclaimed, her hand flying to her chest.

Lyra flashed her a warm, deliberate smile, trying to appear casual and friendly. She then examined the oddly shaped cookies on the tray. "By chance," she began, her voice carefully neutral, "is this a piece of art or something?" It was her way of offering a compliment, of acknowledging their unique shape without being too direct.

But Delia, still flustered and completely missing the subtext, took the question literally. She looked down at her lopsided creations and smiled shyly. "Art? Oh no, they are not nearly good enough to be called art, Mother."

Lyra looked at Delia, at her earnest, clueless face, and her own smile faltered slightly. She had tried to reach out, to cheer the girl up, and the compliment had flown completely over her head.

"Poor child is completely clueless", Lyra thought to herself, a wave of frustrated affection washing over her. "She couldn’t even figure out that I was trying to be nice to her."

This 𝓬ontent is taken from f(r)eeweb(n)ovel.𝒄𝒐𝙢