Chapter 91 - Ninety One
Delia turned, her arm still raised, her fingers locked in a death grip around the heavy porcelain figurine. She saw it was Eric. His face was a mask of shock and alarm. He gently but firmly took the figurine from her grasp and set it back down on the table with a soft click.
Delia’s wild gaze darted back to the door. Augusta was gone. A choked, frustrated sob escaped her lips. She turned on Eric, her eyes blazing with a grief-stricken fury.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed, her voice a raw, broken sound. "You are not supposed to be here! It is bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony!"
"Are you trying to ruin everything?" Eric replied, his own voice low and urgent as he grabbed her shoulders. "Delia, think! Everything you have endured, every humiliation, every moment of pain, it was all for today! And you want to destroy it all with your own hands?" He gave her a small, gentle shake. "If you had struck her, if you had killed the Baroness, you would be arrested. They would have thrown you in a dungeon. What about Anne and George then? Your revenge wouldn’t be complete. It would all be for nothing."
"I don’t care!" Delia cried, the words tearing from her throat. "I don’t care what happens anymore! Just leave me alone!"
She tried to leave the waiting room, to follow Augusta, to finish what she had started. But Eric held her arm, pulling her back before she could reach the door.
"Let me go!" she screamed, struggling against his iron grip. "Let me go! I said let me go! Let me go!" She twisted and pulled, her movements frantic and hysterical, like a trapped animal.
"Put yourself together, Delia!" he shouted, his voice a sharp crack of command that cut through her panic. He shook her shoulders, not to hurt her, but to shock her back to her senses.
She stopped struggling instantly. They both stood there in the silent room, breathing heavily, staring at each other. He slowly released his hold on her, his expression softening from anger to a deep, profound concern. She stood for a few long seconds, her body trembling, before she turned and walked back to her seat in front of the mirror, her shoulders slumped in defeat.
Eric let out a long, shaky breath. He then walked over and crouched down in front of her, so that his face was at her eye level. He looked at the beautiful, broken woman in the magnificent wedding gown.
"You are becoming Duke Eric’s bride today," he said, his voice now incredibly soft and gentle. "You will be Duchess Delia of Elinburgh. You are getting married in the most prominent cathedral in the kingdom, looking more beautiful than any woman I have ever seen." He reached out and, with his thumb, gently wiped away the single, glistening tear that had escaped her eye and was running down her cheek.
"You need to walk out there and smile," he continued, his voice a soothing murmur. "You need to smile like you are the happiest person alive, so that every single person in this cathedral will be consumed with envy for you. You will show them all that you have won." He looked into her eyes, his own full of a deep, unwavering devotion. "So tell me, Delia. What can I do to make you smile?"