CHAPTER 112: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND TWELVE

The small, worn wooden table in the corner of the bustling marketplace felt surprisingly private amidst the chaos. Delia carefully placed a small leather pouch, heavy with the promised coins, onto the table. " Here’s the remaining payment I promised you, Owen." She said. The dull thud of the pouch landing was almost swallowed by the surrounding sounds of vendors hawking their wares and the chatter of the crowd.

Across from her, Owen, his face smudged with crumbs and sugar, was deeply engrossed in devouring a stack of pastries. His small hands clutched a half-eaten tea cake, and his cheeks bulged with the next bite he was determined to take. He ate hurriedly, as if afraid the treats would vanish before he could finish them all.

"Don’t hunch down your food like that, you will choke," Delia said gently, a hint of amusement mixed with her concern. She watched him with a fond expression, her own meal untouched beside her.

Owen paused, a sheepish look spreading across his face. He swallowed quickly, a slight cough escaping him. "I’m sorry, Lady Delia, sorry, Your Grace," he mumbled, his eyes wide with a mixture of guilt and continued hunger.

Delia smiled softly. "You can call me Lady Delia, don’t worry about it."

Owen nodded his head eagerly and returned to his tea cake. "This is delicious," he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. "I have never had anything like it." He took another large bite, a crumb falling onto his worn tunic.

Delia’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a touch of sadness. "Didn’t you eat last night? I thought with how good the gossip was, you would have had lots of profit for your master." She knew the harsh realities of Owen’s life, a twelve-year-old boy working tirelessly for a printing press owner who often prioritized profit over the well-being of his young apprentice.

Owen’s chewing slowed. "Well, I did sell a lot of pamphlets yesterday, my lady." A flicker of pride crossed his face. "My master was so pleased with how I got a good story, he rewarded me with a small bed." He paused his eating, his gaze meeting Delia’s with a hint of curiosity. "But how did you find information about your dyes being sold in the southern isles?"

Delia leaned back slightly in her chair, the seriousness of their conversation settling over her. She glanced around the bustling marketplace, ensuring their conversation was not being overheard. "I received an anonymous note on my honeymoon," she began, her voice low and steady. "That was when I sent you that letter, asking you to share it around the printing press as a gossip." She watched Owen carefully, ensuring he was following her explanation.

"A friend of mine sent me a letter that confirmed the note," she continued, a hint of a wry smile playing on her lips. "Lady Isla, you remember her, the owner of the Gilded Cage? She wrote to me, mentioning that a friend in the southern isles had seen the same unique shade of red dye I sold to her. That was when I was absolutely sure about my plan."

Delia paused, allowing Owen to process the information. He looked thoughtful, the half-eaten tea cake still clutched in his hand.

"When you told me the papers were ready," Delia continued, "I told you to deliver them to everyone except the Ellington manor" A shadow of determination crossed her face. "I had my reasons. I was targeting someone within that circle, and I knew no one would suspect a twelve-year-old boy delivering pamphlets."

Owen’s eyes widened in understanding. He nodded his head slowly, his earlier eagerness replaced by a dawning comprehension of the intricate plot Delia had woven. "Ohhhhh, now I get it," he said softly, a look of admiration on his young face.

Delia reached across the table and gently patted his head, her touch conveying both gratitude and affection. "Thank you for the good work, Owen. It served its purpose."

Owen beamed, pleased to have played a crucial part in Delia’s plan. "Happy to help," he replied, picking up his tea cake again with renewed enthusiasm.

A moment of quiet fell between them, the sounds of the marketplace swirling around them like a noisy tide. Delia watched Owen eat, a wave of warmth washing over her. She had found an unlikely ally in this young boy.

"Do you want to come and leave with me, Owen?" Delia asked, her voice filled with genuine care. She knew the hard life he lived and longed to offer him a better future.

Owen’s eating slowed again, his gaze fixed on the tea cake in his hands. He looked up at Delia, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and resolve. "I would love to," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "To live with you in high society and do fancy things..." He paused, a hint of a smile touching his lips. "But I still need to stay here and help you secretly."

He set the tea cake down on the table, his small hands clasped together. "I don’t know exactly what you are fighting for, my lady," he confessed, his eyes earnest. "But I’m happy to be part of it, and I’m not backing out until you win." He looked around the bustling marketplace, then back at Delia. "Besides," he added with a touch of pride, "the printing press are taking much better care of me now than before. Your... your gossip, my lady, has made my master very wealthy and happy so he’s taking care of me well."

Tears welled up in Delia’s eyes, blurring her vision. She reached across the table and took his small hands in hers, her heart overflowing with gratitude and affection. "Oh, Owen," she said, her voice thick with emotion as she rose from her chair and gently pulled him into a hug.

Owen, surprised for a moment, quickly returned the embrace, his small arms wrapping tightly around her waist. He buried his face in her gown, a sense of comfort and belonging washing over him. He never had someone hug him with such affection in a long time not that he could remember.

"But after everything is settled," He said, still holding onto Delia. "After you have won, you will come back for me, won’t you? Promise me, Lady Delia."

They pulled apart, both their eyes glistening with unshed tears. Delia gently arranged his messy hair, her touch light and tender. "Of course, Owen. I will," she promised, her voice firm. "I promise."

Owen’s face brightened, a wide smile spreading across his features. He picked up his tea cake again, his earlier sadness forgotten in the warmth of Delia’s promise. He continued eating, the pastries now tasting even sweeter with the reassurance of her words.

Delia watched him, her heart swelling with different emotions. She thought to herself, a silent question echoing in her mind, "What did I do to deserve someone like Owen in my life?" She smiled looking at him once more.