A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 123 - Hundred And Twenty Three

The quiet afternoon at Hamilton House was suddenly broken by the sharp, rhythmic sound of horses’ hooves striking the gravel driveway. The heavy crunch of carriage wheels followed, echoing through the peaceful gardens.

Inside the drawing room, Ines stopped mid-sentence. She had been explaining the finer points of London society gossip to Aunt Margery, but the moment she heard the carriage, all thoughts of gossip completely vanished from her mind.

She stood up so quickly that the small sewing basket on her lap tumbled to the floor. Spools of colored thread rolled across the rug, but Ines did not even look down.

Her dark eyes were fixed firmly on the double doors of the drawing room. A bright, genuine smile broke across her face, transforming her from a sharp, calculating Duchess into a woman who was simply, deeply in love.

"He is here," Ines whispered.

The heavy doors opened. Mr. Simmons, the butler, stepped inside and bowed.

"The Duke of Carleton has arrived, Your Grace," Simmons announced.

Before the butler could even finish his sentence, a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped past him into the room.

It was Carcel.

He looked travel-worn. His dark riding coat was covered in a fine layer of road dust, and his tall leather boots lacked their usual mirror shine. The wind had blown his dark hair into a messy, charming tangle. He looked tired from the long journey from the city, but the moment his eyes found his wife across the room, all the exhaustion melted away from his face.

Ines did not care about the dust. She did not care about the proper rules of society that said a lady must wait for her husband to approach her.

She picked up the heavy skirts of her dark red day dress and practically ran across the room.

She opened her arms wide to welcome him.

"Carcel, you are back," Ines said, her voice filled with pure, unfiltered joy.

Carcel caught her easily. He wrapped his large, strong arms around her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground as he enveloped her in a deep, tight hug. He buried his face in her reddish brown hair, breathing in her scent.

"I missed you so much," Ines whispered, wrapping her hands securely around his neck. She held him as if she feared he might disappear back into the city.

Carcel let out a soft, happy sigh. He set her feet back on the floor, but he did not let go of her waist. He looked down at her smiling face.

"I missed you too," Carcel replied. His voice was deep and rich, vibrating with affection.

He leaned down and gently kissed her nose.

It was a sweet, playful gesture. Ines giggled. It was a light, musical sound that belonged to a carefree young girl, not a Duchess. She leaned her forehead against his chest, completely ignoring the fact that there were other people in the room watching them.

Carcel smiled down at her. He reached his right hand into the deep inner pocket of his dusty riding coat.

"I brought you something from London," Carcel said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

He pulled his hand out. He brought out a new book. It was a beautiful, thick volume bound in dark blue leather, with shiny gold lettering stamped onto the spine.

Ines stepped back slightly to look at it. She gasped. Her dark eyes went completely round with absolute shock and delight. She covered her mouth with both of her hands.

"You found it," Ines breathed, her voice filled with awe. She reached out and took the heavy book from his hands with incredible care, as if it were made of fragile glass. "I thought they said the limited edition wasn’t available anywhere. The bookshop owner on Bond Street swore it was completely sold out!"

Carcel smiled a very proud, very satisfied smile. He brushed a stray curl away from his wife’s face.

"If my wife wants it," Carcel said simply, "then I have to make it available. I tracked down the publisher myself."

Ines opened the heavy leather cover. She flipped to the very first page.

Carcel reached out and pointed a long finger at a fresh, dark ink signature resting neatly at the bottom of the title page.

Ines stared at the ink. She tried to hold her squeal, biting down hard on her lower lip, but a soft, high-pitched sound of pure excitement escaped anyway.

She was a Duchess. She was a wife. She was a mother to a young son. But right now, standing in the middle of the drawing room with the new romance novel in her hands, she was acting exactly like a young, giddy debutante who had just found a rich, titled young man.

"He even signed it?" Ines asked, looking up at Carcel with wide, adoring eyes. "Walter Scott actually signed it for me?"

"He did," Carcel confirmed, thoroughly enjoying her reaction. "Though I had to pay a rather ridiculous sum to convince the publisher to part with his personal copy."

Ines threw her arms around his neck once more, carefully holding the precious book behind his back.

"You are the best," Ines declared fiercely. "The absolute best husband in the world."

Carcel laughed, a deep, rumbling sound, and hugged her back tightly.

A few feet away, sitting quietly in a velvet armchair, Delaney watched the entire exchange.

She sat perfectly still, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Usually, observing such a private, intimate moment made her feel like an intruder. In her line of work as a matchmaker, she saw many marriages. Most of them were cold business transactions. She saw men who barely looked at their wives, and women who only cared about their husband’s bank accounts.

But looking at Carcel and Ines was completely different.

Delaney smiled watching them. It was a soft, genuine smile that reached her hazel eyes.

She did not feel envious. She felt warm.

Watching the Duke and Duchess of Carleton embrace, seeing the pure, unconditional love shining in their faces, brought back a flood of buried memories.

She remembered her own parents.

She remembered how her father, Arthur, would come home from his office in the city. He would look tired, his cravat loosened, but the moment he saw Genevieve, his face would light up. She remembered how her mother would laugh, speaking rapid French as she threw her arms around him. She remembered the way they looked at each other—as if they were the only two people in the entire world.

That was what true love looked like. It was not built on contracts or lies. It was built on small gestures, shared laughter, and a deep, unshakable partnership.

Delaney felt a sudden, sharp ache in her chest. She thought of Rowan. She thought of the dark study, the fierce kiss, and the terrible reality that they could never have a moment like this in the daylight.