A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 54 - Fifty Four

"These belong to the Dowager Duchess," the maid whispered reverently as she fastened the necklace around Delaney’s throat. "The Duke asked for them specifically."

Delaney touched the cold stones. She felt like an impostor. She was wearing his mother’s jewels. She was playing the part of the devoted cousin.

"You look like a Duchess," the maid said, stepping back to admire their handiwork.

Delaney looked in the mirror.

The woman staring back was commanding. She looked serious. She looked rich. She looked like she owned half of London. The gray mouse was gone, hidden beneath layers of velvet and gold.

"I look like a lie," Delaney thought.

But she nodded. "Thank you. You have done... miracles."

"The shoes, Miss."

Delaney stepped into the burgundy satin slippers.

"I am ready," she said.

She picked up her reticule. She didn’t take her notebook. This wasn’t a matchmaking mission. This was a performance.

She walked out of the room, her velvet skirts swishing softly against the carpet.

Downstairs, the atmosphere was charged with nervous energy.

Rowan Hamilton stood in the center of the foyer. He was pacing.

He was dressed for business. He wore a black morning coat, a gray waistcoat, and trousers that were impeccably pressed. He held a leather portfolio under one arm. He looked tired. There were shadows under his eyes, suggesting he hadn’t slept since the courier arrived.

He checked his pocket watch for the tenth time.

"Simmons," Rowan said, snapping the watch shut. "Is the carriage brought around?"

"It is waiting at the steps, Your Grace," Simmons replied from his post by the door. "The bays are fresh."

"Good. We cannot be late. Lord Sterling is a punctual man. If we are late, he will think we are disorganized."

Rowan ran a hand through his hair. He looked toward the stairs.

"Where is she?" he muttered. "If she takes too long..."

"She is coming, Your Grace," Simmons said quietly.

Rowan turned.

Delaney was descending the grand staircase.

She moved slowly, weighted down by the heavy velvet. Her hand rested lightly on the banister. The morning light from the upper window caught the garnets at her throat, making them flash with red fire.

Rowan stopped breathing for a second.

He had seen her in the gray wool. He had seen her in the teal silk. He had seen her in the cornflower blue.

But this... this was different.

She looked regal. The deep red color made her skin look like porcelain. Her expression was serious, almost severe, matching the gravity of the dress. She looked powerful.

She reached the bottom of the stairs. She didn’t curtsy. She stood before him, meeting his gaze with cool professionalism.

"You sent for me," Delaney said.

Rowan blinked, shaking himself out of his trance. He cleared his throat.

"I did," he said. "Good morning, Miss Kingsley."

"It is barely morning," Delaney noted dryly. "The sun is still deciding if it wants to rise."

Rowan let out a short, stressed breath. He stepped closer to her. He lowered his voice so the footmen wouldn’t hear.

"I apologize for the sudden arrangement," Rowan said. He looked sincere. The arrogance of the Duke was gone, replaced by the anxiety of a businessman. "I know this is not in your contract. I know you prefer notice."

"Your maid explained," Delaney said. "A letter. An approval of whatever business that is."

"Yes," Rowan said, tapping the leather portfolio. "The Sterling Railway Consortium. I have been trying to buy shares for six months. They are old-fashioned. They don’t trust bachelors. They think unmarried men are flighty and prone to gambling."

"And you are not?" Delaney asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I gamble on horses, not railways," Rowan said seriously. "This deal... it is important, Miss Delaney. It will secure the estate’s finances for the next generation. It isn’t just for me. It is for the tenants. It is for the future."

Delaney heard the sincerity in his voice. This wasn’t about vanity. It was about duty.

"Why me?" she asked again. "Why not your aunt?"

"Aunt Margery is in the country visiting friends," Rowan explained. "She cannot get here in time. She’ll be here late for the preparation of the ball."

"And your sister?" Delaney asked. "Duchess Ines?"

Rowan grimaced. "Ines is coming. I sent the letter yesterday, as I told you. But she isn’t coming till evening. Her carriage won’t arrive until supper."

He looked at her. His eyes were pleading.

"I needed someone ," Rowan said. "I needed family. And since you are my pretend cousin... you are the only option I have."

Delaney looked at him. She saw the stress in his shoulders. She saw how much this meant to him.

"I understand," she said.

She adjusted the heavy bracelet on her wrist.

"What do I have to do?" she asked.

"Just sit there," Rowan said. "Look respectable. Look supportive. Nod when I speak about the stability of the Hamilton line. Pour tea if they ask. Basically... be a Duchess."

"I am dressed like one," Delaney noted, looking down at the velvet. "Your maids were very thorough."

Rowan’s eyes swept over her again.

"They did well," he murmured. "You look... formidable."

"Formidable is good for business," Delaney said.

"It is," Rowan agreed.

He checked his watch again.

"We must go," he said. "Lord Sterling waits for no man."

He offered his arm.

"Shall we, Cousin?"

Delaney took his arm. The black wool of his coat was rough against her glove.

"Lead the way, Your Grace."

They walked toward the heavy front doors. Simmons opened them with a flourish.

The cool morning air hit their faces. The carriage was waiting, the horses stamping their feet, their breath visible in the chilly air.

Rowan helped her into the carriage. He climbed in after her.

As the door closed and the carriage lurched forward, Delaney looked at Rowan. He was already opening his portfolio, reviewing papers, his brow furrowed in concentration.

She sat back against the squabs, the garnets heavy on her neck, and prepared to play her part.