A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 63 - Sixty Three

Aunt Margery let Fifi out of the cage. Fifi, the apricot poodle, was not just a dog. She was a ball of fluff with teeth and an attitude. She was currently running circles around the ottoman, yapping at a dust mote that had offended her.

"Fifi, darling, compose yourself!" Aunt Margery boomed. She collapsed onto the sofa next to Ines, her purple traveling coat spreading out like a bruised plum. "The poor thing is traumatized. The carriage hit a rut near Hounslow and Fifi nearly fell off her velvet cushion and hit her cage. It was a tragedy."

Ines sipped her tea. She looked at the dog, then at her aunt.

"A tragedy indeed, Aunt Margery," Ines deadpanned. "I hope the cushion recovered."

"You mock me, Niece," Margery sniffed. She adjusted her hat, which was listing dangerously to the left. "But you do not understand the delicate constitution of a show dog."

Rowan stood by the fireplace. He looked tired. He looked like a man who wanted to be anywhere else. Anywhere quiet.

He cleared his throat. The sound was loud enough to make Fifi stop yapping for a millisecond.

"Aunt Margery," Rowan said.

Margery looked up. "Yes, Rowan? Do not tell me the sherry is finished. I require fortification."

"The sherry is plentiful," Rowan assured her. " Well earlier, I said i have much to tell you. It appears I have news. Important news regarding the reason you are here."

Margery’s eyes widened. She leaned forward.

"The wedding?" she whispered loudly. "Have you finally chosen a victim? I mean, a bride?"

Rowan nodded. He placed his hands behind his back, adopting the pose of the serious Duke.

"Lady Celine Farrington," Rowan announced. " We are still in the courting stage. I invited her and her mother, Lady Farrington, to spend the week with us. I want her to get to know our family."

Margery blinked. She looked at Ines. She looked back at Rowan.

"The Farringtons?" she asked. "The girl with the blonde hair and the very... present mother?"

"The very same," Rowan said. "They will be arriving tomorrow."

Aunt Margery gasped. She pressed a hand to her formidable bosom.

"Really?" she cried. "You are not joking with me, are you? You are not playing a cruel prank on an old woman who just wants to see you settled before she meets her Maker?"

"No," Rowan replied, his face devoid of humor. "I am not joking. They are coming to stay for a week. The invitation has been sent and accepted."

A slow, wide smile spread across Margery’s face. It stretched from ear to ear, displacing the powder on her cheeks.

"Splendid," she breathed. She clapped her hands together. "Absolutely splendid! The Farrington girl is a Diamond. A bit vapid, perhaps, like a beautiful vase with nothing inside, but excellent breeding. Good hips."

Ines choked on her tea. "Aunt Margery!"

"What?" Margery waved a hand. "It is the truth. We need heirs, Ines. We need bouncing baby Dukes."

She turned back to Rowan, her eyes gleaming with calculation.

"That means there will be a wedding by the beginning of next month, right?" Margery asked. "If they are coming to stay, and the ball is in two weeks... we can have the banns read immediately."

Rowan felt a cold stone settle in his stomach. The timeline was real. It was fast. It was a runaway train.

"Yes," Rowan replied. "By next month."

Aunt Margery let out a squeal that rivaled Fifi’s bark. She was so happy she looked ready to dance a jig.

"Oh, wonderful!" she cheered. "I knew she could do it. I knew it!"

"Who?" Ines asked.

"Miss Kingsley!" Margery declared. "Miss Kingsley really exceeded my expectations and lived up to her name. ’Madame Coeur’ indeed. She is a witch. A sorceress of matrimony!"

Margery reached down and scooped the poodle into her arms. Fifi let out a surprised yip.

"I cannot wait to plan your wedding with her," Margery told the dog, rubbing her cheek against the poodle’s fur. "We shall have roses. Thousands of them. And swans. Do you like swans, Fifi?"

Rowan rubbed his temple. "Aunt Margery, perhaps you should rest."

"Rest?" Margery stood up. "I am too excited to rest! But..." She yawned suddenly, her jaw cracking. "Perhaps a small nap. The journey was exhausting."

She picked her dog up higher, tucking Fifi under her arm like a handbag.

"I’ll be in my room," Margery announced. "The Green Room, I assume? It has the best light."

"Yes," Rowan said. "Simmons has prepared it."

"Excellent." Margery walked toward the door. She stopped and turned back, waving her hand at them. "If anyone of you need me, don’t knock till evening. I need my beauty sleep. And Fifi needs her meditation."

"Meditation," Ines repeated softly.

"Goodbye, darlings!"

Aunt Margery swept out of the room, leaving a trail of lavender perfume and dog hair in her wake. She climbed the stairs, her voice echoing as she cooed to the animal.

The drawing room fell silent.

Ines looked at Rowan.

"She is... a force of nature," Ines said.

"She is a hurricane," Rowan corrected. He walked over to the window. "But she is happy."

"And you?" Ines asked quietly. "Are you happy?"

Rowan didn’t answer. He stared out at the gray street. He watched a carriage roll by.

"I am dutiful," Rowan said.

Ines opened her mouth to argue, but she was interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

Not the heavy, booming steps of Aunt Margery. Not the light, skipping steps of a maid.

These were brisk, rhythmic steps.

Ines turned toward the open door.

A woman walked in.

Ines blinked. She blinked again.

It was the same woman who had been in the foyer an hour ago. It was the same height. It was the same face.

But everything else was different.

Gone was the regal burgundy velvet dress that shimmered like wine. Gone were the garnet jewels that dripped with wealth. Gone was the soft, romantic hairstyle that framed her face.

Delaney came down in her severe bun and grey dress.

The dress was made of wool. It was a dull, lifeless grey—the color of dishwater, or a rainy Tuesday. It had a high collar that seemed to choke her. The fabric was stiff and unyielding.

And her hair. Good heavens, her hair. It was pulled back so tightly that Ines felt a sharp headache just looking at it. It was scraped away from her face and twisted into a knot at the base of her neck that looked less like a hairstyle and more like a weapon.

Ines was shocked by the transformation.