A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 64 - Sixty Four

She had seen the "Duchess" version of Miss Kingsley—commanding, elegant, beautiful. This version looked like a shadow. She looked like she was trying to disappear into the wallpaper.

But Ines did well to hide her shock. She was a Duchess herself, after all. She merely raised her teacup to her lips to hide her expression.

Delaney walked into the room. She held her notebook in both hands, clutching it to her chest like a shield. She didn’t look at Ines. She looked straight at Rowan.

"Your Grace," Delaney said.

Her voice was different too. It was clipped. Efficient. Professional.

Rowan turned from the window.

He looked at her. His eyes swept over the grey wool.

For a second, Ines thought she saw a flash of pain in her brother’s eyes. A look of regret. But it vanished instantly, replaced by the mask of the employer.

"Miss Kingsley," Rowan said.

Delaney walked towards Rowan with her note. She stopped exactly three feet away. The perfect distance for a subordinate.

"I have completed the preparations," Delaney announced. She opened the notebook. Her finger traced the lines on the page.

"Your Grace," she began, "The Farrington’s room has been taken care of. I have inspected the Suite personally."

Rowan nodded. "And?"

"I informed the maid on what Lady Celine likes and dislikes," Delaney recited. "She prefers lavender scented sheets, not rose. Rose gives her a headache. I have had the linens changed."

"Good," Rowan said. "I didn’t know that."

"I looked into her and took notes," Delaney said without looking up. "She also dislikes heavy curtains. She prefers the morning light. I have instructed the staff to leave the drapes unpinned."

She flipped a page. The paper rustled loudly in the quiet room.

"I have also informed the cook on the menu for the week," Delaney continued. "Rich and healthy. Lady Farrington enjoys French cuisine, particularly heavy creams and sauces. However, Lady Celine prefers lighter fare. Fish. Poultry. Fruit."

She glanced up at him for a brief second.

"No apples," she added softly.

Rowan flinched. "Right. No apples."

"I have designed a menu that compromises," Delaney said, looking back at the book. "Fish with lemon butter for Tuesday. Roast pheasant for Wednesday. And for the ball..."

She took a breath.

"For the ball, I have ordered a tiered cake. Vanilla and raspberry. It is... festive."

Ines sat drinking her tea, watching them.

She felt like she was watching a play in a foreign language.

She looked at Delaney. The woman stood with her back rigid. Her hands were stained with ink. Her dress was unappealing.

"She looks like a governess," Ines thought to herself. "No, she looks worse. Even my governess wasn’t this strict. My governess wore blue ribbons on Sundays. This woman looks like she has outlawed color entirely."

Ines frowned.

Why would she do this? she wondered. She is beautiful. I saw her an hour ago. Why hide it? Why dress like a piece of furniture?

And then, she looked at her brother.

"But the real question is why is Rowan so cooperative?" Ines thought.

Her brother was the most stubborn man in England. He argued with his tailor. He argued with Ines about her books.

He hated being managed. He hated lists.

But right now, he was standing there, leaning toward the grey mouse, hanging on her every word.

"Go on," Rowan said to Delaney.

"The flowers," Delaney said. "Lady Celine loves hydrangeas. Blue ones. I have sent a boy to Covent Garden to secure four dozen for the foyer."

"Blue," Rowan repeated. "Like her eyes."

"Yes," Delaney said. Her voice didn’t waver. "Like her eyes."

"And the music?" Rowan asked. He took a step closer to her. He wasn’t looking at the notebook. He was looking at her face, searching for something beneath the severe bun.

"A string quartet for dinner," Delaney listed. "A full orchestra for the ball. No waltzes until after supper."

"Why?" Rowan asked.

"Because," Delaney explained patiently, "Lady Farrington believes waltzes are scandalous before midnight. If you want to keep the mother happy, you delay the waltz."

Rowan nodded slowly. "You think of everything."

"It is my job to think of everything," Delaney said. "So you do not have to."

Ines mistakenly looked at Rowan and saw the way he listened to Delaney attentively.

His body was angled toward her. His head was tilted down. He wasn’t just hearing the list of flowers and fish. He was absorbing her presence. He looked at her with a mix of admiration, reliance, and something that looked suspiciously like longing.

He didn’t look at her grey dress with disgust. He looked at it as if he wanted to unbutton it.

Ines set her teacup down. The porcelain rattled against the saucer.

She had seen Rowan with many women. She had seen him with debutantes who threw themselves at his feet. He was usually polite, charming, and utterly bored.

He was not bored now.

He was intense. He was engaged. He was connected to this woman in a way that defied her station and her terrible outfit.

Ines looked at Delaney again. She saw the emotion behind the mask of professionalism. She saw the way Delaney’s hand trembled slightly as she held the notebook. She saw the way Delaney refused to meet Rowan’s eyes for more than a second.

Oh, Ines realized. Oh, my.

It wasn’t just business. It wasn’t just efficiency.

The air between them was thick enough to choke on. It was a silent conversation of ’I know you’ and ’I miss you’ hidden under a conversation about menu planning.

Ines sat back in the sofa. A slow realization dawned on her.

The "Unlucky Lady" wasn’t Celine Farrington. Celine was just the prop.

The real trouble was standing right there in the grey wool.

She spoke to herself softly, so low that neither of them could hear.

"What has Miss Kingsley done to my brother?"

It wasn’t a question of magic. It was a question of the heart. And Ines, who knew her brother better than anyone, suddenly realized that the Hamilton Ball was going to be a disaster.

Or... it was going to be the most interesting night of their lives.

"Is that all?" Rowan asked Delaney. His voice was soft.

Delaney closed the notebook with a snap.

"Yes, Your Grace," she said. "That is all. Everything is ready for tomorrow."

"Thank you, Miss Kingsley," Rowan said.

Delaney curtsied quickly.

"I shall go check on the linens," she said.

She turned and marched out of the room.

Rowan watched her leave. He didn’t move until she was gone. Then, he let out a long sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

He turned back to Ines.

"She is efficient, is she not?" Rowan asked, trying to sound casual.

Ines looked at him. She smiled a sharp, knowing smile.

"Very," Ines said. "She is... quite something, Rowan."

Rowan nodded, missing the subtext. "Yes. She is."

Ines picked up a biscuit. She took a bite.

Game on, Miss Kingsley, Ines thought.