A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 70 - Seventy

Rowan turned back to the conversation. He forced himself to nod as Lady Farrington discussed the merits of lace versus silk. But his mind was upstairs.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

The door opened.

Simmons entered.

He didn’t announce himself. He didn’t look at the guests. He walked straight to Rowan. His face, usually a mask of stone, was pale. His eyes were wide with genuine alarm.

He leaned in close to Rowan’s ear.

"Something is wrong, Your Grace," Simmons whispered. His voice trembled slightly.

Rowan felt the blood drain from his face.

"What is it?"

"She is not answering," Simmons murmured. "I knocked. I called out. But I heard... noises. Like weeping. Or... madness."

Rowan didn’t think.

He stood up abruptly. His chair scraped loudly against the floor.

"Your Grace?" Celine asked, startled.

"Forgive me," Rowan said. His voice was rough. "I have... I have just remembered a crucial document for the railway contract. It cannot wait."

"Now?" Lady Farrington complained.

"Immediately," Rowan said.

He turned and strode out of the room. He didn’t walk like a Duke. He walked like a man whose house was on fire.

The corridor was silent and dim. The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, leaving the hallway in a dim light.

Rowan reached the door of the Blue Suite.

He stopped. He listened.

There was no singing. There was no movement.

There was only a low, frantic muttering. It sounded like a prayer, or a curse.

Rowan knocked.

"Miss Kingsley?" he called out. "Is everything alright? Are you ill?"

Silence.

Then, the muttering resumed. Louder this time. A stream of nonsense words that made no sense.

"Miss Kingsley?" he called out again.

Still no answer.

He tried the handle. It turned. The door was unlocked.

"I’m coming in," he announced.

He pushed the door open.

The room was dark. The curtains were drawn tight. The only light came from the dying embers of the fire in the grate.

Rowan stepped inside.

"Miss Kingsley?"

He looked at the bed. Empty.

He looked at the chair. Empty.

Then he heard a gasp. A sharp, terrified intake of breath from the corner of the room.

Rowan turned.

There, wedged into the narrow space between the heavy wardrobe and the wall, was a pile of silk.

It was Delaney.

She was sitting on the floor, curled into a ball so tight she looked like a child. Her knees were pulled up to her chin. Her arms were wrapped around her head, shielding herself from the world.

She was rocking. Back and forth. Back and forth. Thump. Thump. Her shoulder hit the wall with every rock.

Rowan’s heart stopped.

He had seen her strong. He had seen her defiant. He had seen her bossy.

He had never seen her broken.

"Miss Kingsley?" he whispered.

Delaney didn’t look up. She didn’t seem to hear him. She was lost in a world of her own terror.

"The ink," she muttered. Her voice was a raw, scratchy whisper. "The ink is red. It’s always red. Don’t sign it. Papa, don’t sign it."

Rowan froze. Papa?

"He has the scar," she gibbered, rocking faster. "The eye. The grey eye. He sees everything. He sees the ledger."

She was speaking gibberish. Fragments of memory. Shards of a nightmare.

Rowan took a step forward. "Miss Kingsley, it’s me. It’s Rowan."

She flinched violently. She pressed herself harder into the corner.

"No!" she cried out. "Don’t let him in! He takes the silver! He takes the house! Hide the tin! Hide the tin!"

Rowan felt a surge of helplessness. She was hallucinating. She was terrified of something he couldn’t see.

He couldn’t leave her like this. He couldn’t go back downstairs and drink tea with Hawksley while she was falling apart.

He walked across the room. He knelt down on the carpet in front of her.

"Delaney," he said gentle. "Look at me."

She didn’t look. She buried her face in her knees.

"The boots," she whimpered. "I have to run. I have to run before he catches me. If he catches me, Uncle will find me."

Rowan realized she wasn’t going to snap out of it with words. She was too far gone. She was trapped in panic.

He did the only thing he could think of.

He moved closer. He sat down on the floor beside her. He ignored the dust on his trousers. He ignored the fact that he was a Duke and she was his employee.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, knowing the answer was no.

She didn’t answer. She just kept rocking. Thump. Thump.

"It’s okay," Rowan whispered.

He reached out slowly. He touched her shoulder.

She jerked away as if he had burned her. "Don’t touch me! Stay away! Stay away from me!"

"It’s just me," Rowan said. His voice was steady, calm, a lighthouse in the dark. "It’s Rowan. The fruit. Remember? The apple."

He didn’t pull back. He kept his hand on her shoulder. He let her feel the warmth of his palm. He let her feel that he was real, and solid, and safe.

Slowly, the violence of her flinch subsided. She was still shaking, vibrating with fear, but she didn’t pull away again.

Rowan moved his arm. He slid it around her shoulders.

He pulled her toward him.

"Come here," he murmured. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

He gathered her into his arms. He pulled her out of the corner and into his lap. It was awkward at first—she was stiff, resisting, her limbs locked in fear.

But Rowan was stronger. He held her tight. He wrapped both arms around her, cocooning her against his chest. He tucked her head under his chin.

"Shhh," he soothed. "I’ve got you. You are safe. Nobody is here."

Delaney let out a sob. It was a broken, jagged sound.

"He’s here," she wept into his coat. "He’s downstairs. The monster. Don’t sign anything, please!"

"There are no monsters here," Rowan said gently. "Just boring people drinking tea. Just Fifi eating biscuits. ."

"No," she moaned. "The scar. The scar. I thought I could stay and fight but I can’t. I don’t have the courage anymore. He would take me with him."

"Shhh," Rowan rocked her.

He began to rock her back and forth, matching the rhythm she had been keeping, but slowing it down.

Rock... pause. Rock... pause.

He held her like she was precious. He held her like she was made of glass and he was the velvet case.

He rested his cheek on the top of her head. He could smell the jasmine scent of her hair, mixed with the sharp, metallic scent of fear.

"I won’t let anything happen to you," Rowan promised. He didn’t know what she was afraid of. He didn’t know why Hawksley scared her. But he knew, with a fierce certainty, that he would stand between her and the world.

"You are safe," he whispered. "You are with me."

Delaney’s gibberish began to slow. The frantic words turned into soft, hiccuping sobs.

"Don’t leave," she whispered. "Don’t go back."

"I’m not going anywhere," Rowan said. "I am right here. I am staying right here."

He kept rocking her. Minutes passed. The fire in the grate burned low, casting long shadows across the floor.

Rowan hummed. He didn’t know any lullabies, so he hummed a low, tuneless melody, the vibration of his chest rumbling against her ear.

Slowly, the tension began to leave her body. Her fists, which had been clutching his lapels, relaxed. Her breathing slowed from frantic gasps to deep, shuddering sighs.

The exhaustion of the panic took over.

Delaney’s head grew heavy on his shoulder. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks.

"Safe," she murmured one last time.

"Yes," Rowan whispered. "Safe."

Her breathing evened out. She went limp in his arms.

She was asleep.

Rowan didn’t move. He didn’t get up. He sat there on the floor of the guest room, holding the sleeping matchmaker in his arms.

His legs were cramping. His arm was going numb. But he didn’t care.

He looked down at her face. In sleep, the terror was gone, leaving her looking young and incredibly sad.

He brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

"Who hurt you, Delaney?" he whispered to the darkness. "Who made you this afraid?"

He thought of Hawksley downstairs. He thought of the way Delaney had reacted to the name. He thought of the "scar" she mentioned.

A cold fury began to build in Rowan’s chest.

He didn’t know the story yet. She hadn’t told him. But he knew one thing for certain.

He was going to get to the bottom of it.

He kissed the top of her head lightly.

"Sleep," he whispered. "I will keep the monsters away."

And the Duke of Ford sat in the dark, guarding his mouse, while the rest of the world waited downstairs.