A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 31 - Thirty One

It was already a week. Seven days of wasted efforts and today is the day. The day Aunt Margery sees if she made any progress.

Delaney Kingsley sat in the garden gazebo, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The morning air was crisp, but Delaney felt a bead of sweat trickle down her back. Across the small, wrought-iron table sat Lady Margery.

The older woman looked like a queen holding court. She wore a dress of bright pumpkin orange that clashed violently with the pink roses climbing the gazebo trellis. She did not care. She held her teacup with pinky extended, her eyes sharp and assessing.

"So," Aunt Margery said. She took a slow sip of tea. "Report."

Delaney took a deep breath. She had her notebook open on the table. It looked like a battle plan that had gone wrong. There were names crossed out in aggressive black ink. There were notes in the margins that said things like ’Too loud’ and ’Smells like soup’.

"It has been... an active week, my Lady," Delaney began cautiously.

"Active?" Margery raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Define active. Has he fired you yet?"

"No," Delaney said. "Though he has threatened to throw himself out of a window twice."

Margery chuckled. "Only twice? He must be in a good mood. Continue."

Delaney looked at her notes. She decided to be honest. There was no point in sugarcoating the disaster of the last few days.

"I presented seven candidates for tea," Delaney listed. "Miss Basset, Lady Jane, the Penelope girl, and four others. I selected them based on rigorous criteria. I vetted their backgrounds. I checked their dowries. I even checked their dental records."

Margery nodded, impressed. "Thorough."

"And the Duke," Delaney said, her voice flattening, "rejected every single one of them."

She flipped the page of her notebook to show the carnage.

"He told Miss Basset he was severely allergic," Delaney recounted. "He told Lady Jane that her views on wool were treasonous. And he told Miss Pringle—a lovely girl who only wanted to be pious—that he was a sinner who would corrupt her soul."

Delaney closed the notebook with a heavy thud.

"It was a massacre, my Lady," she admitted. "He found a flaw in everyone. He is stubborn, he is picky, and he is determined to be unhappy."

She waited for the explosion. She waited for Margery to yell. She waited for the demand to return the twenty thousand pounds.

Instead, silence filled the gazebo.

Delaney looked up.

Aunt Margery was smiling. It wasn’t a polite smile. It was a genuine, delighted grin. She reached for the teapot and poured herself another cup, humming a little tune.

"I am not surprised," Margery said cheerfully. "But I am a bit... pleased."

Delaney blinked. She leaned forward, confused. "Pleased? My Lady, did you hear me? He chased a vicar’s daughter out of the room. He was impossible."

"I heard you," Margery said. She took a sip of tea. "But you must understand, Miss Kingsley. Before you arrived, Rowan would not even meet them."

Delaney frowned. "Pardon?"

"For the last two years," Margery explained, setting her cup down, "I could only get him to see one debutante every three months. And I had to drag him there. I had to bribe him with horses. I had to threaten to cry."

She gestured to Delaney’s notebook.

"But you," Margery said, pointing a gloved finger, "you swarmed him. You brought in more than two in a single afternoon. And he answered them all. He spoke to them. He argued with them."

Margery’s eyes twinkled.

"He engaged with the process," she said. "Even if he politely declined them—or rudely declined them, in the case of the Sheffield girl—he participated. That is a start. A massive start. It seems I made the right choice in hiring you."

Delaney let out a long breath. The tension in her shoulders released. She wasn’t fired. In fact, she was apparently a genius.

"I suppose that is one way to look at it," Delaney said. "He is certainly... engaged. Mostly in combat."

"Combat is better than indifference," Margery stated wisely. "Now, what is the plan for the rest of the week? More tea parties? More torture?" 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

Delaney straightened her spine. This was the big news.

"No more tea parties for now," Delaney announced. "We are changing tactics. Tomorrow night, he will be going to the Farrington Ball."

Clatter.

Aunt Margery dropped her spoon. It hit the saucer with a loud noise.

Her mouth fell open. She stared at Delaney as if the girl had just announced she had taught a pig to fly.

"Sorry for the reaction. That was impolite of me," Margery gasped, pressing a hand to her orange bodice. "Did you say... he is going to a ball?"

Delaney nodded calmly. "Yes, my Lady."

"Rowan?" Margery asked. "My nephew? The one who calls balls ’the seventh circle of hell’?"

"The very same," Delaney said. "The invitation arrived yesterday. He tried to decline. He wanted to fake a fever. But I convinced him otherwise."

"You convinced him?" Margery whispered. She looked at Delaney with awe. "Are you a witch, Miss Kingsley? Did you use a potion?"

"I used logic," Delaney said. "And I may have tripped and fallen into his study to prevent him from writing the refusal letter."

Margery laughed aloud. "Oh, brilliant! He is going to the Farrington Ball! Lady Celine is back from Paris, isn’t she?"

"She is," Delaney confirmed. "And she speaks French. Which is one of his favorite ’requirements.’ I believe she is our best target. She is beautiful, titled, and sophisticated."

"Splendid," Margery cried, clapping her hands. "Absolutely splendid! This is progress!"

She looked at Delaney closely.

"And you?" Margery asked. "Are you accompanying him?"

Delaney hesitated.

She hated balls. Balls were where the ton gathered to judge one another. Balls were where people stared. For three years, Delaney had avoided them like the plague. She preferred the shadows.

But she had a job to do.

"Sadly, yes," Delaney replied. "I have to accompany him. As a relative, of course. Your distant cousin."

"Of course," Margery nodded.

"I have to get close to Lady Celine," Delaney explained. "I need to vet her in person. I need to make sure she isn’t boring. I need to signal Rowan when to approach and when to run away. I cannot do that from the house."

"Excellent strategy," Margery agreed. She looked Delaney up and down. Her eyes swept over the gray wool dress, the high collar, the scuffed boots.

A frown creased Margery’s forehead.

"And are you prepared?" Margery asked.

"Oh yes," Delaney said confidently. "I have my notebook ready. I have researched the Farrington family tree. I have a list of conversation starters in case Rowan forgets how to speak English."

"I am not talking about your notebook," Margery interrupted. She leaned in over the table. "I am talking about you. Your appearance."