A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 32 - Thirty Two

Delaney looked down at herself. "I am fine, my Lady. I will be invisible. That is the point."

"And what will you wear?" Margery asked.

"I have my dress out already for tomorrow night and..."

"Your gray dress?" Aunt Margery interrupted again. Her voice was sharp.

Delaney blinked. She stopped mid-sentence.

"Pardon?" Delaney asked.

"The gray dress," Margery said, pointing at Delaney’s chest. "The one you are wearing. The one you wore yesterday. The one you have worn every single day since you arrived. Do you intend to wear a version of that to the ball of the season?"

Delaney touched her collar protectively. "It is my best dress, my Lady. It is wool. It is clean. It is... respectable."

"It is tragic!" Margery declared.

She stood up. The orange dress rustled loudly.

"You are attending as my cousin," Margery stated. "You are attending on the arm of the Duke of Ford. You will be standing next to one of the most eligible bachelors. You cannot look like a governess. You cannot look like a shadow."

"But I am a shadow!" Delaney argued. Panic started to rise in her chest. "That is my job! I am supposed to blend in!"

"Blending in is one thing," Margery countered. "Looking like a raincloud at a garden party is another."

Aunt Margery leaned in close. Her eyes were serious.

"You certainly cannot follow my Rowan in that," she said firmly. "People will talk. They will ask why the Duke is being followed by a depressed librarian. We need to maintain the ruse, Miss Kingsley. If you are my cousin, you must look like family."

She poked the gray wool sleeve.

"You need a splash of color," Margery announced.

Delaney’s blood ran cold.

Color.

Color was dangerous. Color drew the eye. If she wore red, or blue, or green, people would look at her. They would look at her face. They might remember Arthur Kingsley’s daughter. They might remember the girl who used to ride horses in the country. Some might begin to investigate her.

She needed the gray. The gray was her shield. It told the world, ’Don’t look at me. I am nobody.’

"My Lady," Delaney stammered, standing up. "I really don’t think that is necessary. I prefer muted tones. It suits my... complexion. I am very... pale."

"Nonsense," Margery scoffed. "You have lovely skin. You just need to stop dressing like a funeral."

Delaney took a step back. "I cannot afford a new dress. My funds are... tied up."

"I am paying!" Margery waved a hand. "Consider it a business expense. A uniform."

"But..."

"Simmons!" Aunt Margery called out. Her voice boomed across the garden.

From the shadow of the terrace door, Mr. Simmons appeared instantly. He must have been waiting.

"Yes, my lady?" Simmons asked, bowing.

"Tell the footman to get my carriage ready," Margery ordered. She pulled on her gloves, adjusting the fingers with sharp tugs. "And tell the Duke that Miss Kingsley will be unavailable for the afternoon. She has urgent business."

"What business?" Delaney asked weakly.

Aunt Margery looked at her. A predatory smile spread across her face.

"We are going to the modiste," she declared.

Delaney felt her stomach drop. " The modiste?"

"Madame Angeline," Margery said. "She is the best in London. She can perform miracles. And looking at this..." She waved a hand at Delaney’s gray dress. "...we are going to need a miracle."

"My Lady, please," Delaney tried one last time. She felt desperate. "I really am quite content with my current wardrobe. I have a darker gray for evenings. It is very... charcoal."

"Charcoal is for fires," Margery snapped. She grabbed Delaney’s arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong. "You are going to wear color, Miss Kingsley. You are going to look alive. Now, march."

Delaney looked at Simmons for help.

Simmons looked back at her. His face was blank, but his eyes held a glimmer of sympathy. He bowed.

"I shall have the carriage brought around immediately, my Lady," Simmons said.

There was no escape.

Delaney let herself be dragged toward the house. She clutched her leather bag to her chest.

This is a disaster, she thought. If I wear a beautiful dress, I won’t be Madame Coeur anymore. I will be Delaney Kingsley. And if Rowan sees me... if the ton sees me...

She thought of the "Freedom" tin in her room. She thought of the sixty thousand pounds.

She had to do it. She had to play the part of the respectable cousin to keep the job.

"Just a splash," Delaney whispered to herself as they walked through the grand foyer. "I will ask for beige. Beige is a color. Or perhaps... mushroom."

"I heard that!" Aunt Margery shouted without looking back. "No mushroom! We are getting you blue! Or perhaps crimson!"

Delaney squeezed her eyes shut.

"Heaven help me," she muttered.

An hour later, they were standing in the plush, velvet-lined fitting room of Madame Angeline’s shop on Bond Street. The air smelled of lavender and expensive fabric.

Madame Angeline was a tiny French woman with a measuring tape around her neck and pins in her mouth. She circled Delaney like a shark circling a swimmer.

"Tsk, tsk," Madame Angeline said, poking Delaney’s waist. "So thin. You eat nothing?"

"I eat," Delaney said defensively. "I am busy."

"She wears sacks," Aunt Margery corrected from the chaise longue, where she was sipping sherry. "She hides her figure. We need to fix it."

"Oui," Madame Angeline agreed. She ripped the gray dress off Delaney—figuratively speaking, though she was very aggressive with the buttons.

Delaney stood in her chemise and petticoats. She felt exposed. She felt vulnerable.

"What is the occasion?" Madame Angeline asked.

"The Farrington Ball," Margery announced. "She is accompanying the Duke of Ford."

Madame Angeline’s eyes widened. "The Golden Duke? Ah! Then she must shine. Not too much—we do not want to outshine the debutantes—but enough to show she belongs to him."

"Exactly," Margery said.

"No, I don’t belong to anyone." Delaney said. "Please. Something simple. Something... modest."

Madame Angeline ignored her. She began pulling rolls of silk from the shelves.

"Not yellow," Angeline muttered. "Make her look sick. Not pink. Too young."

She pulled out a bolt of fabric. It wasn’t gray. It wasn’t brown.

It was a deep, shimmering teal. Like the ocean at twilight. It was dark enough to be respectable, but rich enough to catch the light.

"This," Madame Angeline said. She draped the fabric over Delaney’s shoulder.

Delaney looked in the mirror.

The teal color made her skin look creamy. It made her dark hair look glossy. It made her hazel eyes pop with green flecks she had forgotten she had.

For a second, the gray mouse vanished. A beautiful woman stared back.

Delaney gasped.

"Oh," she whispered.

"Yes," Aunt Margery said softly. She put down her sherry. "That is the one."

"It is too much," Delaney said, pulling at the fabric. "It is too expensive. It is too..."

"It is perfect," Margery said. "You will wear it. And you will hold your head high. You are a Kingsley, aren’t you? You have nobility in your blood. Stop hiding it."

Delaney looked at Aunt Margery, surprised. "You knew?"

Margery scoffed. " Do you think I wouldn’t do a background check before employing you and keeping you in my nephew’s home?" She asked.

"But..."

" No buts for now. Looks at yourself dear. You look lovely."

Delaney looked at the mirror again.

She saw the woman she used to be. The girl who rode horses with her father. The girl who laughed.

She was terrified. But she was also... tempted.

"Just for one night," Delaney reasoned. "It is a costume. Like the gray dress. Just a different costume."

She turned to Madame Angeline.

"Can you make it by tomorrow evening?" Delaney asked.

Madame Angeline smirked. She pulled a pin from her mouth.

"Chérie," she said. "For the Duke of Ford? I would sew it with my teeth if I had to. It will be ready."

Delaney nodded. She looked at Aunt Margery.

"Thank you, my Lady," she said quietly.

"Don’t thank me yet," Margery grinned. "Wait until you have to wear the corset. Then you will hate me."

Delaney looked back at the teal silk.

A splash of color, she thought.

She just hoped it wouldn’t be the splash that drowned her.