A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 33 - Thirty Three

The air in the Blue Guest Suite was hot, scented with lavender, and thick with panic. A lot was going on in there.

"Why is it tight?" Delaney shrieked. Her hands gripped the bedpost as if she were trying to pull it out of the floor. "I cannot breathe! I think my lungs have migrated to my throat!"

Behind her, the maid—a sturdy girl named Sarah whom Aunt Margery had sent—did not stop pulling. She had a foot braced against the base of the bed for leverage.

"A little more, Miss Kingsley," Sarah grunted, giving the laces a vicious tug. "We will be done soon. Madame Angeline made this bodice to fit like a glove, and fit like a glove it shall."

"Gloves go on hands!" Delaney argued, gasping for air. "They do not crush internal organs! I need to breathe, Sarah. Breathing is very important for living. Take it off."

"No! Lady Margery told me to make sure you wear cut. Besides, fashion is more important," Sarah replied cheerfully. She tied off the knot with a final, rib-crushing jerk. "There. Perfect."

Delaney let out a wheezing breath. She stood up straight. She had no choice; the corset was so stiff that bending was now a physical impossibility. She felt like a statue encased in whalebone and silk.

She walked stiffly to the tall mirror in the corner of the room. She moved slowly, afraid that if she moved too fast, she might snap in half.

"Oh," Delaney whispered.

She stared at her reflection.

For the last three years, Delaney Kingsley had been a gray smudge. She wore loose wool. She wore high collars that hid her neck. She pulled her hair back so tightly that it gave her a permanent surprised expression. She did everything possible to look like a piece of furniture—useful, but invisible.

The woman in the mirror was not invisible.

The dress was a deep, shimmering teal. It was the color of the ocean at twilight, dark and mysterious but undeniably vibrant. The silk caught the candlelight and rippled like water.

The neckline was lower—much lower—than anything Delaney had worn since her father died. It showed the creamy skin of her chest and shoulders. The sleeves were short, capped with delicate lace. The waist, thanks to Sarah’s aggressive pulling, was tiny.

But it was her face that shocked her the most.

Sarah had refused to do the "severe bun." Instead, she had curled Delaney’s dark hair and pinned it loosely on top of her head, letting a few tendrils fall around her face and neck.

The dark hair against the pale skin and the teal dress made her eyes look enormous. They weren’t just hazel anymore; they looked green and gold.

"I look..." Delaney started, then stopped.

"You look like a lady," Sarah said softly, standing behind her. "You look like a diamond."

Delaney reached up and touched her cheek. She didn’t look like a diamond. She looked like Delaney Kingsley, the daughter of Earl of Ashford. She looked like the girl who used to ride horses and laugh at balls.

She looked like a lie.

"I look like a fraud," Delaney whispered. "This isn’t me, Sarah. I am a matchmaker. I am an employee. I am supposed to be in the shadow doing my work."

"Tonight, you are the Duke’s cousin," Sarah corrected. She picked up a pair of long white gloves. "And the Duke’s cousin does not hide in the shadows. She shines."

Delaney took the gloves. She pulled them on slowly, covering her hands.

"He is going to hate it," Delaney murmured. "He hates fuss. He hates bright colors. He will look at me and see a peacock."

"He is a man," Sarah said wisely. "He will look at you and see a woman. Now, turn around. We need to put on the shoes."

Delaney turned. Her stomach gave a nervous flip, which was uncomfortable against the corset.

"I can’t do this," she thought. "I should feign illness. I should tell him I am exhausted." 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

But then she looked at the mantelpiece. The three tins were there. Debt. Justice. Freedom.

She needed to go to this ball. She needed to find Lady Celine. She needed to earn her sixty thousand pounds.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and let Sarah buckle the silk slippers.

"Courage, Delaney," she told herself. "It is just a costume. It is just for one night."

Down the hall, in the Master Suite, things were much calmer.

Rowan Hamilton stood in the center of his dressing room. He was the picture of perfection. His white shirt was crisp. His black breeches were tailored to within an inch of their life.

His valet, Henderson, was smoothing the shoulders of his black evening coat.

Rowan stood still, staring at the wall. He was bored already.

"Do you know what Miss Kingsley is doing?" Rowan couldn’t help but ask.

He hadn’t seen her all day. Yesterday, Simmons had said she was "unavailable" and on "urgent business" with his aunt and throughout today she was also absent. The house had felt strangely quiet without her scratching quill and her sharp comments about his posture.

Henderson paused in his brushing. "She is getting dressed, Your Grace."

Rowan sighed. "Of course."

He thought inwardly, She is probably wearing those plain boring dresses. The gray wool. Or maybe, for a special occasion, she has found a dress in ’slightly darker gray.’

He imagined her coming down the stairs. She would have her hair in that tight bun that looked like it hurt. She would be clutching her notebook like a shield. She would look like a governess being dragged to a party she disapproved of.

"I hope the evening ends soon," Rowan muttered. "If I have to dance with debutantes while she stands in the corner writing notes about my footwork, I will go mad."

"Your Grace?" Henderson asked.

"Nothing," Rowan said. "Just... thinking about the joy of the season."

Henderson finished with the coat. He stepped back and bowed.

"You are ready, Your Grace."

Rowan turned to the full-length mirror.

He looked good. He knew he looked good. He was the Golden Duke. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome. The black coat fit him perfectly. The white cravat was tied in a complex knot known as the "Waterfall."

He looked at his reflection and felt nothing. It was just a uniform. The "Shiny Duke" costume.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his gold pocket watch.

Click.

Eight o’clock.