A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 34 - Thirty Four

"Right on time," Rowan said. "We have thirty minutes to spare. The drive to the Farringtons takes twenty minutes. We will arrive exactly ten minutes after the doors open. Fashionably late, but not rude."

He snapped the watch shut.

"Thank you, Henderson," Rowan said.

He walked out of his room and headed for the grand staircase.

The house was silent. The candles in the chandeliers were lit, casting a warm, golden glow over the marble floors and the portraits of his ancestors.

Rowan walked down the stairs, his boots making a rhythmic clack, clack on the stone.

Mr. Simmons was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, standing by the front door. He held Rowan’s top hat and white gloves.

"Your Grace," Simmons said, bowing low. "The carriage is almost ready. The driver is just adjusting the harness on the new gray mare."

"Thank you, Simmons," Rowan said. He reached the bottom step and stopped.

He looked around the empty foyer. He looked up the stairs.

"Has Miss Kingsley come down yet?" he asked.

"Not yet, Your Grace," Simmons replied.

Rowan frowned. He checked his watch again.

Eight-o-two.

"That’s odd," he said.

Delaney Kingsley was never late when it has to do with her job. She was obsessed time when it comes to him meeting a new woman. She had scolded him once for being one minute late to meet the debutantes. She treated her schedules like religious commandments.

"She is usually waiting for me," Rowan noted. "With her notebook open, tapping her foot."

"Perhaps the preparations are taking longer than expected," Simmons suggested diplomatically.

Rowan sighed. He tapped the watch against his palm.

"Preparations?" he thought to himself. "How long does it take to put on a gray dress and stick two pins in a bun?"

He paced a small circle in the foyer.

"First it was Ines," he grumbled to himself.

He remembered his sister. Before she had married, going to a ball with Ines was a military operation. She would start getting ready at noon. By six o’clock, the entire house would be in chaos. Her maid running with ribbons, curling irons heating in the fire, trying to secure a stray curl that always escapes.

"I had to wait ten to twenty minutes before she comes down every time we are going to a ball," Rowan remembered. "I spent half my youth standing in foyers, staring at clocks."

He looked up the stairs again. The West Wing, where the guest suites were, was quiet.

"Now I have to do the same thing for her," Rowan thought. "The Matchmaker. The woman of efficiency. Apparently, even the most practical woman falls apart when faced with a ball."

He felt a flash of irritation. He wanted to get this over with. He wanted to go to the ball, find Lady Celine, speak some French, give a polite dismissal smile, and come home. The longer they waited, the later the night would go. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

"What can I do?" Rowan sighed aloud. "I cannot drag her out. I will just have to wait."

"Would you like a brandy while you wait, Your Grace?" Simmons offered.

"No," Rowan said. "I want to leave."

He turned his back to the stairs. He walked over to a large vase of lilies on the hall table and poked at a petal.

"Five minutes," Rowan told the flower. "I will give her five minutes. Then I am sending the army up there."

Suddenly, there was a sound from upstairs.

It wasn’t a scream. It wasn’t a crash.

It was the click of a heavy door opening.

Rowan froze. He turned around.

He heard footsteps.

They were not the brisk, marching footsteps he was used to. Delaney usually walked like a soldier—thump, thump, thump.

These footsteps were different. Click... click... click. The sound of light, heeled slippers on wood.

Then, there was the rustle of fabric. It sounded heavy. Expensive.

Rowan looked up toward the top of the grand staircase. The shadows of the upper landing were deep.

"Finally," Rowan muttered. "Come along, Miss Kingsley. We are burning daylight."

A figure stepped out of the shadows and onto the top landing.

Rowan’s mouth opened to make a sarcastic comment. He had a joke ready about her being late. He had a comment ready about her gray dress.

The words died in his throat.

Rowan stopped breathing.

Delaney stood at the top of the stairs.

For a moment, Rowan’s brain refused to process what he was seeing. He was looking for the gray mouse. He was looking for the severe spinster.

Instead, he saw a vision in teal.

She was wearing a dress the color of the deep sea. The silk shimmered in the candlelight, hugging a waist that looked impossibly small and flowing out into a skirt that moved like liquid.

But it wasn’t the dress. It was her.

Her hair was loose. Dark, glossy curls framed a face that he had looked at every day but never really seen. Her neck was long and fair, exposed by the low neckline. Her skin glowed.

She looked soft. She looked elegant. She looked breathtaking.

Delaney took a step forward. She gripped the banister with a white-gloved hand. She looked nervous. Her eyes scanned the foyer below, looking for him.

When her eyes met his, she froze. She bit her lip—a nervous, human gesture that made his heart slam against his ribs.

Rowan felt a physical jolt, like he had been punched in the chest.

The world seemed to slow down. The ticking of the clock faded. Mr. Simmons faded. The lilies faded.

There was only the woman at the top of the stairs.

He stared at her. His eyes swept over the curve of her shoulder, the shine of her hair, the terrified beauty in her eyes.

He didn’t recognize her. And yet, he felt like he knew her.

The image of the gray, bossy matchmaker shattered into a thousand pieces. In its place was something dangerous. Something unexpected.

He was immediately mesmerized.