A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 46 - Forty Six

It was an invitation without being an invitation. It was the "Promenade." The next stage of the marriage agenda.

"We shall look out for it, Your Grace," Lady Farrington beamed. "We shall certainly be walking near the water at two."

"Splendid," Rowan said.

He stood up immediately.

It was abrupt, but calculated. The reference books—and Delaney—had taught him well. Leave before the conversation runs dry. Leave them wanting more.

"Then I shall not detain you further," Rowan said. He bowed to the mother first. "Lady Farrington."

Lady Farrington stood and curtsied deep. "Your Grace. It was an honor."

Rowan turned to Celine. He took her hand again. He didn’t kiss it this time. He just held it for a second longer than necessary.

"Lady Celine," he said. "Until two."

"Until two," Celine whispered, looking breathless.

Rowan turned to the corner.

"Cousin?" he said.

Delaney stood up. She smoothed her blue dress. She tucked the notebook into her small bag.

"Ready, Your Grace," she said.

She curtsied to the Farrington ladies. "My Lady. Lady Celine."

"Miss Kingsley," Lady Farrington nodded, her eyes cool.

Rowan offered his arm to Delaney. She didn’t take it. She pretended to be adjusting her gloves, walking past him toward the door. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

Rowan’s jaw tightened. He dropped his arm and followed her.

The footman opened the double doors. They walked out into the hallway, the heavy wood closing behind them with a definitive thud.

Inside the drawing room, the silence stretched for exactly three seconds.

Then, Lady Farrington exhaled sharply. She turned to her daughter. The warmth vanished from her face, replaced by the steel of a general.

"Well done," Lady Farrington said. "He is interested. Very interested."

"He asked us to the park!" Celine squealed. She hugged herself. "He wants to see me again in three hours! Oh, Mama, he is so handsome. Did you see his eyes?"

"I saw his eyes," Lady Farrington muttered. "And I saw where they were looking."

"At me!" Celine said happily.

"Mostly," Lady Farrington corrected. "But never mind. The bait is taken. Now we must reel him in."

She walked over to the bell pull and yanked it.

"Wear the blue muslin," Lady Farrington ordered. "The one with the darker sash. It will match his carriage. And bring the parasol. We want to look delicate, not sunburned."

"Yes, Mama!"

Lady Farrington looked at the empty wing chair where the cousin had sat.

"And be wary of that Miss Kingsley," Lady Farrington warned. "She writes too much. And she smiles too little."

Outside, the Duke’s carriage was waiting.

Rowan walked down the steps of Farrington House, his boots crunching on the stone. Delaney walked beside him, maintaining a respectful distance of two feet.

The footman opened the carriage door. Delaney climbed in without waiting for assistance. Rowan followed, settling onto the opposite bench.

The door closed. The carriage lurched forward.

Immediately, the professional mask fell into place. Delaney opened her bag and took out the notebook again.

"That went well," Delaney said. Her voice was flat. "Objective achieved. You charmed the mother. You flattered the daughter. You set up the Promenade meeting for two o’clock. You actually followed the instructions I gave you. That’s good."

She made a checkmark on the page.

Rowan watched her. He felt a surge of frustration bubbling up in his chest. He hated this. He hated the coldness. He hated that she was acting like a merchant discussing the price of wheat.

"Is that all?" Rowan asked. "Just... objective achieved?"

Delaney didn’t look up. "That is what matters. You performed perfectly, Your Grace. You followed the script."

"I felt like a puppet," Rowan snapped. " reciting lines. ’The rooms were stifling.’ ’The music was spirited.’ It was hollow."

"It worked," Delaney countered. "Lady Celine was giggling. Lady Farrington was beaming. You are winning."

"And what about you?" Rowan asked.

Delaney froze. Her pen stopped moving.

"What about me?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the paper.

"You were sitting there judging me," Rowan said. "Taking notes. And when I looked at you... when I tried to catch your eye..."

"I was working," Delaney interrupted. She looked up then. Her eyes were hard, devoid of the warmth he had seen last night on the balcony. "I am your employee, Your Grace. I am not your friend. I am not your confidante. I am here to document the process and ensure you do not make mistakes."

"So checking on you is a mistake?" Rowan asked. His voice was low.

"Yes," Delaney said firmly. "Lady Farrington noticed. She is a shark. If she suspects that your attention is divided, even for a second, she will smell blood. You cannot look at me like that."

"Like what?" Rowan challenged.

"Like..." Delaney faltered. She looked away. "Like you would rather be talking to me."

The carriage went silent. The truth hung in the air.

Rowan looked at her. He saw the tension in her shoulders. He saw the way she was gripping the pen so hard her knuckles were white.

"What if that is what I want?" Rowan said softly.

Delaney closed her eyes for a brief second. She took a breath. She opened them again. They were cold.

"That is unfortunate," she said. "Because Lady Celine is the one with the title. She is the one with the dowry. And she is the one who will be your Duchess."

She tapped the notebook with her finger.

"We have less than three hours before the drive in the park," Delaney said, shifting back to business mode. "We need to go home. You need to change your coat. A high-perch phaeton requires a driving coat. Something rugged but elegant. Brown, perhaps."

Rowan stared at her. She was walling him out. She was building a fortress of professionalism and hiding behind it.

He leaned back against the seat. He felt defeated. He had the perfect girl waiting for him, and all he wanted to do was break down the walls of the woman sitting across from him.

"Fine," Rowan said. "Brown. Rugged. Elegant."

He turned to the window.

"Whatever you say, Miss Kingsley."

Delaney looked at him one last time, she felt pity for him, before she looked back down at her list.

Next Step: The Promenade.

Objective: Public display of Interest.

Status: Pending.

She wrote the words as the carriage rocked gently.