A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 56 - Fifty Six

The brass door handle turned. The heavy oak door swung open on well-oiled hinges, and a flurry of activity ensued.

A team of maids bustled into the room. They moved with synchronized efficiency. Two of them went straight to the windows, throwing open the curtains completely, banishing the last of the shadows. The room was flooded with bright, unforgiving light that revealed every dust mote dancing in the air.

Carcel groaned and pulled a pillow over his face to block out the sun.

"Cruel," he muttered from beneath the feathers. "This is cruel and unusual punishment. I shall write to Parliament."

"Up, Carcel," Ines commanded, sliding out of bed. Her bare feet hit the plush carpet. She stood tall in her white lawn nightgown, the fabric billowing slightly around her. "Rowan needs us. We are going to London. And I will not have us arriving late."

She turned to her maids, her mind already organizing the logistics of the journey.

"The navy traveling habit," Ines ordered. "It is practical for the road but respectable enough for arrival at Hamilton House. And the comfortable boots. I do not wish to arrive with aching feet."

"Yes, Your Grace," the maids chorused, bobbing curtsies before scattering to the wardrobe and the dressing table.

While the maids swarmed around Ines, helping her out of her nightgown and into her chemise and stays, Carcel finally sat up. He ran a hand through his messy dark hair, yawning widely. He watched his wife. Even in the chaos of packing and dressing, amidst the lace and the ribbons, she was beautiful. He admired her energy, even if he didn’t share it at this ungodly hour.

"I am up," Carcel promised, swinging his legs out of bed. He stood up, stretching his arms over his head, his nightshirt riding up. "I am up."

It took thirty minutes for Ines to be fully dressed. The navy habit was elegant but sturdy, trimmed with black velvet ribbon that accentuated her waist. Her hair was brushed until it shone, then pinned back securely under a matching navy bonnet. She looked every inch the Duchess of Carleton, ready to descend upon London and organize her brother’s life.

She pulled on her leather gloves, smoothing the material over her fingers.

"I will leave you to get dressed," Ines told Carcel, who was currently splashing cold water on his face at the marble washstand.

"Do not take too long. You know how the horses get if they stand too long. I am going to check on Harry."

Carcel patted his face dry with a towel. He looked at her in the mirror and winked.

"Give the little terror a kiss for me," Carcel said. "And tell him his father is coming to wrestle him shortly."

Ines smiled, a genuine, soft smile that broke through her efficiency. "I will."

She turned and walked out of the bedroom, her skirts swishing rhythmically.

The hallway of Anderson House was wide and sunny. The house was warm. It was filled with the sounds of a living family—the distant clatter of the kitchens, the chirp of birds outside.

Ines walked quickly toward the East Wing. Her footsteps were light on the long runner rug.

She felt a flutter of excitement in her chest mixed with her worry. She was worried about Rowan, yes. He was usually so composed. But she was also excited. She missed him. And she knew that if Rowan was asking for help with a ball, it meant he was finally serious about finding a wife.

"About time," she whispered to herself as she passed a vase of fresh wildflowers. "If I have to endure one more season of him complaining about debutantes, I shall scream."

She reached the nursery door. It was painted a soft cream color, distinct from the dark wood of the rest of the house.

Before she even turned the handle, she could hear sounds from inside.

Thump. Thump. Gurgle. Crash.

It was the sound of a very busy, very mobile thirteen-month-old.

Ines pushed the door open.

The nursery was a haven of sunlight and color. Large windows looked out over the sprawling green gardens of the estate. The floor was covered in a thick, soft rug woven with patterns of animals.

In the center of the room sat the heir to the Anderson fortune.

Baby Harry was awake.

He was thirteen months old now, and he had long passed the stage of being a helpless infant wrapped in swaddling. He was a person. He had a personality. He had opinions. And right now, his opinion was that the tower of wooden blocks in front of him needed to be destroyed.

He was dressed for the journey. He wore a miniature coat of white wool with shiny brass buttons, and soft gray trousers that allowed him to move his legs freely. On his feet were tiny, soft leather boots.

Edith, Ines’s personal maid, was sitting on a low stool nearby. Since Harry’s birth, Edith had transitioned from caring for Ines’s wardrobe to caring for Ines’s son. She was a calm, capable woman who adored the boy. She was currently folding a small, knitted blanket into a leather travel bag.

"He has been up for ten minutes, Your Grace," Edith said, standing up and curtsying as Ines entered. "He ate his porridge like a champion. Though he did try to feed some to the bear."

Ines didn’t look at Edith. Her eyes were fixed on her son. " Thank you so much, Edith." She said.

Immediately he heard her voice, Harry’s head snapped up.

He dropped the wooden block he was holding. It clattered to the floor, rolling away under a chair.

He saw his mother standing in the doorway in her traveling clothes.

Harry’s face transformed. His dark eyes—so like Carcel’s—widened in recognition. His mouth broke into a wide, gummy smile that showed off his four gleaming white teeth.

He let out a squeal of pure delight.

"Ma!" he babbled. "Ma-ma!"

He began kicking his feet in excitement, his heels drumming a rapid, happy rhythm against the rug. He waved his chubby arms in the air, opening and closing his hands in a ’grabby’ motion, demanding to be held. He tried to push himself up on his wobbly legs, his little body vibrating with the sheer joy of seeing her. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

Ines felt her heart swell in her chest until it felt too big for her ribs. The stress of the letter, the rush of the morning, the worry about Rowan—it all evaporated in the face of that smile.

She crossed the room quickly, her skirts swishing around her ankles. She didn’t care about wrinkling her travel habit. She didn’t care about the dust on the rug.

She knelt down in front of him.

Harry lunged forward, grabbing onto her arm with surprising strength for such a small thing. He smelled of milk and baby powder.

Ines laughed softly. She reached out and cupped his soft, warm cheek in her gloved hand, stroking his skin with her thumb.

"Good morning to you too, my love," Ines replied, smiling at her child.