A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 61 - Sixty One

The foyer of Hamilton House was slowly emptying of its chaos, but the tension remained, thick as the London fog outside.

Harry was beginning to rub his eyes. His burst of energy upon seeing his mother in the morning was fading, replaced by the crankiness of a missed nap. He let out a small, protesting whimper and buried his face in Ines’s neck.

"He is tired," Ines said softly, patting his back. "The journey was long."

She turned to Edith, her trusted maid and now the keeper of the nursery.

"Edith," Ines said. "Take him up. Nanny Rose should be waiting. A warm bath and a nap, I think."

"Yes, Your Grace," Edith said. She stepped forward and held out her arms.

Harry went to her willingly, though he kept one sleepy eye on his mother. Edith adjusted the white wool coat around him and headed for the stairs.

Carcel watched them go. He looked at Rowan, then at Ines. He saw the look in his wife’s eyes—the sharp, analytical look she got when she smelled a secret. He knew that look well. It usually meant she was about to interrogate someone.

Carcel smiled. He was a smart man. He knew when to retreat.

"I believe I shall follow the baby" Carcel announced lightly. "I must ensure he does not dismantle the nursery furniture. And I suspect you two have... Hamilton business to discuss."

He bowed to Delaney. "A pleasure, Miss Kingsley."

"Your Grace," Delaney murmured, dropping a curtsy.

Carcel walked up the stairs, whistling a cheerful tune that seemed entirely out of place in the tense hallway.

Now, there were only three.

Rowan stood near the console table, still holding his leather portfolio. Ines stood in the center of the room, removing her gloves. And Delaney stood by the stairs, looking like a queen in her burgundy velvet, but feeling like an impostor in her heavy boots.

The silence stretched. It was awkward. It was heavy.

Delaney shifted her weight. The garnets around her neck felt suddenly scorching hot, as if they were burning her skin. She was wearing his mother’s jewels in front of his sister. It felt presumptuous. It felt wrong.

"I..." Delaney started. Her voice was small in the large space.

She cleared her throat and tried again.

"I should excuse myself," Delaney said, looking at Ines. "I need to freshen up. And I must return these... items."

She touched the necklace.

"His Grace was kind enough to lend them for the business meeting," Delaney explained quickly, perhaps too quickly. "To help with the... image."

Ines looked at her. Her hazel eyes swept over Delaney’s face. She didn’t look angry, but she looked curious. Very curious.

"Of course," Ines said. "Do not rush on my account, Miss Kingsley. Dinner is not for hours."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Delaney said.

She turned to Rowan. She didn’t know what to say. Thank you for the boots? Thank you for the lie about the husband?

"Your Grace," she simply said, bobbing her head.

"Miss Kingsley," Rowan replied. His voice was stiff.

Delaney gathered her heavy velvet skirts in one hand and hurried up the stairs. She didn’t look back. She wanted to get to the safety of her room, strip off the costume, and become the gray mouse again.

Rowan watched her go. He watched until the hem of her burgundy dress disappeared around the curve of the banister. He felt a strange pang in his chest, a desire to follow her and explain... something. He didn’t know what.

"She has a good walk," Ines’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Rowan snapped his head back to his sister.

Ines was watching him. Her arms were crossed over her chest. She was tapping one finger against her arm.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Pardon?" Rowan asked.

"She walks with purpose," Ines clarified. "Most women glide. She marches. I like it."

Rowan sighed. He handed his portfolio to Simmons, who had materialized silently to take it.

"Tea, Simmons," Rowan ordered. "In the drawing room. And close the doors."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Rowan gestured to the drawing room. "Shall we, Ines?"

Ines nodded. "We shall."

The drawing room was warm. A fire crackled in the grate, warding off the chill of the London spring.

Rowan walked to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. He didn’t offer one to Ines. He knew she wanted answers, not sherry.

He turned around to find her sitting on the sofa, her skirts spread out around her. She looked perfectly at home. She looked like she was presiding over a court martial.

"So," Ines began. She didn’t waste time with small talk. "Is Miss Kingsley really your matchmaker?"

Rowan took a sip of his drink. The amber liquid burned his throat, grounding him.

"Yes," Rowan replied. "She is."

Ines raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you use matchmakers? You despise them. You told me last season that they were ’vultures in lace’."

"I was desperate," Rowan admitted. He walked over and sat in the armchair opposite her. "The season was slipping away. I have been... distracted with the estate. Aunt Margery suggested her. She said Miss Kingsley was different."

"Different how?" Ines asked. "Because she wears boots?"

"Because she is practical," Rowan said. "She doesn’t speak in riddles. She makes lists. She organizes candidates based on logic, not emotion. She is... efficient."

Ines looked at him. She saw the way his hand tightened around the glass when he spoke about her.

"She is certainly striking," Ines noted. "And she wears Mother’s garnets as if they were made for her."

Rowan flinched slightly. "It was for the meeting. Sterling is old-fashioned. He needed to see a united front. A family."

"So you made her family," Ines said softly. "For a day."

"Ideally," Rowan said, looking into his glass. "It was a costume, Ines. Nothing more."

Ines hummed. It was a skeptical sound.

"And...?" Ines probed. "Is she good at her job? Has she found you this magical creature? The perfect woman you are always looking for?"

Rowan set his glass down on the table. The sharp clink echoed in the room.

He took a breath. This was the moment. He had to say it. He had to make it real.

"Yes," Rowan spoke. "She has."