Lady Ines Scandalous Hobby-Chapter 161 - Hundred And Sixty One

A Month Later...

The sun rose over the Hamilton mansion, painting the sky in soft shades of pink and gold. It was a perfect morning. The birds were singing, the dew was sparkling on the grass, and the air smelled of fresh summer flowers.

But inside the room of the mansion, there was no peace. There was only a whirlwind of silk, lace, and nervous energy.

Ines sat on a velvet stool in front of a tall, gilded mirror. She was surrounded.

Three maids were fluttering around her like busy hummingbirds. One was holding a tray of hairpins. Another was holding a tray of white jasmine bud. The third was smoothing the skirts of her dressing gown, as if even her undergarments needed to be perfect.

"Hold still, My Lady," the hairdresser muttered, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. "If you move, this curl will be crooked, and the whole balance will be ruined."

Ines froze. She held her breath. She stared at her reflection.

Her reddish brown hair was being pulled, twisted, and pinned into a masterpiece. It was piled high on her head, but soft tendrils were left loose to frame her face. Small white flowers—real jasmine buds—were being woven into the her strands. They smelled sweet and heady.

"It is tight," Ines whispered, barely moving her lips.

"Beauty is pain, My Lady," the maid with the pins said cheerfully. She shoved another sharp metal pin into the mass of curls.

Ines winced, but she didn’t complain. Today was not a day for complaints. It was the day she had fought for. It was the day she had written about in her secret heart a thousand times.

Finally, the hairdresser stepped back. She clapped her hands.

"Perfect," she declared.

Ines turned her head slightly. The jasmine flowers caught the light. She looked elegant. She looked like a bride.

"Now," a familiar voice said from the doorway. "Everyone out. Only the dress remains."

Ines looked up. It was Edith.

But it was not the Edith she was used to seeing.

Edith was not wearing her gray maid’s uniform. She was not wearing a white apron. She was wearing a gown of pale blue silk. It was simple, but it was elegant. The fabric was of fine quality, and it fit her perfectly. Her hair was styled up, not covered by a cap. She wore a small pearl necklace.

She looked like a lady. She looked beautiful.

The other maids curtsied to Edith—a sign of her new status as the bride’s companion—and hurried out of the room.

The room went quiet.

Edith walked to the large wooden stand in the corner. Hanging there, glowing in the morning light, was the dress.

The cream silk wedding dress. Her mother’s dress.

It had been altered. The lace had been mended. The waist had been taken in. But the soul of the dress remained.

"Are you ready?" Edith asked softly.

Ines stood up. She untied her dressing gown and let it fall to the floor. She stood in her white silk chemise and petticoats.

"I am ready," Ines said.

Edith lifted the dress carefully. She treated it like it was made of glass. She brought it over to Ines. Ines stepped into the pool of silk. Edith pulled it up, the fabric sliding cool and smooth against Ines’s skin.

"Arms up," Edith instructed.

Ines raised her arms. The delicate lace sleeves were pulled on. They fit like a second skin.

Then began the buttons.

There were dozens of tiny, pearl buttons running down the back. Edith began to fasten them, her fingers nimble and quick.

Ines felt the dress tightening around her waist, holding her, supporting her. It felt like a hug from the past.

"Breathe," Edith reminded her.

Ines took a deep breath. The dress held.

Edith fastened the last button at the neck. She stepped back. She walked around Ines, fluffing the skirt, arranging the train so it flowed like a river of cream behind her.

"Look," Edith whispered.

Ines turned to the mirror.

She gasped.

The woman in the reflection was a stranger. She was tall and regal. The cream silk shone with a soft luster. The lace bodice highlighted her figure without being immodest. The jasmine in her hair looked like a crown.

She looked like her mother.

"Oh," Ines breathed. Her hand flew to her chest. "It fits."

"It was made for you," Edith said. Her voice was thick with emotion.

Edith walked to the dressing table. She picked up a velvet box. It was the purple box Carcel had given Ines before he left London.

"The finishing touch," Edith said.

She opened the box. The large amethyst teardrop sparkled violently in the sun. It was beautiful.

Ines turned around. Edith stepped behind her and clasped the silver chain around Ines’s neck. The cold stone settled against her skin, right in the hollow of her throat.

It was perfect. The purple of the stone contrasted beautifully with the cream of the dress. It was a symbol of Carcel resting against her heart.

"And finally," Edith said.

She picked up the veil. It was sheer tulle, edged with the same lace as the dress.

Edith stood on a small stool to reach the top of Ines’s high hairstyle. She pinned the veil into place. She draped the sheer fabric over Ines’s face.

The world softened. Through the veil, everything looked dreamy and hazy.

Ines stood by the mirror. She looked at herself. The veil, the dress, the necklace. She was no longer just Ines. She was the bride. Carcel’s bride.

Edith stepped down from the stool. She looked at Ines.

Edith’s eyes filled with tears. One single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. She reached out and brushed a piece of lint from Ines’s shoulder that wasn’t even there.

"You look beautiful, my lady," Edith said. Her voice broke. "You look... breathtaking."

Ines lifted her veil. She smiled at her.

She reached out and wiped the tear from Edith’s cheek with her gloved thumb.

"You look good yourself," Ines said softly.

She looked at Edith’s blue dress. She looked at how pretty Edith looked when she wasn’t hiding behind a uniform.

"Thank you for joining me," Ines completed. "Not as my maid. But as my family."

Edith sniffled. She straightened her shoulders, trying to regain her composure. She smoothed her blue silk skirt.

"I wouldn’t be anywhere else," Edith said.

She walked to the window and looked out.

"His Grace should be at the chapel by now," Edith spoke, checking the position of the sun. "The guests should be seated by now."

She turned back to Ines.

"I am sure you miss him," Edith added gently.

Ines sighed. She touched the amethyst necklace.

"I haven’t seen him for so long," Ines replied. "A whole month, Edith. Tradition says we must be apart to prepare, but it feels like a year."

She walked to the window and stood beside Edith.

"It’s only his letters that keep me sane when I remember he’s not here," Ines admitted. "He writes to me every day. He tells me about the garden. He tells me about the dogs. But ink is not the same as holding his hand."

She looked out at the rolling green hills of the estate. Somewhere, just over that hill, was the chapel. Somewhere, Carcel was standing at the altar, waiting for her.

Just then, a sound drifted up from the driveway.

The sound of horses stamping their hooves. The sound of wheels crunching on gravel.

Edith looked down.

"Your carriage is here," Edith spoke. Her voice was filled with excitement and finality. "We must not keep them waiting. The Duke has waited long enough."

Ines felt a surge of nerves in her stomach, but it was a good kind of nervous. It was the feeling of standing on the edge of a cliff and being ready to fly.

She turned away from the window. She looked at the room one last time. She was leaving behind Ines the spinster, the icy lady.

She nodded to Edith. She picked up her bouquet of white roses and purple lilacs.

"Let’s go," Ines said.

She walked to the door, her long train rustling behind her.