A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 161 - Hundred And Sixty One
The sun had barely begun to rise over the quiet streets. The sky was painted in soft shades of pale pink and cool gray, bringing a new, hopeful morning to Hamilton House.
Inside the grand manor, the silence was absolute. The servants moved with quiet steps, mindful of the injured master sleeping in the vast bedchamber above.
Delaney was already awake. She had not slept much at all. She wore a simple, soft morning dress of light blue wool, her dark hair pinned back neatly from her face. She walked quietly down the long, carpeted hallway toward Rowan’s room early in the morning.
Sarah walked closely behind her. The maid carried a porcelain bowl filled with warm water and a clean, soft linen towel draped over her arm.
Delaney pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room smelled faintly of the doctor’s sharp medicinal herbs from last night and the dying embers of the fireplace. Rowan lay perfectly still in the center of the large bed. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.
Sarah walked to the bedside table. As Sarah kept the bowl of warm water down, she offered a quick, silent curtsy to Delaney. Then, she turned and left the room, pulling the door softly shut behind her, leaving them entirely alone.
Delaney approached the edge of the mattress. She sat down carefully on the wooden chair that had been pulled close to the bed. She dipped the clean towel into the warm water, wringing it out until it was merely damp.
With incredibly slow movements, Delaney was cleaning him up. She gently wiped away the lingering traces of road dust and dried blood from his strong jawline. She washed his neck, and then moved to his large hands, cleaning the dirt from his knuckles. He did not stir. He remained deep in his healing sleep.
After cleaning him, she dropped the damp towel back into the porcelain bowl. She leaned forward. She raised her small hand and gently caressed his face. Her fingertips traced the sharp line of his cheekbone, feeling the slight prickle of his morning stubble. Her hand moved upward, and her fingers softly brushed the edge of the thick white bandage wrapped securely around his hair.
She remembered the terrible sound of the carriage breaking. She remembered how he had thrown his entire body over hers, taking the brutal force of the crash just to keep her safe.
Delaney smiled. It was a beautiful, tender smile filled with absolute devotion.
She shifted her gaze down to his large hand resting on the white sheets. She picked it up carefully, holding his palm between both of her small hands. She leaned her head down and gently kissed his knuckles.
"I never got to thank you for saving me, again," Delaney whispered softly into the quiet room. Her voice trembled slightly with the weight of her emotions. She squeezed his hand. "Thank you very much, Rowan."
He had saved her twice. Once from the hands of Lord Hawksley three years ago, and again yesterday in the muddy wreckage of the carriage.
At that exact moment, the door opened just a fraction more.
Ines stopped at the door. She had come to check on her brother’s condition before she went down for breakfast. She peeked inside and saw the quiet, intimate scene. She saw Delaney holding his hand to her lips. She saw the pure, undeniable love radiating from the young woman’s face.
Ines felt a warm lump form in her throat. She smiled softly. She did not want to ruin the peace of the room. She moved back slowly, letting the door close a little, careful not to interrupt them.
Ines turned away from the master suite and walked toward the grand staircase.
She went downstairs, holding the heavy silk skirts of her dark green morning gown. As she reached the middle of the stairs, she heard voices echoing from the grand foyer below.
She looked down to see Aunt Margery standing stiffly near the front doors. Aunt Margery was talking to someone.
Ines paused, her hands resting on the wooden banister. She narrowed her hazel eyes to see who would dare to visit at such an ungodly hour, especially after the letters of cancellation had been sent out in the middle of the night.
It was Lord Hawksley.
He was wearing a dark, tailored coat and holding a silver-tipped walking stick. Hawksley had arrived at the Hamilton house in the morning, acting entirely too eager and entirely too concerned.
Ines frowned deeply. A cold spark of anger flared in her chest.
"What is he doing here?" Ines whispered to herself.
She quickly descended the remaining stairs, her chin held high, adopting the cold, commanding persona of a Duchess defending her family’s home.
"Lord Hawksley," Ines called out as she stepped into the foyer. "What an unexpected visit."
Hawksley turned toward her and bowed deeply. "Your Grace. I apologize for the early hour. Lord Farrington and my sister were terribly distressed to receive your note in the middle of the night. I came immediately to offer my deepest commiserations on behalf of the family. We pray the Duke’s accident was not severe."
Aunt Margery stood completely rigid. Her jaw was locked tight. She knew this man was part of the plot that had trapped her nephew, and she had no desire to play polite games with him.
Before anyone could answer, the heavy brass knocker on the front door sounded loudly.
Mr. Simmons hurried to open it. After a while, the doctor came in. The older man carried his worn leather medical bag, bringing a rush of cold morning air into the hall with him.
"Good morning, Your Grace," the doctor greeted them with a polite nod. He did not linger to chat. He knew his patient was in a critical state. He walked past them and went straight to the stairs, heading directly to Rowan’s room.
Aunt Margery watched the doctor disappear up the steps. She turned back to their unwelcome guest, forcing a tight, completely fake smile onto her wrinkled face.
"As you can see, Lord Hawksley, we are quite busy with medical matters this morning," Aunt Margery said smoothly. She gestured with her hand toward the adjoining room. "But please, step this way. I shall host you."
