Lady Ines Scandalous Hobby-Chapter 131 - Hundred And Thirty One

Edith stared at Ines’s back. She wanted to rush forward and hug her mistress. She wanted to tell her it would be alright. But she couldn’t. She didn’t have the right words. The secret Ines had guarded for so long was out. The dam had broken.

Ines turned back to the window, looking out at the sprawling city of London.

"I think she knew long ago but my engagement to Carcel made her act. She gave me a choice," Ines continued. Her voice trembled with rage now. "She dare threaten me. She leaned into my ear and told me I have two options."

Ines held up two fingers, mocking the gesture Priscilla had made.

"Retire Arthur Pendleton," Ines listed. "Burn my books. Destroy my work. Never write another word."

Edith gasped. "She cannot ask that! Writing is your heart!"

"Or," Ines said, ignoring Edith’s outburst, "Leave Carcel. Cancel the wedding. Break his heart and mine."

Ines threw the letter from Rowan onto the table. It landed next to the wet tray. The happy, oblivious words of her brother lay there, a stark contrast to the darkness in the room.

"She even dares to threaten to spread rumors," Ines hissed. "She said if I don’t choose, she will go to the Queen. She will ruin me. She will ruin the Hamilton name."

Ines sighed. It was a long, ragged sound. She dropped her shoulders, the velvet dress suddenly looking too big for her.

"She thinks she has won, Edith," Ines whispered.

Edith took a step forward. "What will you do, My Lady? Will you... will you tell the Duke? Would you send him a letter telling him what happened today?"

Ines nodded as she looked down at Rowan’s letter. She traced the seal with her finger.

"I will but I’m sure the Duke already knows it’s her," Ines said. "Maybe that’s why he told me we would play a game. Well, Priscilla has just made her move."

Ines looked up. The fear in her eyes was gone. It was replaced by a cold, steely determination. It was the look of a woman who had been pushed too far.

"I am not going to choose, Edith," Ines declared. "I am going to fight."

She walked over to her writing desk. She unlocked the drawer and pulled out a fresh stack of paper. She pulled out the inkwell. She pulled out her sharpest quill.

"I will retire early for the day," Ines announced, her voice steady and commanding. "If anyone asks— if callers come—tell them I have a headache. Tell them I am asleep."

"Yes, My Lady," Edith said, nodding quickly.

"I have things to do tonight," Ines said. She dipped the quill into the ink.

She looked at the blank page. Carcel had told her to write a decoy. He had told her to write a lie.

Ines smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was a smile that promised retribution.

"Priscilla wants a story?" Ines murmured to herself. "I am going to give her one she won’t forget."

She looked at Edith, who was still standing by the door, looking worried.

"Go, Edith," Ines said gently. "Rest. You look tired. I do not need anything else tonight."

Edith hesitated. "Are you sure, My Lady? You shouldn’t be alone right now."

"It’s okay, Edith," Ines said, tapping the paper. "I will be fine."

Edith nodded. She understood. She curtsied low.

"Goodnight, My Lady. Give her hell."

Edith turned and slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

~ ••••• ~

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed two o’clock in the morning. The house was silent, wrapped in the deep, heavy slumber of the night. But in Ines’s bedroom, the candles were still burning.

Ines sat at her desk. She had changed out of her heavy blue velvet dress and into a simple white nightgown, her hair was loose, falling over her shoulders in wild waves, and her fingers were stained with black ink.

She was writing.

She was writing Priscilla’s destruction. Carcel had replied her letter with a small parcel.

Write a diary instead. Open the parcel and you will see a sample of her handwriting, use it.

She picked up her quill and dipped it deep into the inkwell. The scratching sound it made against the paper was loud in the quiet room.

April 12th, she wrote.

She paused, looking at the flame of the candle. She needed to channel "Arthur Pendleton," her secret identity. But Arthur usually wrote about love. Tonight, Arthur had to write about madness.

Ines lowered the pen. She imagined she was Priscilla. She imagined the way Priscilla looked at Carcel—with hunger, with possession, with jealousy.

She began to write again.

I saw her watching him again today. That woman. That... Ines. She does not deserve him. She does not know how he likes his tea (strong, no sugar). She does not know that he hates the color yellow. Yet she wears it. She mocks him with her ignorance.

Ines smiled a cold, humorless smile. It was a lie, of course. Ines knew exactly how Carcel liked his tea. But in this fake diary, she was painting a picture of a "stalker" who believed she knew the Duke best.

She turned the page. She needed to be specific. She needed to use the very things Priscilla had used to terrorize her.

April 14th, Ines wrote. I wore my lavender perfume today. I drenched myself in it. I wanted him to smell me before he saw me. I stood behind a pillar at the tea party and watched him speak to her. He looked miserable. I know he wants me. He is just too honorable to break the engagement. I must help him. I must remove the obstacle. I will frame Ines as Arthur Pendleton. What man would want a woman who is so Lewd?

Ines shuddered slightly as she read the lines. It sounded like madness. It sounded like something a deranged woman would say.

"Perfect," she whispered to the empty room.

She wrote for another hour. She invented scenes that never happened. She described Priscilla following Carcel’s carriage. She described Priscilla stealing a handkerchief from Carcel’s coat. She described, in vivid detail, how Priscilla believed she was the rightful Duchess of Carleton .

By the time she finished, she had twenty pages. It looked like a diary. It felt like a diary. It was the diary of a woman who had lost her mind over the Duke.

Ines set the quill down. Her hand was cramping. She rubbed her temples.

A soft tap on her balcony window made her jump.

Ines spun around, her heart leaping into her throat. She grabbed the heavy brass candlestick from her desk, ready to swing it.

The shadow outside moved. A familiar face pressed against the glass.

Carcel.