Lady Ines Scandalous Hobby-Chapter 153 - Hundred And Fifty Three

The accusation hung in the air.

But the crowd did not gasp this time. They looked confused. They began to murmur.

Why would Ines Hamilton write a diary about stalking her own fiancé? Why would Ines Hamilton write about hating herself?

It didn’t make sense.

To the crowd, it looked like a desperate woman trying to blame her rival for her own madness.

The murmur broke like a wildfire, spreading through the room. It started as a low buzz near the front, where the Queen sat, and rushed all the way to the back where the servants stood.

Fans snapped open and shut. People whispered behind their hands. The accusation hung in the air, heavy and poisonous.

Lady Ines Hamilton is Arthur Pendleton.

Her majesty turned her head slowly. Her heavy wig did not wobble. She looked at Ines with eyes that were sharp and assessing.

"Lady Hamilton?" the Queen asked. Her voice was not loud, but it cut through the noise instantly. She looked at Ines in disbelief. She was waiting for a reaction. A faint? A confession? A scream?

Ines stood perfectly still. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a bird trapped in a cage. But she forced her hands to unclench. She forced her shoulders to drop. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of fear and perfume that filled the ballroom.

She reached up with shaking hands. Slowly, deliberately, she untied the ribbon of her silver mask. She pulled it away from her face, revealing her eyes. They were wide. They were shimmering with moisture. She looked innocent. She looked terrified. She looked exactly like a victim.

Ines spoke, her voice filled with shock.

"Whatever do you mean, Lady Priscilla?"

The question rang out clearly. Ines took a step forward, her silver dress rustling like a whisper. She looked at Priscilla, not with anger, but with deep confusion.

"Are you saying I write filth when the filth is in your hand?" Ines asked, pointing a trembling finger at the black book lying on the floor. "And I’m sure it is in your handwriting."

The crowd gasped again. Heads turned to look at the book. It was a brilliant move. Everyone knew Priscilla’s handwriting was distinctive—elegant, loopy, and unmistakable. And thanks to Carcel’s forgery skills, the diary matched it perfectly.

Ines took another step. She looked at the crowd, appealing to them.

"What did I do to deserve your hatred?" Ines asked, her voice cracking slightly.

She turned back to Priscilla. She looked at the woman in the violet dress, who was now standing frozen, her mouth slightly open.

"I know the ton found you and Duke Anderson quite the match," Ines said softly. She let a tear slip down her cheek. "I know there were rumors. I know people thought you would be the next Duchess."

She paused, letting the words sink in. She was painting a picture. A picture of a jealous woman who couldn’t let go.

"It wasn’t my fault he decided to wed me," Ines continued. Her voice gained a little strength, though it still wobbled. "I did not force him. He chose me. I didn’t know you would stoop this low to ruin my reputation so that my wedding to the Duke would be cancelled."

Ines stopped. She covered her mouth with her hand, as if she were trying to hold back a sob.

The room was silent. The sympathy in the air shifted. A moment ago, they were confused. Now, they were looking at Priscilla with suspicion. A jealous woman? A rejected lover trying to frame the new fiancée? It was a story the ton loved even more than a scandal. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

"She is jealous," a lady whispered near the front.

"It makes sense," another replied. "Did you hear what she read? About stealing the Duke’s personal belongings? Only a jealous woman would write that."

Ines heard the whispers. She knew she was winning.

She began to cry.

It wasn’t a loud, ugly cry. It was a soft, elegant weeping. She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a delicate lace handkerchief. She dabbed her face, catching the tears before they could ruin her powder.

"I’m sure you brought your diary here in a hurry," Ines said through her tears, sniffing delicately. "You were so eager to hurt me. You didn’t check if it was the fabricated manuscript you wanted to use against me."

She shook her head sadly. "You brought your own dark thoughts instead."

Priscilla took a step back. She looked down at the black book on the floor. She looked at the Queen, whose face was hardening into a scowl. She looked at the crowd, who were now glaring at her.

"No," Priscilla whispered. "No, that is not true. It is a trick! Don’t listen to her!"

Ines lowered the handkerchief for just a second. She looked directly at Priscilla. The crowd couldn’t see her face clearly, as she was turned away from them. Only Priscilla had a clear view.

Ines stopped crying.

Her eyes dried instantly. The corners of her mouth twitched upward. She gave Priscilla a triumphant smile only she could see.

It was a cold smile. A smile that said, I’ve won. It was a smile that said, You played the game, but I wrote the rules.

Priscilla’s eyes widened in horror. She saw the change. she saw the mask slip. She realized, in that terrified second, that she had walked straight into a trap set by a master storyteller.

Then, Ines’s smile faltered a bit.

Movement caught her eye.

At the edge of the crowd, a large figure was pushing through the guests. He was shoving lords and ladies aside with little regard for etiquette.

It was Rowan.

He had returned from the card room. He had heard the commotion. He had heard someone shouting his sister’s name.

Rowan looked furious. His face was red. His fists were clenched at his sides. He looked like a bull ready to charge. He saw Ines crying. He saw Priscilla standing there with a book. He didn’t know the details, but he knew one thing: someone had made his little sister cry.

"Ines!" Rowan bellowed.

He started to march toward the center of the floor. He was going to confront Priscilla. He was going to yell. He was going to defend Ines’s honor with shouting and perhaps a challenge to a duel.

Ines felt a spike of panic.

If Rowan started shouting, he might ruin everything. He might demand to read the book. He might notice that the handwriting wasn’t Priscilla’s (though it was a good forgery, Rowan knew Ines well). Or he might simply cause such a scene that the Queen would dismiss them all in anger.

Rowan was coming to her rescue, but he was a blunt instrument in a delicate situation.

Ines acted fast.

She looked at him. She simply locked eyes with him. She gave him a signal with her eyes.

She widened them slightly, then blinked slowly. It was a look she used to give him when they were children, when they were hiding from their nursemaid. It meant: I am fine. Stay put. Trust me.

She combined it with a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head.

Rowan stopped.

He was ten feet away. He froze in his tracks, breathing hard. He looked at Ines. He saw the handkerchief in her hand, but he also saw the steel in her spine. He saw that she wasn’t cowering. She was standing tall.

He looked at Priscilla, who was trembling. He looked at the Queen, who was watching Priscilla with judgment.

Rowan took the hint.

He saw that Ines was in control. She didn’t need a brother to punch someone.

Rowan relaxed his fists. He took a deep breath, smoothing his coat. He stepped back into the line of the crowd, crossing his arms over his chest. He nodded once to Ines. Go on then.

Ines let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

She turned back to the Queen. She dabbed her eyes one last time, playing the part of the composed, heartbroken lady.

The Queen had seen enough. She had seen the weeping victim. She had seen the hysterical accuser. She had seen the "diary" filled with obsession.

The Queen stood up.

She walked towards Priscilla and kicked the black book with the toe of her shoe. It skidded across the floor, stopping at Priscilla’s feet.

"This is distasteful," the Queen stated. Her voice was final. "To bring private obsessions into my court... to accuse a future Duchess of such things..."

The Queen looked to Priscilla. Her eyes were cold and hard as diamonds.

"Lady Alworth," the Queen asked, her voice dripping with royal disdain. "Do you care to explain yourself?"