Lady Ines Scandalous Hobby-Chapter 160 - Hundred And Sixty

In the span of three days, the Halmiton mansion had transformed into a buzzing arena.

The enemy was the calendar. The objective was the wedding of the year.

The main hallway was filled with people Ines did not know. There were florists carrying massive bundles of white lilies that smelled so strong they made Ines sneeze. There were caterers arguing about the difference between a puff pastry and a tartlet. There were men measuring the doorframes to ensure the extra-wide tables for the reception could fit through.

Ines sat in the corner of the drawing room, pressing her fingertips to her temples. She was exhausted. Her bones felt heavy, and her head was spinning with questions she didn’t know the answers to.

Blue napkins or white?

Chicken or fish?

Violins or a harp?

She just wanted to marry Carcel. She didn’t care if they ate bread and cheese in a barn, as long as she was his wife. But society demanded a spectacle, and the Hamilton family was determined to give them one.

Across the room, sitting at a desk that was buried under a mountain of paper, was Rowan.

Her brother looked like a man who was losing a battle. His hair, usually combed back, was sticking up in three different directions. His cravat was undone, hanging loose around his neck. He held a quill in one hand and a heavy ledger in the other.

"Ines," Rowan groaned. He didn’t look up. "Why do we need four hundred candles? Is the sun not planning to rise that day?"

Ines sighed. She let her head fall back against the velvet cushion of her chair.

"It is for the evening reception, Rowan," she explained patiently. "Once the sun goes down, people prefer not to sit in the dark."

Rowan scribbled something aggressively in the ledger. He picked up a gold coin, examined it with a frown, and placed it in a stack.

"Four hundred," he muttered. "I could buy a very nice horse for the price of this wax. And the wine! Ines, have you seen the wine list? Uncle Silas has ordered enough claret to drown the French navy."

"Uncle Silas says it is tradition," Ines said. "He says a dry wedding is a bad omen."

"A broke brother is a bad omen too," Rowan grumbled. He rubbed his face with his hands. "And the lobster patties. Do we really need lobster? What is wrong with a good, honest pie?"

Ines smiled weakly. She watched him counting the coins. Clink. Clink. Clink. He was complaining, but she knew he would pay for every single candle and every drop of wine without hesitation. He wanted her to have the best. He just liked to make noise about it.

"You are doing a wonderful job, brother," Ines said softly.

Rowan looked up. His eyes were tired, but they softened when he looked at her.

"I am just a man looking at numbers," he said. "You are the one doing the hard work. You have been standing for fittings for three hours every day."

Just then, the double doors flew open.

Edith marched in. Her arms were full of silk ribbons, a pair of gloves, a bonnet, and a small reticule. She looked bustling and efficient.

"My Lady!" Edith announced, her voice brisk. "We are behind schedule!"

Ines groaned. "Edith, please. Five more minutes. My feet are still throbbing from yesterday."

"We do not have five minutes," Edith said, shaking her head. She walked over to Ines and began to arrange the items. "Madame Lambert sent a message. She has the final lace for the bodice, and if we are late, she might give our slot to Lady Bramwell."

Edith pulled Ines up from the chair. She smoothed out the wrinkles in Ines’s day dress.

"And we still need to decide on the shoes,"

Edith listed, fussing with Ines’s collar. "And the veil length. And we need to review the seating chart for the third time because Cousin Martha refuses to sit next to Lord Berbrooke."

Ines felt a wave of dizziness. "I don’t care where Martha sits. Put her in the garden."

"The garden is for the fireworks, My Lady," Edith said seriously. "Now, put on your gloves. We must go."

Ines sighed and reached for the white gloves. She was about to slide her hand in when the door opened again.

This time, the movement was slower, more dignified.

Mr. Simmons, the butler, stepped into the chaotic room. He moved with a calm grace that seemed to silence the noise around him. In his hand, held perfectly level, was a silver tray.

On the tray sat a single letter.

It was a letter made of thick, expensive cream paper, sealed with dark blue wax. The seal was the crest of a wolf.

The Anderson crest.

Ines dropped her gloves.

"A letter," Ines breathed.

She moved faster than she had all day. She crossed the room in three strides, meeting Simmons halfway.

"From Carleton, My Lady," Simmons said with a small, knowing smile. "It arrived by express rider just this moment."

Ines picked up the letter. Her fingers tingled as she touched the paper. She immediately knew it was from Carcel. She could almost feel his warmth radiating from the page.

"Thank you, Simmons," she whispered.

Rowan looked up from his coins. "Is it from Carcel? tell him to send money for the lobsters!"

Ines ignored him. She ignored Edith, who was tapping her foot and checking the clock.

She walked to the window, away from the prying eyes, and broke the seal.

She unfolded the paper. His handwriting was strong and sharp, just like him.

My Dearest Ines,

I have arrived at Carleton. The journey was long and dusty, and the carriage wheel broke near the village, but I am here.

The house feels too big without you. I walk through the halls, and I keep turning around, expecting to see you in your silver dress. The silence here is heavy, but the preparations are loud.

My aunts and uncles have descended upon the estate like a swarm of locusts. Aunt Rowena has already rearranged the furniture in the drawing room three times. She says the setting was wrong for a happy marriage. Uncle Ben wants to fire a cannon when we arrive. I am trying to talk him out of it, but he is very fond of gunpowder.

They ask about you constantly. They want to know if you like horses, if you play the piano, and if you are prepared to deal with a stubborn husband. I told them you are the only woman in the world who can handle me.

I miss you. Every hour feels like a day. Hurry to me, Ines. The house is ready, but it is not a home until you walk through the door.

Yours forever,

Carcel

Ines read the letter twice. A smile spread across her face, chasing away the exhaustion. She could picture him there, in his grand country estate, arguing with his eccentric uncle about cannons. She could feel his longing in the words.

He missed her.

The stress of the napkins and the wine faded away. The only thing that mattered was that he was waiting for her.

"My Lady?" Edith called out gently. "The Modiste?"

Ines looked up. Her eyes were bright.

"Yes," Ines said. "One moment."

She walked to her room to the small writing desk in the corner. She opened a drawer. inside, tied with a ribbon, was a stack of letters. Every note he had ever sent her.

She placed this new letter on top of the stack.

She quickly pulled out a piece of paper and dipped a quill. She wrote fast, her heart guiding her hand.

My Stubborn Duke,

Let Uncle Ben fire the cannon. We should start our life with a bang.

I am drowning in ribbons and guest lists, but your letter was my lifeline. I miss you more than I can say. I will be there soon. Keep the aunts in line until I arrive.

Your Ines.

She folded the note and sealed it. She walked back to the drawing room and handed it to Simmons.

"Send this immediately," she instructed.

"At once, My Lady," Simmons bowed.

Ines turned back to the room. She felt lighter.

She walked over to where Edith was standing. She picked up her gloves from the floor and pulled them on, smoothing the leather over her fingers. She grabbed her bonnet and tied the ribbon under her chin with a decisive tug. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

"Ready?" Edith asked, surprised by the sudden change in mood.

"Ready," Ines said, beaming. "Let us go to the Modiste. Let us pick the finest lace in London. I want to look perfect when I meet those aunts."

She walked over to Rowan’s desk. She leaned down and kissed her brother on the cheek.

"Buy the lobsters, Rowan," she said happily. "And buy the extra candles. It is going to be a wonderful party."

Rowan blinked, looking at his suddenly cheerful sister. He smiled.

"Alright," Rowan chuckled, picking up his pen. "Lobsters it is. Go on, get your dress. I have a wedding to pay for."

Ines swept out of the room, Edith trailing in her wake.