A Scandal By Any Other Name

Weeks Later...

The morning sun shone brightly over the quiet, wealthy streets of Mayfair. Inside Hamilton House, the day had started with a peaceful, easy rhythm. The servants moved about their duties without making a sound.

Then, a firm, polite knock came on the front door.

Mr. Simmons stopped his walk across the grand foyer. He quickly checked his dark coat to make sure it was neat and tidy. He walked with a straight back and opened the large door.

Standing on the stone step was an elegant woman. She wore a dark traveling cloak that carried the dust of a very long journey. She looked to be almost the exact same age as Aunt Margery. Her face held a few gentle lines of age, but her eyes were bright, warm, and highly observant. She looked closely at the grand entrance of the house.

The woman spoke, her voice carrying a thick, musical French accent. "Good day, my good sir. Is this the Hamilton house?"

Mr. Simmons did not show any surprise. He bowed respectfully at the waist.

"Yes, it is," Mr. Simmons replied smoothly. "How can I help you, ma’am?"

The woman stood a little taller. She took a deep breath, clearly feeling a mixture of anxiety and deep hope. She introduced herself clearly. "I am Mrs. Renee Dufort."

It had been many weeks since Delaney first sat down with Rowan to write that hopeful letter. The paper had traveled all the way across the sea to France. When Renee received it, she had been entirely shocked and overjoyed to hear from her lost niece. Without wasting a single day, Renee had written a letter back to London, packed her heavy trunks, and made the long, tiring travel from France to England. Now, after all that time, Aunt Renee was finally here.

She looked at Mr. Simmons with hopeful eyes. She spoke again, her voice shaking just a little bit with emotion.

"I am Lady Delaney Kingsley’s aunt," Mrs. Dufort explained. "She is my niece. I received a letter with this exact address, saying she is staying here. Is she inside?"

Mr. Simmons’s polite, professional face broke into a very warm, genuine smile. The entire household loved Delaney, and they all knew she had been waiting eagerly for a reply from her mother’s family.

"Of course, Mrs. Dufort," Mr. Simmons said happily, stepping aside and opening the door wider. "Right this way, please."

He invited her into the warm, grand foyer. He reached out and carefully took her traveling hat and her coat. He signaled for a young footman to come and carry her traveling trunk inside.

"Please follow me," Mr. Simmons instructed gently.

He led her across the polished marble floors and opened the doors to the beautiful, comfortable drawing room. A warm fire was crackling happily in the fireplace.

"I will call for Lady Kingsley immediately," Mr. Simmons promised. "Please, make yourself at home and rest by the fire. Can I fetch you some warm tea after your journey?"

"Just water, thank you," Renee nodded, offering him a grateful smile. She walked over to a plush armchair and sat down, looking around the grand room with wide eyes.

Mr. Simmons bowed once more and left the drawing room, closing the doors quietly. He walked quickly up the grand, sweeping staircase. He moved down the long, carpeted hallway until he reached the Duke’s private bedchamber.

He raised his hand and gave two soft, polite knocks on the wooden door.

"My Lady," Mr. Simmons spoke clearly through the wood, knowing she was inside with the Duke. "You have a visitor by the name of Mrs. Renee Dufort. She is currently in the drawing room awaiting your presence."

Inside the quiet, warm room, Delaney paused. A sudden, massive wave of pure joy hit her chest. Her aunt was truly here.

Delaney spoke from the other side of the door, her voice bright and happy. "I will be down in a few minutes. Thank you, Simmons."

"You are very welcome, My Lady," Simmons bowed to the closed door and left to fetch a glass of water for the guest.

Inside the bedchamber, the atmosphere was quiet, warm, and deeply intimate.

Rowan was sitting on the edge of his large, comfortable bed. Delaney was sitting directly in front of him, resting quietly between his legs.

The morning light streamed through the tall windows, casting a soft glow over them.

Rowan was not resting. He was acting as her personal nurse. He held a small, round silver tin of medicinal healing ointment in one hand. He was carefully, gently tending to the healing wound on the side of her head.

The passing weeks had been very kind to Delaney’s body. The terrible, dark purple bruises on her neck, where Lucas had grabbed her, had completely faded away. The scrapes and bruises on her hands and arms had already healed and gone, leaving behind her smooth, pale skin. Only the deep cut on her head remained, but it was closing nicely under Rowan’s daily, devoted care.

Rowan refused to let the maids or the doctor change her bandages. He wanted to do it himself. It was his quiet way of making sure she was safe and cared for.

Rowan dipped two fingers into the silver tin, taking a small amount of the cool, soothing ointment. He applied it to the healing cut with a touch as light as a feather. He was incredibly focused. His eyebrows were drawn together in deep concentration.

Delaney sat perfectly still. She looked at his face. Her bright hazel eyes watched how serious and highly attentive he was in making sure he was doing it well. She studied the sharp, handsome line of his jaw, the straight slope of his nose, and the beautiful, deep brown color of his eyes. She felt a profound, overwhelming sense of love for the man sitting in front of her.

Rowan finished putting the ointment on the wound. He set the silver tin down on the bedside table. He picked up a roll of clean, soft white linen. He raised his arms and began wrapping the fresh bandage carefully around her head.

As he worked, Rowan suddenly noticed her intense, quiet stare.

He paused for a second. He looked down and met her hazel eyes. A slow, warm, incredibly handsome smile spread across his lips. He continued with what he was doing, slowly winding the white linen, but he playfully averted her gaze.

"Don’t look at me that way, or..." Rowan teased, his deep voice dropping into a low, soft rumble.

Delaney did not look away. She tilted her head just a little bit, enjoying the playful game. She pressed further.

"Or what?" Delaney challenged softly, a small smile playing on her own lips.