A Scandal By Any Other Name

"For Oakridge Manor," Delaney explained proudly. "The Crown has officially returned my father’s country estate to me. It is proper for a lady to marry from her own family home. We will travel there together. We will prepare the house, for the Duke to call on me, we will receive Mama’s trousseau, and I will get ready for my wedding."

Aunt Renee beamed with complete joy. "That sounds absolutely perfect."

Simmons bowed and showed Renee the way out of the drawing room.

Once her aunt was safely settled, Delaney walked out of the drawing room. She felt lighter than she had in her entire life. She wanted to see Rowan. She wanted to tell him how perfectly the meeting had gone.

Delaney walked down the long, carpeted hallway toward the back of the house. She went directly to Rowan’s private study.

She stood before the door and knocked three times.

"Come in," Rowan’s deep, smooth voice called out from the other side.

Delaney turned the brass handle and entered the study. But as she stepped inside, she froze in her tracks.

The study was completely covered in large, elegant, round cardboard boxes.

They were stacked on the leather sofas, resting on the side tables, and piled high on the expensive rugs. The boxes were tied with thick, beautiful satin ribbons and stamped with the elegant gold crest of the most expensive modiste in London.

Rowan was sitting behind his large desk, holding a quill pen and reading a formal document. When he didn’t hear anyone say anything, he looked up.

He saw Delaney standing completely still near the door, her hazel eyes wide with pure shock as she looked at the mountain of boxes.

"What are these?" Delaney asked, pointing a slightly confused finger at the nearest stack.

Rowan, knowing his grand surprise was already completely ruined by her early arrival, exhaled a long, soft breath. He put his quill pen down on the desk. He stood up from his leather chair and walked around the desk to walk over to her.

He stood in front of her, resting his hands casually in his trouser pockets. A fond, deeply loving smile spread across his handsome face.

"They are dresses," Rowan explained simply. "I wanted to gift you."

Delaney stared at him, absolutely baffled. "Dresses? Rowan, there must be thirty boxes in here!"

"You are a lady now," Rowan said softly, reaching out to gently touch the side of her arm. "You are Lady Delaney Kingsley, the rightful owner of the Oakridge estate, and the future Duchess of Ford. So, I thought I should have some fine dresses commissioned for you to perfectly fit your new, proper social standing."

He gestured to the nearest box sitting on a small table. "Go on. Open one."

Delaney walked over to the box. Her hands actually trembled slightly as she untied the thick, soft pink satin ribbon. She lifted the round cardboard lid. Inside, resting on layers of crisp, white tissue paper, was the most beautiful garment she had ever seen.

Delaney carefully reached in, took hold of the fabric and raised the dress up into the light of the study.

It was a stunning day dress. It was a beautiful, soft pastel blue color, made entirely with the finest, most expensive Italian silk. The empire waistline was delicately embroidered with tiny, silver thread flowers. The short, puffed sleeves were trimmed with the softest white lace. It was a masterpiece of current London fashion.

Delaney could easily tell this single dress would cost a lot. It was worth more money than she had seen in her entire life.

She held the soft silk against her chest. She looked back at him, her brow furrowed in complete confusion. She had not left the house in weeks.

"How did you get my exact measurements?" Delaney asked.

Rowan smiled proudly, looking very pleased with his own cleverness.

"I took one of your older dresses to the modiste," Rowan replied smoothly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "I gave it to the Madame and told her to make an entire wardrobe in that exact size, but using only her finest silks and newest patterns."

Delaney’s hazel eyes widened in absolute, pure horror. Her jaw dropped open.

"You went to the modiste?" Delaney gasped loudly.

In polite London society, the modiste’s dress shop was a strictly female environment. It was a place for ladies to gossip, try on corsets, and look at fabrics. A Duke walking into a dress shop carrying a woman’s used gown was a massive, scandalous breach of proper etiquette.

"Rowan!" Delaney scolded him, though she was fighting a large smile. "A proper gentleman is absolutely not supposed to go into a modiste’s shop! It is just like how a proper lady is not supposed to go into a gentleman’s gambling club!"

Rowan did not look even slightly ashamed. In fact, he looked incredibly amused. He took a step closer to her, closing the distance between them.

Rowan smiled. He reached out and gently traced the fine white lace on the sleeve of the blue silk dress she was holding.

"My darling," Rowan said, his voice dropping into a low, completely charming tone. "We have both broken polite society rules many more times than once. We held hands in secret. You shot a man on a dirt road. I think there is absolutely nothing wrong in breaking a few more rules for the woman I love."

Delaney let out a soft, helpless laugh. She could never win an argument with him when he looked at her with such pure, absolute devotion.

She looked down at the beautiful pastel blue silk slipping smoothly through her fingers. She gently folded the dress and placed it safely back into the box, resting it on the tissue paper.

She turned back to face him. She placed her hands flat against his broad chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath his waistcoat.

"It is beautiful, Rowan," Delaney replied softly, her eyes shining with deep gratitude. She looked around the study at the dozens of other ribbon-tied boxes waiting for her. "But they must have costed an absolute fortune."

Rowan lifted his hands and rested them gently on her waist. He pulled her a little closer. He looked deeply into her eyes, completely entirely serious.

"Which isn’t enough," Rowan replied firmly, without a single second of hesitation.

"Because you only deserve priceless things, Delaney. You have worn scratchy wool and old, out of fashion dresses for twenty years. For the rest of your life, you will wear nothing but the finest silk, and you will never, ever want for anything again."