A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 28 - Twenty Eight

"Look at her, Genevieve!" Arthur shouted. "She runs like the wind today!"

"She runs like a demon!" Genevieve shouted back. She walked down the steps, her hips swaying. She pretended to be angry, but her eyes were dancing with amusement. "You will break your neck, husband! And then who will be with me? Who will read to Delaney?"

Arthur pulled on the reins. The horse slowed to a trot, then a walk, coming to a halt right in front of Genevieve. The horse was breathing hard, its coat shining with sweat.

Arthur looked down at his wife. His face was flushed with joy. He looked like a king, even without a crown.

"I will not break my neck," Arthur said, leaning down from the saddle. "I have too much to live for."

"You are reckless," Genevieve scolded. She reached up and patted the horse’s nose. "You treat this beast better than you treat yourself. You are not wearing your hat. The sun will bake your brain."

"My brain is already baked," Arthur teased. "Baked by your beauty, my love."

Genevieve rolled her eyes, but she blushed. "Flatterer. Get down. Dinner is ready."

"Come here," Arthur said softly.

"No," she said, backing away. "I am not getting on that thing. It is too high."

"Come here, Gen."

Arthur reached down. His hand was large and strong. He grabbed Genevieve’s waist.

"Arthur!" she squealed.

With a grunt of effort and a laugh that echoed across the fields, Arthur pulled her up.

Genevieve gasped as she was lifted into the air. She landed in front of him on the saddle, sitting sideways. She clutched his shirt with both hands, burying her face in his chest.

"You are mad!" she cried. "Tu es fou!" (You are crazy!)

"Only for you," Arthur whispered.

Delaney watched from the grass. She saw her father wrap his arms around her mother, holding the reins with one hand and holding his wife with the other. He looked at her with such adoration, such open, honest love, that even as a child, Delaney felt warm just watching them.

He leaned down and kissed her. It wasn’t a polite peck. It was a long, deep kiss right on the lips, there in the open sunlight.

Genevieve melted against him. Her complaints died away.

"Hold on," Arthur whispered against her lips.

"Don’t you dare," Genevieve warned.

"Hyah!"

Arthur clicked his tongue. The horse reared slightly, then bolted forward.

They galloped away across the field.

Delaney could hear her mother’s scream turn into laughter. It was a bright, uplifting sound, full of freedom.

"Arthur! Doucement!" (Gently!) her mother shouted, her voice trailing in the wind. "My hair! You are ruining my hair!"

"I love your hair the way it is!" Arthur shouted back.

They rode off toward the line of trees, two silhouettes merging into one, wrapped in love and laughter and the golden light of a perfect afternoon.

~ • FLASHBACK ENDS • ~

Delaney blinked.

The golden light was gone. The summer smell of hay was gone. The laughter was gone.

She was back in the Blue Guest Suite. The air was cold. The room was silent.

She was alone. Her father was dead, buried together with her mother.

A tear leaked out of Delaney’s eye. It felt hot on her cheek. She wiped it away furiously with the back of her hand.

"Stupid," she whispered. "Stupid memory."

She looked down at the garden again.

Rowan had stopped his horse.

He was standing still in the middle of the lawn, right below her balcony. The horse was tossing its head, but Rowan held the reins firm.

He wasn’t looking at the horizon anymore.

He was looking up.

He was looking straight at her.

Even from this distance, Delaney could see the intensity of his gaze. He looked sweaty. His chest was heaving from the exertion. His hair was windblown, glowing faintly in the twilight.

He saw her standing there in the window, a small gray figure framed by the glass.

Delaney froze. Her hand went to her throat.

For a second, they just stared at each other. The Duke and the Matchmaker. The man who wanted a partner, and the woman who knew exactly what that partnership should look like because she had seen it from her parents.

Rowan raised a hand. It wasn’t a wave. It was a slow, tentative acknowledgment. He wiped sweat from his brow, his eyes never leaving hers. He looked like he was looking directly into her soul.

He looked like her father just before the fall. He looked like a man who had everything, yet had nothing in the end.

Delaney felt a panic rise in her chest.

She couldn’t let him see her vulnerability like this. She couldn’t let him see the sadness. She couldn’t let him see the longing. If he looked too closely, he might see no parts of her she had kept hidden for far too long.

She stepped back.

She reached for the velvet curtains and pulled them shut.

The view of the garden, the horse, and the Golden Duke disappeared.

Delaney stood in the dim room. Her heart was pounding as if she had been the one riding the horse.

"Focus," she told herself. Her voice shook. "Focus on the work."

She walked to the desk. Her legs felt heavy. She sat down in the chair.

She lit the candle. The small flame flickered to life, casting long, dancing shadows on the silk walls.

She pulled her notebook toward her. She dipped her quill into the ink. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

Candidate No 6: Lady Beatrice .

Pros: Large dowry. Likes dogs.

Cons: talks about dogs too much.

She forced herself to write. She forced herself to get into the role of Madame Coeur. But her hand trembled. The ink blotted on the page.

She closed her eyes. She could still hear her mother’s laughter in her mind. Tu es fou.

"I am the crazy one," Delaney whispered to the empty room. "I am trying to sell a false happy ending to a man and his aunt who doesn’t even know if it will last."

She opened her eyes. She stared at the flame.

"Find him a wife, Delaney," she commanded herself sternly. "Get the money. Leave."

She dipped the pen again.

Candidate No 7: Miss Clara.

She wrote until the candle burned low, trying to drown out the memory of her parents love with the safety of her work.