Lady Ines Scandalous Hobby-Chapter 130 - Hundred And Thirty

The carriage door flew open before the footman could even reach for the handle.

Ines stepped down onto the gravel driveway of the Hamilton estate, her movements sharp and jerky. She did not wait for assistance. Her boots hit the ground with a force that sent a small spray of pebbles skittering across the courtyard.

She was not just angry. She was consumed by a cold, burning rage that made her hands shake and her breath come in short, sharp gasps.

The footman looked startled. He rushed forward, his hand extended.

"My Lady?" He asked, his eyes wide. "Is everything—"

Ines walked right past him. She did not hear him. All she could hear was the echo of Priscilla’s whisper in her ear. Retire Arthur Pendleton or leave Carcel. The audacity. The sheer, cruelty of it.

She marched up the stone steps to the front door. Her heavy velvet dress, which had felt like armor only an hour ago, now felt stifling. It felt hot and heavy, dragging behind her like a lead weight.

The front door opened. Simmons, the butler, stood there. He had likely been watching from the window, expecting her to return hours from now. His face registered a flicker of surprise at her early arrival, but he smoothed it away instantly.

"Welcome home, Lady Ines," Simmons said, bowing. "We did not expect you so—"

Ines swept past him into the cool, dim hallway. She began to tear off her gloves, pulling at the fingers with frantic movements.

"Do not speak to me, Simmons," she said. Her voice was low, but it carried a dangerous edge. "I am not in the mood for pleasantries."

Simmons blinked. He had known Ines since she was a child. He had seen her happy, sad, and tired. But he had rarely seen her like this. She looked like a storm that had just made landfall.

"Of course, My Lady," Simmons said quietly. He reached out to a silver tray on the hall table. "A letter arrived for you just after you left. It is from His Grace."

Ines stopped. She turned slowly.

Rowan.

She reached out and took the letter from the tray. She didn’t look at it. She just gripped it in her fist, crushing the paper slightly.

"Thank you," she snapped.

She turned and headed for the stairs. She took them two at a time, lifting her skirts aggressively. She needed to be in her room. She needed to be behind a locked door before she started screaming.

Upstairs, Edith was coming out of the linen closet with a stack of fresh towels. She froze when she saw Ines storming down the corridor.

Edith knew her mistress better than anyone. She knew the walk of a happy Ines—light and bouncing. She knew the walk of a tired Ines—slow and dragging.

This was neither. This was the walk of a woman who wanted to set something on fire.

"My Lady?" Edith called out softly.

Ines didn’t stop. She didn’t even look at Edith. She pushed open the door to her bedchamber and slammed it shut. The sound echoed through the hallway, making the crystal sconces on the walls rattle.

Edith stood there, hugging the towels to her chest.

"She is back early," Edith whispered to herself. "The tea party should have lasted until sunset."

Something had gone wrong. Horribly wrong.

Edith quickly placed the towels on a nearby table. She needed an excuse to go in. She needed to see if Ines was hurt.

She hurried down the back stairs to the kitchen.

"Lemon water," Edith muttered. "She needs lemon water. It calms the nerves."

She grabbed a crystal pitcher and filled it with cool water. She sliced a fresh lemon with trembling hands, dropping the yellow wheels into the water. She placed a glass on a silver tray and hurried back upstairs.

Her heart was pounding. She had sent Ines out to be a warrior. Had the warrior been defeated?

Edith reached the bedroom door. She took a deep breath to steady herself. She balanced the tray on one hand and knocked softly.

Knock. Knock.

There was silence for a moment. Then, a voice came from inside.

"Enter."

The voice wasn’t crying. It was hard. It was dry.

Edith opened the door and slipped inside.

The room was bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon sun, but the atmosphere felt cold. Ines was standing by the window, her back to the door. She had not taken off her hat. She had not taken off her coat. She stood rigid, like a statue.

In her hand, she held the letter from her brother. It was open, but she wasn’t reading it. Her eyes were fixed on the glass pane of the window, staring out at nothing.

Edith closed the door softly.

"I brought you some lemon water, My Lady," Edith said, her voice gentle. "I thought you might be thirsty after... after your outing."

Ines did not turn around. She stared at the paper in her hand as if it were written in a foreign language.

"It was Priscilla," Ines said.

Her voice cut through the silence like a knife.

Edith froze. She stood in the middle of the room, holding the tray. "My Lady?"

Ines let out a short, bitter laugh. It was a sound devoid of humor.

"It was Priscilla all along," Ines repeated. She turned slowly to face Edith.

Ines’s face was pale, but her eyes were burning with intensity.

"The lavender scent," Ines said, pacing a few steps toward the fireplace. "I thought it was just a clue. I thought it was just a coincidence that the buyer smelled like her. But it wasn’t a coincidence, Edith. It was a diversion. The lavender scent was to throw us off, to make us look for a stranger, but now she’s bored playing the mouse game with me. She wanted me to know. She wanted me to know she’s unto me and be afraid."

Edith’s eyes widened. "She... she admitted it?"

"She didn’t just admit it," Ines spat. "She gloated. She sat there, stirring her tea, smiling at me like I was a bug she was about to crush."

Edith felt her hands shaking. The tray in her hands rattled. The glass of lemon water wobbled dangerously.

Clatter.

Edith set the tray down on the nearest table a little too hard. Water sloshed over the rim of the glass, staining the wood, but neither of them noticed.

"Oh, My Lady," Edith breathed, her hands flying to her mouth. "What did she say?"

Ines walked to the table and picked up the glass of water. She didn’t drink it. She just held it, gripping the crystal so tight her knuckles turned white.

"She knows it is me," Ines said softly. "She knows I am Arthur Pendleton."