Chapter 295: Chapter Two Hundred And Ninety Five

The week before a grand society wedding was always a time of complete chaos. However, in the city of London, that chaos was entirely divided between two very different houses.

Inside the walls of Hamilton House, the atmosphere was completely frantic. It felt exactly like a military camp preparing for a major war.

Rowan sat trapped behind the desk in his private study. He rubbed his temples with his fingers. A dull headache throbbed right behind his eyes. He loved his family dearly, but his sister and his aunt were currently driving him entirely mad.

Ines and Aunt Margery were planning for the wedding. They were both filled with frantic energies. They paced back and forth across the fine carpet of the study, holding long lists of paper, fabric swatches, and seating charts.

"Rowan, you must pay attention!" Ines demanded loudly. She marched up to his desk and slapped two small squares of white silk down onto the polished wood.

Rowan opened his eyes slowly. He looked at the two pieces of fabric. To him, they looked exactly the same.

"Which color do you prefer for the table linens at the wedding breakfast?" Ines asked, tapping her finger impatiently against the desk. "This one is called ’winter snow,’ and this one is called ’pure cream.’ You must choose one immediately so I can send the footman to the linen maker."

Rowan sighed heavily. He leaned back in his large leather chair.

"They are both white, Ines," Rowan replied flatly. His deep voice sounded incredibly exhausted. "Simply pick the white one."

Aunt Margery gasped loudly from the other side of the room. She was holding a long menu written by a French chef. She hurried over to the desk, completely horrified by his lack of interest.

"They are absolutely not the same, Rowan!" Aunt Margery scolded him, waving the paper menu in the air. "Winter snow has a cool tint, and pure cream is warm! If we choose winter snow, it will completely clash with the yellow centerpieces! A Duke’s wedding must be absolutely flawless!"

Rowan closed his eyes again. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Then choose the pure cream, Aunt Margery," Rowan conceded quickly, hoping they would finally leave him in peace.

But Ines was not finished. She snatched the fabric swatches away and pulled out a massive, complicated seating chart.

"Very well, cream it is," Ines noted quickly. "Now, we must discuss the seating arrangements for the church. Lord Weslerton absolutely cannot sit next to Viscount Beamount. They had a terrible argument over a horse race last month. And we must place the Duke of Carleton’s family in the front row, of course."

"Ines," Rowan groaned, dragging his hands down his tired face. "I truly do not care where Lord Weslerton sits. He can sit on the roof for all I care. I just want to stand at the altar and marry my bride."

Aunt Margery and Ines completely ignored his romantic sentiment. They were entirely focused on the strict rules of high society. They continued pestering Rowan for his opinion on every single, tiny detail.

"What about the fish course?" Aunt Margery asked, leaning over the desk. "Should we serve baked salmon or poached trout? The French ambassador prefers trout, but salmon looks much better on the silver plates."

"Salmon," Rowan answered blindly. "Please, just serve the salmon."

"But what if it rains?" Ines interrupted, pacing the floor again. "We must arrange for extra carriages with covered roofs to transport the guests from the church to the house. Rowan, how many extra carriages do you think we will need?"

Rowan let out a long, highly defeated sigh. He rested his chin on his hands and simply let them talk. The frantic energy in Hamilton House was entirely overwhelming. He realized that the only way he was going to survive the next week was to sit quietly, nod his head, and agree to whatever fish and whatever white fabric the two women wanted.

Meanwhile, just a few streets away, the atmosphere was completely, entirely different.

Aunt Renee had rented a beautiful, modest, and highly respectable townhouse in Mayfair for the week before the wedding. It was a proper place for a bride to stay before she was officially married.

Inside the small, sunlit parlor of the townhouse, there was absolutely no shouting. There was no pacing, and there were no frantic arguments about table linens.

Aunt Renee was also planning for the wedding. But hers was the exact opposite energy of Aunt Margery. Hers was entirely calm and peaceful.

Aunt Renee sat comfortably on a soft green sofa near the window. The bright morning sunlight poured over her shoulders. She held a small, neat list in her lap, and a delicate porcelain cup of warm tea rested on the table beside her.

Delaney sat in the armchair directly across from her aunt. She looked incredibly relaxed. She wore a simple, light blue morning dress. Her dark hair was tied back with a soft ribbon.

She looked exactly like a happy, glowing bride.

Aunt Renee did not tell Delaney what to do. Instead, she was calmly asking Delaney for her own opinion.

" Maintenant, mon cher," (Now, my dear), Aunt Renee spoke softly, her musical French accent filling the quiet room. "Let us discuss the music for the wedding ceremony. The church organist has provided a list of classical hymns. Have you looked them over?"

Delaney smiled. She picked up a small piece of paper from the table.

"I have, Aunt Renee," Delaney replied smoothly. Her voice was calm and completely confident. "I would very much like the choir to sing ’O God, Our Help in Ages Past’ before we say our vows. It was my father’s favorite hymn. I remember him singing it when I was a little girl."

Aunt Renee smiled warmly. Her eyes softened with deep affection.

"That is a beautiful, completely perfect choice, Delaney," Aunt Renee agreed softly. She picked up her pen and made a neat, quiet mark on her list. "I will send a message to the vicar today to confirm the music. It will honor your father wonderfully."

Aunt Renee set the paper down and took a slow sip of her warm tea.

"And what about the wedding breakfast menu?" Aunt Renee asked gently. "The Duke’s family is handling the grand ball later in the evening, but we must decide what you wish to eat immediately after the church."

Delaney thought for a moment. She did not care about impressing the French ambassador or serving the most expensive fish.

"I would like simple, warm foods," Delaney decided honestly. "Roast chicken, fresh bread, and perhaps some sweet fruit tarts. I want it to feel like a true family meal, not a stiff political gathering."

"Simple and elegant," Aunt Renee nodded in complete agreement. "I will inform the cook immediately. This is your day, my dear. It should be exactly as you wish."

Delaney felt a deep sense of peace. For her entire life, her aunt Eunice had made every single decision for her. She had decided when she ate, what she wore, and where she slept. Now, she was making her own choices. She felt entirely respected and completely loved.

"Thank you, Aunt Renee," Delaney said softly, her hazel eyes shining with gratitude. "You are making this entire process so incredibly easy."

"It is my absolute pleasure, Delaney," Aunt Renee smiled back.