A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 26 - Twenty Six

Delaney watched him take another bite of the sandwich. The casual crunching sound snapped her patience in half.

"You gave me a list," She said. Her voice was low, but it trembled.

Rowan swallowed. He dusted a crumb from his blue coat. "And a very good list it was."

"I found women who matched the criteria," Delaney continued, her voice rising. "Lady Jane spoke three languages. Miss Basset was quiet as a mouse. Miss Penelope was... well, she was present."

"She sings," Rowan corrected. "To birds. It was alarming."

"And you dismissed them all," Delaney said, ignoring him. She took a step toward him. "In under five minutes. Five minutes, Your Grace! You didn’t even finish your tea!"

Rowan shrugged. "I wasn’t really necessary."

Delaney did not laugh. She took a deep breath containing her frustrations.

"Are you trying to deliberately sabotage me?" she demanded. "Is this a game to you? Are you trying to make me lose the wager?"

Rowan frowned. He set the sandwich down on a porcelain plate. The accusation stung.

"What are you talking about?" He asked.

"I am talking about sixty thousand pounds!" Delaney said. "I am talking about my time! You are rejecting these women for sport!"

"It is not sport!" Rowan stood up.

He was much taller than her. He towered over her by a foot. Usually, when the Duke stood up to his full height, people stepped back. They apologized.

Delaney Kingsley did not of the sort. She tilted her chin up. She glared at him.

"It is because they didn’t fit all the criteria!" Rowan argued, his voice booming in the large room. "Lady Jane was intelligent, yes, but she was terrifying! She wanted to turn my library into a factory! And Miss Basset... I am allergic to cats! Do you want me to sneeze at the altar?"

"No one fits all the criteria!" Delaney shouted.

She was so frustrated that her English failed her.

"Zut alors! C’est impossible!" she cursed.

The French words slipped out sharp, clean and fast.

Damn it! It is impossible! Rowan blinked. He looked at her in surprise.

Delaney didn’t stop. "That is why we are humans, Your Grace! That is why there are unique traits! You want a woman who is quiet but witty. You want a woman who is intelligent but not intimidating. You want a woman who is French-speaking but not... whatever you didn’t like about the German girl."

She threw her hands up in the air.

"You want a fairytale, Your Grace!" she accused. "You want a creature made of magic and perfection! Fairytales do not exist!"

"She exists!" Rowan shouted back.

The words exploded out of him. They hung in the air, loud and undeniable. The silence slammed into the room.

It was heavy and sudden.

Rowan froze. His chest was heaving. He stared at Delaney, his eyes wide. He hadn’t meant to say that. He had buried that truth deep inside him for three years. He had never spoken it aloud to strangers.

Delaney went still. Her hands slowly lowered to her sides. She lowered her notebook.

She looked at him. Her hazel eyes were wide and searching.

"She?" Delaney whispered.

The word floated between them.

"Who is ’she’?" Delaney asked softly.

Rowan’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t tell this practical, no-nonsense matchmaker that he was in love with a memory. He couldn’t tell her that he was pining for a woman who jumped out of trees and smelled of jasmine. She would laugh at him. Or worse, she would pity him.

Rowan turned away. He couldn’t look at her sharp eyes anymore.

He walked to the tall window. He gripped the velvet curtain. He looked out at the garden. The sun was setting, casting long, lonely shadows across the lawn.

He had to say something or she won’t let him off.

"The... ideal woman," Rowan said. His voice was tight and rough. "The woman in my head. The perfect Duchess."

Delaney stared at his back. She watched the tension in his shoulders. She didn’t believe him. Not for a second.

She remembered the conversation at breakfast. I want someone who is real. A man who wanted reality wouldn’t be talking about imaginary women with such pain in his voice.

She let out a short, dry laugh. "An imaginary woman? You are rejecting real, flesh-and-blood women for a dream?"

She took a deep breath. She stopped herself.

Careful, Delaney, she told herself. You are Madame Coeur. You are here for the money. You can’t let this mad man sabotage this job just because he was chasing a ghost.

She stiffened her spine. She put her mask back on.

"Your Grace," she said. Her voice was softer now, but firm. It was the voice of reason.

Rowan didn’t turn around. He kept staring at the garden.

"If you knew you had someone in your heart," Delaney said gently, "then go for her. Find her. Why are you punishing yourself this way? Why are you punishing these poor debutantes?"

Rowan closed his eyes. He rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window.

"She is gone," Rowan whispered.

The words were so quiet Delaney almost missed them.

"That is why I am sure there can be another person who possesses all the qualities," Rowan said, trying to sound logical. "If she existed once, the mold must exist. I just have to find the copy."

Delaney sighed. It was a sad sound.

"She is gone," Delaney repeated. "Then let her go, Your Grace."

She opened her notebook again. She flipped the page. The sound of the paper turning was loud in the quiet room.

"We have three weeks left of interviews," Delaney said, her business tone returning. "I have twenty more names on this list. The season is short. We cannot waste time on unnecessary distractions."

Rowan groaned. He turned around. He leaned back against the window frame, looking exhausted.

"Please," he begged. "No. I cannot do that again."