A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 94 - Ninety Four

The luncheon concluded with the heavy scrape of wooden chairs against the polished floor. The dining room, despite its grand windows and high ceilings, felt remarkably oppressive.

Aunt Margery was the first to rise. She dabbed at her mouth with a linen napkin and let out an exaggerated sigh.

"I believe we have had quite enough of the outdoors for one day," Aunt Margery announced to the table. She reached down to scoop Fifi the poodle into her arms. "The sun is simply too harsh. It ruins the complexion, bakes the skin, and quite frankly, it makes Fifi hazy. My health cannot tolerate another minute of it."

She looked pointedly at her nephew.

"The next activity will be held in the drawing room," Aunt Margery decided. "It is cool, it is civilized, and there are no insects."

Rowan merely nodded. He had no desire to return to the lawn.

The party moved in a slow, polite procession to the drawing room. The heavy velvet curtains were pulled back just enough to let in the soft afternoon light without the glaring heat. The tea trays were cleared, and the room was set for leisure.

Aunt Margery wasted no time. She stood by the fireplace, adjusting her feathered hat with the authority of a battlefield commander.

"We shall play Acting Charades," Aunt Margery declared.

Lady Farrington, who had just settled onto the velvet sofa, smiled approvingly. "A wonderful game. It encourages quick thinking."

"And it encourages bonding," Aunt Margery added with a loud, pointed cough. She looked directly at Rowan and Celine. "Therefore, I shall pick the teams. Lady Celine, you will be teamed with Rowan. It is the perfect opportunity to strengthen your bonds. A husband and wife must learn to read each other’s minds, after all."

Celine blushed a soft pink. "Yes, Lady Margery."

Rowan stood perfectly still. He did not look at Delaney, who was lingering near the doorway. He gave a stiff, polite bow to Celine. "It will be an honor, Lady Celine."

Aunt Margery clapped her hands. "Excellent! And Miss Kingsley, you shall partner with Ines."

Delaney blinked. She looked at the Duchess of Carleton, who was already smiling a wicked, highly entertained smile.

"Come along, Miss Kingsley," Ines said, waving her over. "We shall form the formidable team of the underdogs."

Delaney walked over to Ines’s side. She felt a knot of pure anxiety in her stomach. Acting Charades was a game of observation and pantomime. It required paying close attention to the other players. It required watching Rowan.

Aunt Margery explained the rules of the game for anyone who might have forgotten.

"The rules are entirely simple," Aunt Margery stated, picking up a silver bowl from the side table. Inside the bowl were dozens of folded slips of paper. "One person from the team will draw a slip of paper. On it is written a word. It might be an animal, a profession, or a famous person. The person must act out the word using funny gestures, movements, and expressions. The other person on their team must try to guess what it means."

She pointed a stern finger at Rowan.

"And absolutely no speaking," Aunt Margery warned. "Not a single word, Rowan. Mime only. If you speak, your team loses the point."

Rowan sighed. "I understand the rules of charades, Aunt Margery."

"Good," she said, setting the bowl down. "Lady Farrington and I shall serve as the judges. We shall sit here and ensure there is no cheating."

In truth, Aunt Margery simply wanted to sit on the comfortable sofa and gossip. As soon as the game started, she leaned her head toward Lady Farrington, and the two older women began discussing the upcoming engagement and the wedding details in loud, carrying whispers.

"I was thinking roses for the altar," Lady Farrington said. "White, of course. To symbolize purity."

"Oh, yes," Aunt Margery agreed, feeding Fifi a biscuit. "And perhaps a silk runner for the aisle. The Hamiltons always use silk."

While the elders planned a future that made Celine’s chest ache, the youngsters began their game.

Rowan and Celine were up first. Celine drew a slip of paper. She read it, smiled shyly, and handed it to Ines to verify. Then, she stood in the center of the room.

She began to act like a bird. She flapped her arms gently, tilting her head from side to side.

Rowan stood across from her, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked intensely serious, treating the parlor game as if he was in the club.

"A swan," Rowan guessed flatly.

Celine shook her head and flapped harder.

"A pigeon," Rowan tried.

Celine pointed to the sky and opened her mouth in a silent, singing motion.

"A nightingale," Rowan guessed correctly.

Celine clapped her hands. "Yes, Your Grace!"

They were actually quite good at the game. Rowan, despite his rigid posture, had a logical mind that quickly deciphered Celine’s polite, careful gestures. They guessed "baker," "horse," and "soldier" in rapid succession. They were easily leading the score.

Delaney and Ines had a much harder time.

When it was Delaney’s turn, she drew the word "sailor."

Panic seized her. A sailor. The fake profession of her fake husband.

She stood in the center of the room. She pretended to pull on a heavy rope. She pretended to look through a spyglass.

Ines frowned. "A bell ringer? A pirate? A man looking for his lost spectacles?"

Rowan watched Delaney. He knew exactly what she was acting out. He saw the slight trembling in her hands as she mimed the spyglass. He felt a sudden, sharp twist of guilt for creating the lie that now haunted her even in a simple parlor game.

"A sailor!" Ines finally shouted just as the time ran out. "Good heavens, Miss Kingsley, you looked like a man drowning, not sailing."

Delaney let out a breath, her face flushed. "My apologies, Your Grace."

The game rotated back to Rowan and Celine.

Celine stepped up to the silver bowl. She reached in and pulled out a small, folded slip of white paper. She opened it and read the word. A small, playful smile touched her lips. She handed the slip to Ines, who nodded her approval.

Celine walked to the center of the Persian rug. She looked at Rowan, who was standing tall, waiting for her first move.

Celine brought her hands up to her chest, curling her fingers inward like tiny paws. She hunched her shoulders, making herself look as small as possible. She began to twitch her nose rapidly, looking left and right with wide, timid eyes. She took tiny, silent, scurrying steps across the carpet.

It was a very good mime. She was clearly acting like a mouse.

Rowan watched her. But he did not see Lady Celine Farrington.

His mind played a terrible trick on him. He saw the curled posture. He saw the timid movements. His brain instantly flashed to the woman standing in the corner of his study weeks ago, wearing a drab gray dress, trying to be entirely invisible. His mind flashed to his secret nickname for the matchmaker. The mouse. His grey mouse.

Without thinking, without engaging the logical part of his brain, Rowan opened his mouth.

He unknowingly blurted out the first word that came to his mind.

"Delaney."

The word hung in the air.

It was not loud, but in the quiet drawing room, it sounded like a cannon shot.

All movement stopped.

Celine froze in the middle of the rug, her hands still curled like tiny paws. Her smile vanished, replaced by a look of sheer confusion.

On the sofa, Aunt Margery and Lady Farrington stopped their discussion about wedding cakes. Lady Farrington’s head snapped toward the Duke, her eyes narrowing into sharp slits.

Ines stopped keeping score. She slowly lowered her pencil, her dark eyes wide with shock, before a slow, knowing smirk began to form on her lips.

And Delaney... Delaney felt the blood drain entirely from her face. Her heart stopped beating for a full second. He had said her name. Not Miss Kingsley. Delaney. All eyes were on him.

Rowan realized his terrible mistake the instant the word left his lips. A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. His chest tightened in panic. He had let his guard down. He had let his hidden thoughts spill out into the open for everyone to hear.

He quickly cleared his throat. The sound was harsh and awkward.

"Forgive me," Rowan said, his voice a little too loud, a little too strained. He adjusted his cravat with a jerky movement. "I didn’t... I meant to say mouse. Lady Celine is clearly a mouse. No...sorry, the answer is mouse."