Lady Ines Scandalous Hobby-Chapter 151 - Hundred And Fifty One

The music died with a strangled squeak of a violin. The conductor, sensing the shift in the room’s atmosphere, lowered his baton slowly. The couples on the dance floor froze in mid-step, their hands dropping from each other’s waists as they turned toward the center of the room.

The silence that descended on the Royal Opera House was heavy. It was the kind of silence that usually preceded a storm, or an execution.

In the center of the polished floor, stood Priscilla. Her violet dress seemed to absorb the light, making her look like a dark bruise in the middle of a sea of pastel silks. She stood tall, her chin lifted, her eyes bright behind her sequined black mask.

She was facing the dais. She was facing the most powerful woman in England.

The Queen sat on her velvet throne, motionless. Her face was a mask of bored indifference, heavily powdered and painted. Her enormous wig, adorned with pearls and feathers, did not move an inch. She held a fan made of ivory and lace, which was currently closed tight in her hand like a weapon.

Priscilla took a step forward. She bent her knees in a deep, sweeping curtsy. Her skirts pooled around her on the floor.

"Your Majesty," Priscilla said. Her voice was clear, ringing out through the silent hall. It trembled slightly, not with fear, but with the adrenaline of her own audacity.

She rose from the curtsy, but she did not step back.

"I have something for you to see," Priscilla announced.

She held out her hand. Resting on her gloved palm was the black leather book. The "Decoy." It looked small and unassuming in the grand ballroom, but Priscilla held it as if it were a crown.

The Queen did not move. She stared at Priscilla with hooded eyes. She did not like being interrupted. She did not like drama that she did not orchestrate herself.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the Queen raised her fan. She tapped it against her chin.

"And what is that?" the Queen asked. Her voice was low, devoid of warmth. It carried an edge of danger. "You stop my music. You interrupt my ball. You had better have a very good reason, child."

Priscilla smiled. It was a sharp, brittle smile.

"I do, Your Majesty," Priscilla spoke. "I hold in my hand the proof of a deception. I hold the proof of who Arthur Pendleton truly is."

A ripple went through the crowd. The name "Arthur Pendleton" was known to everyone. From the scullery maids to the duchesses, everyone had read the scandalous romance novels. They were the guilty pleasure of the ton.

The Queen raised an eyebrow. The boredom in her face cracked, replaced by a flicker of interest. She leaned forward slightly in her throne.

"The author?" the Queen asked. "The one who writes about... midnight lessons?"

"The very same," Priscilla said. She took another step closer to the dais. "But Arthur Pendleton is not a man, Your Majesty. He is a phantom. A mask."

Priscilla paused for effect. She looked around the room, ensuring every eye was on her.

"Arthur Pendleton," she declared loudly, "is indeed a woman. A noblewoman at that."

The reaction was instantaneous.

Gasps filled the air like a sudden gust of wind.

"A woman?" Lady Brie whispered loudly to her neighbor, clutching her pearls.

"Impossible!"

"A noblewoman writing smut?" Lord Berbrooke choked on his wine, coughing into his handkerchief. "Scandalous!"

The murmurs buzzed round the hall like a swarm of angry bees. People leaned in close to one another, whispering frantically. Fans fluttered at double speed. The shock was palpable. For a lady of quality to write such things was social suicide. It was vulgar. It was improper. It was forbidden.

Priscilla stood in the center of the chaos, soaking it in. She smiled, enjoying the reaction she was receiving. She felt powerful. She felt like she was the Queen of the night.

She turned her head slowly. Her eyes scanned the crowd until they found the person who all this was for.

Ines.

Ines stood near the edge of the dance floor, alone. Her silver dress shimmered under the chandeliers. She stood perfectly still, her hands clasped in front of her. She looked pale.

Priscilla’s smile widened. She locked eyes with Ines. Even behind the masks, the message was clear.

I have you. There is no escape.

Ines did not look away. She did not do anything. She simply stared back, her face unreadable behind her silver dove mask.

The Queen cleared her throat. It was a soft sound, but it silenced the room instantly.

"A noblewoman," the Queen repeated, testing the word. She looked down her nose at Priscilla. "That is a serious accusation. To accuse a lady of such... indecency... requires more than just words."

The Queen snapped her fan open.

"Do you have proof?" the Queen demanded.

Priscilla turned back to the dais. She lifted the black book higher.

"I do," Priscilla said triumphantly. "This book, Your Majesty. This is the proof."

She looked at the book in her hand. The black leather cover seemed to absorb the candlelight.

"This is the latest manuscript of Arthur Pendleton," Priscilla explained, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that still reached the back of the room. "It was meant to be a special edition. A diary of the female protagonist to the male protagonist. It is yet to be printed. It was sold in secret. It contains things...that only the author and her fans would know."

Priscilla looked back at Ines one last time.

"And the handwriting," Priscilla added, "matches the handwriting of a lady present in this very room."

The crowd gasped again. Heads turned, looking left and right, wondering who the culprit could be. Was it the quiet girl in pink? Was it the widow in black?

The Queen stared at the book. She was a woman who loved gossip, but she loved order more. If a noblewoman was polluting the minds of the ton with filth, she wanted to know.

She raised one finger.

A man stepped out from behind the throne. He was the Queen’s royal secretary, a stiff man in a powdered wig and a red coat.

"Kinton," the Queen said.

"Your Majesty?" Kinton bowed.

"Retrieve the manuscript," the Queen ordered. "Bring it to me."

Kinton bowed again and walked down the steps of the dais. His heels clicked sharply on the floor. The crowd parted for him.

He walked to the center of the room where Priscilla stood.

Priscilla hesitated for a fraction of a second. She didn’t want to let go of the book. It was her weapon. It was her triumph. She wanted to open it herself and read the damning words aloud.

But one did not refuse the Queen.

Kinton held out a white-gloved hand. He did not speak. He just waited.

Priscilla took a deep breath. She placed the black book into Kinton’s hand.

"Here it is" Priscilla whispered.

Kinton did not reply. He turned on his heel and walked back toward the dais.

Every eye in the room followed the book. It traveled through the air like a live grenade. Ines watched it go. Her heart was hammering against her ribs so hard she thought it might crack them.

This is it, she thought. The trap is sprung.

Priscilla crossed her arms over her chest. She looked smug. she looked confident. She was already imagining Ines’s face when the Queen read the "smut." She was imagining Carcel’s look of disgust.

Kinton walked up the steps. He approached the throne. He bowed low and presented the book to the Queen with both hands.

The Queen looked at it. She placed her fan on her lap.

She reached out. Her fingers were covered in rings—rubies, emeralds, diamonds. Her hand looked heavy with power.

She took the book.

The leather creaked slightly as she held it.

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Even the candles seemed to stop flickering.

"So," the Queen said, looking at the cover. "Arthur Pendleton."

She ran her thumb over the edge of the pages.

"Let us see what secrets are worth interrupting my ball for," the Queen said.

She opened the book.

Priscilla held her breath, a smile plastered on her face, waiting for the explosion.

Ines held her breath, her hands clenching into fists, waiting for the truth.

The Queen looked at the first page. Her eyes scanned the words.

A special Chapter. For my lover.

The Queen’s eyebrows shot up.

"Oh my," the Queen murmured.

She turned the page.