The name was a ghost on her lips. A question.
And then the world came rushing back in a dizzying, horrifying wave. Her fingers, which had gone numb, simply ceased to function. The basket of beautiful pink roses, her morning's work, slipped from her grasp.
Thump.
The basket hit the polished floorboards with a dull, heavy sound. The carefully arranged roses tumbled out, scattering across the dark wood in a riot of vibrant color. One perfect, half-open bud rolled right up to the toe of Carcel's traveling boot.
"Ines!" Rowan cried, his happy expression dissolving into immediate concern. He rushed to her side. "Are you alright? You've gone completely pale."
Ines blinked, her mind struggling to catch up. She felt a hundred pairs of eyes on her, though there were only two. She felt as exposed as if she were standing in her nightgown. "Ah… Yes. Yes, I am fine," she managed to say, her voice sounding strange and distant.
She immediately bent down, a clumsy, jerky movement, and began to scoop up the fallen flowers. Her hands trembled. She was acutely aware of her dirt-stained fingers, her simple day dress, and the fact that Carcel Anderson was watching her.
Why is it him? her mind screamed in a silent, frantic panic. I take it back. I want Aunt Eleonora. I would prefer a week of her ghastly visits, her endless complaints about why I'm still unmarried, to two minutes of this!
She heard a soft footstep on the wood floor. "Should I…" a deep, quiet voice began.
She looked up, and he was there. Carcel was hovering over her, his tall frame blocking the light from the window. He had bent slightly, his hand outstretched, ready to help her retrieve the scattered blooms. His face was unreadable, but his dark eyes were fixed on her with an unnerving intensity.
Ines flinched back as if she had been burned. She quickly scrambled to her feet, clutching a handful of crushed roses to her chest and putting as much distance between them as she could.
"It is fine, Car…" she started, the familiar name slipping out before she could stop it. She corrected herself immediately, her voice becoming stiff and formal. "Your Grace. It is quite alright. I will just… I will just change the flowers and leave."
She did not wait for a reply. In a flurry of awkward movements, she gathered the rest of the roses, a mixture of perfect and bruised petals, and practically threw them into the vase on the mantelpiece, dislodging the old, wilted ones. She then snatched up the fallen basket and, without another glance at either her brother or his guest, turned and fled the room.
Rowan watched her go, his mouth slightly agape. He turned to Carcel, a look of utter bewilderment on his face. "What in God's name is wrong with her today?" he asked, more to himself than to his friend.
Ines did not stop running until she was safely in her room, the door shut firmly behind her. She leaned against the cool, solid wood, her chest heaving as if she had just run a race. Her heart was a wild bird, beating its wings against the cage of her ribs.
Breathe Ines…Breathe…Remember what the doctor said. Don't get too excited.
Finally, she pushed herself away from the door and stumbled toward her vanity. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and a soft groan of pure mortification escaped her lips.
It was worse than she thought.
There was a ghastly smudge of good, honest dirt across her right cheek. Her hair, which had been mostly tamed by her gardening hat, now sprung forth in a riot of disobedient, reddish-brown curls around her face. She looked like a country milkmaid who had just been wrestling a pig.
"He saw me in this state," she whispered to her reflection, her voice filled with a tragic despair. "He saw me looking like a common urchin. Why?"
She laid her forehead against the cool, smooth surface of the dresser table, the very picture of a maiden in distress. The humiliation was a physical thing, a hot wave that washed over her from head to toe. For a long, dramatic moment, she lay there, contemplating the utter ruin of her life.
Then, she raised her head, a new thought cutting through the fog of her lovesick panic.
"But the real question," she said, her expression turning serious, "should be why he is here at all."
She stood up and began to pace the length of her room, her mind shifting from embarrassment to suspicion.
"Since he returned from the war with Rowan, he has stopped coming to our residence. I cannot remember the last time he was here for more than a formal call. He and Rowan always meet at their club, or at his own townhome. So why now? Did something happen?"
The question was a far more serious one than the state of her hair. Carcel did not do things without reason. His presence in her home was not a casual occurrence. It was an event. And after what had happened in the garden at Danbury House, it was a deeply unsettling one.
She stopped pacing. She had to pull herself together. She could not hide in her room all day like a child. She had to face him. And she would not do it with dirt on her face.
With a new sense of purpose, she stripped off her dress and called for Edith to draw her a fresh, hot bath. As she soaked, she scrubbed the dirt from her skin and tried to scrub the image of Carcel's intense gaze from her mind. She failed on the second count.
Clean and wrapped in a soft robe, she chose her armor. A simple but elegant gown of deep blue silk, a color that made her hazel eyes seem to sparkle. Edith helped her tame her curls into a respectable bun at the nape of her neck.
When she looked in the mirror again, the flustered, dirt-smudged girl was gone. In her place was Lady Ines Hamilton, cool, composed, and ready to face anything. Or, at the very least, ready for tea.
Before she left her room, she went to her desk. She carefully took out the manuscript she had finished in the dead of night, her hand still aching from the effort. She stacked the pages neatly and wrapped them in plain brown paper, tying the parcel with a simple string. Gladys would be here tomorrow. The work of Mr. Arthur Pendelton had to continue, no matter what happens.
She placed the parcel in a drawer, ready for the exchange. With her duty done, she took a deep, steadying breath, and prepared to go downstairs and face her brother's very real, very unexpected guest.