The morning sun had barely begun to warm the brick walls of Hamilton House when the silence of the Blue Guest Suite was broken.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound was sharp and rhythmic. It was not a tentative tap; it was a summons.
Delaney Kingsley groaned. She buried her face deeper into the feather pillow, trying to block out the world. She had not slept well. Her dreams had been filled with phaetons, brown coats, and the haunting melody of a French lullaby.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Go away," Delaney mumbled into the linens. " I am still sleeping. I don't need anything."
"Miss Kingsley?" A voice called through the thick oak door. It was polite but firm.
Delaney rolled onto her back. She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. She felt heavy, as if her limbs were made of lead.
"Who is it?" She said, her voice filled with sleep. It came out as a raspy croak. " What do you want from me?"
"His Grace sent us to get you ready," the voice replied.
