Delaney smoothed her dress. It had a pop of color.
It was a soft, pale lavender. It wasn't as bold as the burgundy velvet, nor as bright as the teal. It was subtle, elegant, and floral. It had white lace at the cuffs and a high, modest neckline.
It was beautiful. And Delaney hated it.
She felt like a fraud. Every time she caught her reflection in the glass of the window, she saw a stranger. She saw "Cousin Delaney," a woman who didn't exist.
"Miss Kingsley," Aunt Margery barked. "Chin up! You look delightful. Lavender brings out the mystery in your eyes."
"It brings out my anxiety," Delaney muttered to herself.
"Remember," Aunt Margery continued, waving her cane. "Keep up the cousin act. You are family. You belong here. If Lady Farrington asks, your mother was a Hamilton from the Scottish branch and you married a Kingsley. Keep the story simple."
"Yes, Lady Margery," Delaney said.
"Let's go," Rowan said. He turned away from the mirror.
He looked at Delaney.
