A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 162 - Hundred And Sixty Two

Aunt Margery led Hawksley to the drawing room.

Mr. Simmons stepped forward. The butler collected all the things Lord Hawksley brought—a large, overly expensive basket of hot house fruits and a bottle of imported wine. Simmons carried them away with a perfectly blank expression, completely hiding his disdain for the man.

Hawksley followed Aunt Margery into the drawing room. He sat down on a velvet chair, resting his hands on the top of his walking stick. His mind was racing. He had been sent to find out if the Hamilton family was faking the injury to delay the wedding.

But he had just seen the weary, serious face of the doctor rushing up the stairs.

Hawksley thought to himself, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked toward the ceiling. "The Duke is really hurt. This is not a trick. The accident was real."

Ines was about to follow them into the drawing room to help her aunt interrogate the man, but she felt a gentle tug on her sleeve.

She turned and saw Edith, her handmaiden. Edith looked flustered, her white apron slightly wrinkled.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Edith whispered apologetically. Ines was called by Edith saying Harry won’t stop crying. "The young master woke up in a terrible mood. He will not take his warm milk, and he is asking for you."

Ines sighed softly. She looked toward the open doors of the drawing room, knowing her aunt was perfectly capable of handling Lord Hawksley on her own.

"I am coming, Edith," Ines replied. Ines left to attend to her son, hurrying back up the stairs toward the nursery wing.

Inside the drawing room, the atmosphere was incredibly cold. The fire had not yet been lit, and Aunt Margery did not offer to have a servant build one. She sat across from Lord Hawksley, sitting perfectly straight on the edge of the sofa.

"We appreciate your concern, Lord Hawksley," Aunt Margery said, her tone as dry as dust. "But as the letter stated, the house is entirely closed to visitors. The Duke requires absolute silence and rest."

"Of course, Lady Margery," Hawksley replied, offering a smooth, oily smile. "My sister, Lady Farrington, was simply heartbroken that the grand ball had to be delayed. The dressmaker had just finished Lady Celine’s gown. Tell me, does the doctor expect a rapid recovery? Shall we simply postpone the event to next week?"

Aunt Margery’s eyes flashed with sharp anger. He did not care if Rowan lived or died; he only cared about the timeline of the contract.

"The doctor expects nothing at this moment," Aunt Margery lied flawlessly, her voice completely flat. "Head injuries are highly unpredictable. We are simply praying for his health. I cannot speak of balls or engagements while my nephew lies unconscious."

She stood up abruptly, signaling that the meeting was officially over.

"Now, if you will excuse me," Aunt Margery said, smoothing the front of her dark morning dress. "I must return to his bedside. The servants will see you out."

Hawksley had no choice but to stand. He had gathered his information. The Duke was unconscious, and the wedding was completely stalled. Lord Farrington would not be pleased, but at least they knew the Hamiltons were not plotting an escape.

Aunt Margery entertained Lord Hawksley for a short while before seeing him off. She walked him back out into the grand foyer, maintaining a polite but icy distance.

"Thank you again for the fruit, my lord," Aunt Margery said dismissively as Mr. Simmons approached to open the heavy front doors. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

At that exact moment, a door opened on the upper landing of the grand staircase.

As they left the drawing room, Delaney came out of Rowan’s room.

She had finished her quiet vigil. The doctor had arrived to change Rowan’s bandages, and she needed to step away to give the medical man space to work. Delaney walked slowly along the top of the stairs, her hand trailing lightly along the polished wooden banister. She was heading toward her own room in the guest wing to change her dress.

Down below in the foyer, Lord Hawksley paused near the exit.

He casually glanced upward toward the sound of the opening door. His eyes scanned the upper landing.

He saw a young woman walking quietly down the hall. She was wearing a simple blue dress. Her dark hair was neat, but it was her face that caught his attention. He saw her profile in the morning light filtering through the high windows. He saw the shape of her jaw, the straight nose, and the unmistakable, striking hazel eyes.

Lord Hawksley froze completely. The silver handle of his walking stick slipped slightly in his sweaty palm.

His heart skipped a violent beat. He stared up at the landing, unable to look away. He had hunted for that specific face for three years. He knew the features of Arthur Kingsley perfectly, because he had spent years working beside the man before he betrayed him. He also knew the beautiful face of Genevieve Kingsley. The young woman walking on the upper floor of Hamilton House was a perfect, terrifying combination of them both.

Lord Hawksley saw her as she went to her own room and closed the door softly behind her.

He stood rooted to the marble floor. All the color drained from his face.

"Delaney?" he whispered to himself, the name slipping out like a curse.

His mind raced with sudden, blinding panic. He had paid men to search the darkest corners of London for her. He had searched the poorhouses and the cheap taverns, certain that the disgraced orphan would end up in the gutters.

He never, in his wildest dreams, imagined that she would be living in the wealthiest, most powerful house in all of Mayfair.

"Arthur’s daughter?" Hawksley continued to whisper under his breath. He gripped his walking stick tightly to stop his hands from shaking.

How had she managed to secure a place in the Duke of Ford’s home? What was her role here? Was she a servant? A companion?

A far more terrifying thought struck him. Did she know the Duke? Did the Duke know who she was? If Delaney Kingsley was whispering in the ear of one of the most powerful man in the House of Lords, Hawksley’s twenty-year-old secrets were in absolute, immediate danger.

"What is she doing here?" he thought to himself.

His looked confused. The simple mission to check on the Duke’s health had just turned into a massive disaster. If Delaney told the Duke about the old debts, or worse, if she told him about the Oakridge silk scam, Lord Farrington would not be able to protect him from the Crown’s justice.

"Good day, Lord Hawksley," Mr. Simmons said loudly, holding the front door wide open and waiting impatiently for the man to leave.

Hawksley snapped out of his daze. He looked at the butler, then up at the empty landing one last time.

He nodded stiffly, completely forgetting his polite farewells to Aunt Margery. He turned and rushed out the front doors, practically running down the stone steps toward his waiting carriage.

He needed to return to Lord Farrington immediately. The trap they had set for the Duke of Ford had suddenly become incredibly complicated, and Lord Hawksley realized that he needed to do something about Delaney. He bought her from her uncle to cage her beside him through marriage and now he has to be quick about it or he goes for the second plan which is to silence her forever.