A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 168 - Hundred And Sixty Eight

Hawksley stepped closer. He carefully maintained eye contact, making sure he looked entirely honest and concerned. He pushed the terrifying image of Delaney Kingsley out of his mind completely.

Hawksley replied, "I went to Hamilton House, exactly as you commanded, my lord. I surveyed the situation."

"And?" Farrington pressed, taking another slow puff of his cigar. "Is the Duke playing games? Is he simply hiding in his bed to avoid signing the final marriage papers?"

Hawksley shook his head firmly. He needed Farrington to understand that the delay was genuine and not a tactical move.

"No, my lord," Hawksley replied. "The Duke is actually injured. I saw the family’s physician arrive in a great hurry. He rushed up the stairs with his medical bag. The servants were running with hot water and clean bandages."

Farrington frowned deeply. The news displeased him.

"How badly is he hurt?" Farrington demanded.

"Very badly, from what I could gather," Hawksley explained. He kept his voice serious. "He suffered a severe blow to the head during the carriage crash. He is still unconscious. The Duchess of Carleton and the Countess are deeply worried. The family is in a somber state, my lord. There is no joy in that house today. They are not preparing for a ball; they are preparing for a long recovery."

Lord Farrington stared at Hawksley. He did not feel a single ounce of sympathy for the young Duke lying in a bed. He did not care about the pain the Hamilton family was suffering. He only cared about his own ambitious plans.

Lord Farrington’s jaw clenched tightly. He took the cigar from his lips and stared out over the vast, empty green fields of his estate.

"Then this is bad," Lord Farrington replied. His voice was cold, flat, and entirely selfish.

Hawksley nodded quickly in agreement. "It is a slight delay, my lord. Once he wakes up..." 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

"A slight delay?" Farrington snapped, turning his eyes back to Hawksley. The sudden anger in his voice made Hawksley take a small step backward. "You are a fool, Hawksley. You do not understand the delicate nature of this trap. The longer the Duke is delayed, the more time his solicitors have to comb through the railway consortium contracts. The more time his sister has to ask dangerous questions. A trap must be sprung quickly, before the prey realizes it is caught."

Farrington took an angry drag from his cigar. The smoke plumed thickly around his face.

"I don’t have enough time," Farrington muttered to himself, his mind already calculating new timelines and new threats.

"The engagement must be announced before the month ends and the wedding needs to take place as soon as possible."

Hawksley opened his mouth to offer a suggestion, perhaps a way to pressure the Duchess of Carleton instead, but before he could speak, the quiet of the garden was interrupted again.

The glass doors leading from the manor to the garden opened.

The stiff, emotionless butler walked across the stone patio and stepped onto the green grass. He moved with slow, dignified steps, carrying a small, polished silver tray in his white-gloved hands.

Lord Farrington stopped speaking. He watched his servant approach. He hated being interrupted twice.

The butler stopped a few feet away and offered a respectful bow.

"My Lord," the butler said quietly. "A letter for you."

Farrington frowned. "I told you I was not to be disturbed for trivial matters. Leave it on my desk in the study."

"The rider insisted it was of the utmost urgency, my lord," the butler explained smoothly, not moving away. He held the silver tray out a little further. "He said he was instructed to place it directly into your hands, and he rode his horse nearly to death to get here."

Farrington’s cold eyes narrowed. A rider who destroyed a horse for a single letter meant the news was truly critical.

Lord Farrington reached out and took the letter from the silver tray.

It was a thick envelope made of heavy, expensive parchment. Farrington flipped it over. Resting in the center of the paper was a large drop of thick, black wax. Pressed deeply into the black wax was a very specific, highly detailed crest.

Lord Farrington’s expression completely hardened. He already knew who it was from, and he knew that this person only wrote to him when a situation had escalated beyond simple bribery.

Farrington did not open the letter immediately. He lowered his hand, keeping the black wax seal hidden against his palm.

He turned to Hawksley. His eyes were dismissive and entirely final.

"You can leave," Lord Farrington commanded smoothly.

Hawksley blinked, a little surprised by the sudden, abrupt dismissal. He wanted to know what was in the letter. He wanted to know if it concerned their shared plots. But he looked at Farrington’s hard face and knew better than to ask.

"Of course, my lord," Hawksley replied quickly. He bowed low. "I will return to my own estate. Send word if you require me."

Farrington did not even bother to reply. He simply stared at his brother-in-law until the man turned around.

Hawksley walked away, moving quickly across the grass toward the manor. He was deeply relieved to escape the cold, suffocating presence of the Earl. He had survived the meeting without revealing Delaney’s location. Now, he just had to wait for Cole Kingsley to arrive in London and remove her from the Hamilton house.

Lord Farrington waited in total silence. He stood perfectly still, smoking his cigar, until he saw the heavy glass doors close behind Hawksley. He waited until he was completely alone on the vast green lawn, save for the silent footman standing far away in the trees.

Farrington dropped his half-smoked cigar onto the pristine grass. He crushed the glowing orange tip beneath the heel of his leather riding boot, grinding it deep into the dirt until the smoke completely died.

He lifted the parchment envelope. He slid his thick thumb under the flap and broke the heavy black wax seal with a sharp, violent snap.

He pulled out the sheet of paper a little bit. There were no polite greetings. There were no formal titles. There was only a single, hastily scribbled line of dark ink.

Lord Farrington’s eyes scanned the short sentence. The color did not drain from his face, but a dark, terrifying fury instantly flared in the depths of his eyes. The perfect, calculated control he had maintained all day vanished.

He gripped the edges of the paper so tightly that his knuckles turned completely white.

He read the words again, his jaw locking into a tight, dangerous line.

My lord, there is a big problem.