A Scandal By Any Other Name

Delaney entered, panting heavily.

She stood in the wide open doorway, trying to catch her breath. The entire House of Lords turned to look at her in pure, stunning shock. She was a deeply terrible sight. She was wearing her white silk wedding dress, but the pristine fabric was completely ruined. The hem was torn and caked with thick, dark brown mud from her frantic horse ride. The delicate white lace on her sleeves was ripped.

Worst of all was the blood. A strip of torn white silk was wrapped tightly around her head, stained a dark, ugly red from the deep gash near her temple. Dark bruises shaped like large fingers marked her pale neck. She had no warm cloak. She looked completely wild, entirely exhausted, and incredibly fearless.

In the front row, Rowan felt his heart stop completely in his chest.

He spoke, his voice cracking with raw, unfiltered emotion. "Del?"

He saw the blood on her head. He saw the dark, violent bruises on her throat. Pure, blinding panic and fierce, protective rage completely took over his mind. He did not care about the High Chancellor. He did not care about the hundreds of staring lords. He just wanted to reach her.

He moved to stand up and run to her but a strong hand clamped down hard on his shoulder. Carcel held him down firmly on the wooden bench.

Carcel leaned in very close and whispered urgently into Rowan’s ear. "Don’t lose your cool. Remember exactly where we are, Rowan. We are in the House of Lords. She is walking down the aisle. If you rush to her now, you will cause a terrible scandal. Don’t ruin her reputation when she is so close to winning."

Rowan breathed in a harsh, shaky breath. His hands curled into tight, shaking fists on his lap. He knew Carcel was right. It was not normal for a Duke to simply embrace a young, unmarried woman in the middle of a formal trial.

Rowan let out a resigned sigh. He forced himself to remain seated, but his eyes never left Delaney’s face.

Delaney did not look at the whispering lords. She did not look at Rowan. She kept her chin high and her hazel eyes focused entirely on the high desk at the front of the room. She walked slowly down the long center aisle. Her soft, ruined shoes made no sound on the wooden floor.

She reached the front of the room. She stopped right next to the defendant’s stand, completely ignoring Lord Hawksley, who was staring at her in absolute shock.

Delaney held out her hands. She presented the ledger and the folded shipping manifest.

"I have it all here, Your Lordship," Delaney said. Her voice was raspy and weak from her bruised throat, but the words were clear.

The High Chancellor looked down at the injured young woman with deep surprise and sudden respect.

"Who are you, my dear?" He asked.

Delaney answered with pride. "I am Miss Delaney Kingsley. Daughter of Arthur Kingsley."

The High Chancellor nodded his head slowly. He sent a young court clerk to take the items. The clerk hurried down the steps, took the book and the old parchment from Delaney’s shaking hands, and carried them carefully up to the Chancellor’s desk.

Lord Hawksley stood frozen at the defendant’s stand. His smooth, arrogant mask was completely gone.

He thought to himself, his mind spinning in a frantic circle of panic. "How did she get her hands on my ledger? I thought it was with Farrington! And what is that old parchment she brought with it?"

He stared at Delaney, but she did not look at him. She stood tall, refusing to show him any weakness.

The High Chancellor put on his reading glasses. He opened the ledger. He turned the cracked pages carefully, reading the neat handwriting. Then, he unfolded the old, yellowed shipping manifest.

The Chancellor read the documents in absolute silence. The grand chamber was so quiet that the sound of the paper rustling seemed incredibly loud.

Slowly, a small, cold smile appeared on the High Chancellor’s stern face. The puzzle was finally complete.

The High Chancellor turned to Lord Hawksley. He picked up the black book.

"Do you recognize this?" the Chancellor asked clearly, his voice echoing in the hall. He showed Hawksley the ledger.

Hawksley swallowed hard. He gripped the stand tightly. He decided to stick to his previous lie, hoping it would still save him.

"I do not, Your Lordship," Hawksley lied, shaking his head. He denied its existence and claimed it was a forgery once again. "That is the book Lord Farrington used to blackmail me. It is a complete forgery. I have never seen the inside of it."

The Chancellor did not argue. He simply set the book down. He reached his hand between the dark pages of the ledger and pulled out a folded piece of thick paper. It was the threatening letter Celine had found hidden inside the safe.

The Chancellor raised up the letter Farrington had used to threaten Hawksley.

"And what about this?" the Chancellor said. His voice was no longer polite. It was hard and dangerous. "Because it seems, Lord Hawksley, that you were the one in a deep partnership with Lord Farrington, and not Baron Arthur Kingsley."

Hawksley’s eyes widened. "A letter?"

The Chancellor unfolded the paper and read it out to the peers.

"It is a letter written by Lord Farrington, addressed directly to you," the Chancellor announced loudly. "It reads: To Lord Hawksley. I write to remind you of our quiet, binding arrangement. The Oakridge silk matter is buried deeply, but it requires constant, careful tending to remain hidden from the Crown’s eyes. You will continue to support me. If you fail to do so, the true shipping manifest will quickly find its way to the High Chancellor’s desk. You will hang for treason, and I will watch."

The entire room erupted in soft, angry murmurs. The noblemen shook their heads in deep disgust. The letter was absolute, undeniable proof of blackmail between two guilty partners. It proved Hawksley was entirely involved in the Oakridge silk scam.

Hawksley took a weak step backward. "That... that proves nothing! He was simply threatening me!"

The Chancellor ignored his pathetic excuse. He set the letter down.

Then, the Chancellor raised the old, yellowed shipping manifest. He held the parchment high in the air for everyone to see.

"What about this?" the Chancellor asked, staring directly into Hawksley’s frightened eyes.

Hawksley squinted at the old paper. He was genuinely confused. He had never seen that specific piece of parchment before in his entire life.

"I do not know what that is," Hawksley said truthfully, his voice trembling slightly.

The Chancellor chuckled. It was a cold, humorless sound.

"I believe you," the Chancellor replied smoothly. "Because this is the original manifest Baron Arthur Kingsley used for the ordered silk twenty years ago. This is the paper you tried so desperately to hide."

The Chancellor looked down and read the old document carefully.

He turned back to Hawksley. His face was entirely serious and completely unforgiving.

"It says here, in plain ink," the Chancellor explained to the silent hall, "that Baron Arthur Kingsley ordered exactly one hundred bolts of pure Italian silks for his business with the Queen. And it was officially stamped and approved by the port authorities. It is a completely legal, honest document."

The Chancellor picked up the ledger again, tapping the open page with his finger.

"However," the Chancellor continued, "according to your private ledger here, you also ordered one hundred bolts of silks from Lord Farrington’s illegal ships on the exact same week. But the silks you ordered were fake. They were cheap fabric coated with highly toxic mercury to make them shine like real Italian silk."

Hawksley opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was completely trapped.