A Scandal By Any Other Name

The news of Lord Farrington’s terrible conviction and his sentence of death spread through the London Ton faster than a winter fire. The untouchable Earl was completely ruined, and the heavy, crushing weight of the Crown’s justice did not stop with him. It fell directly onto his family.

On the very same day the Earl was dragged away to the dark cells of the Tower of London, a squad of heavily armed Crown Guards arrived at the grand, sweeping Farrington estate in the city.

Lady Farrington received the exact same harsh, unforgiving treatment as Eunice Kingsley.

The guards marched directly into her drawing room. They did not care about her complaints. They did not care about her tears. They carried a parchment signed by the High Chancellor himself.

"Everything within these walls, and the walls themselves, belonging to the traitor Lord Farrington has been formally confiscated by the Crown," the captain of the squad announced coldly, pointing toward the doors. "You must leave immediately."

Lady Farrington and Celine were literally thrown out of the house.

They were not allowed to pack their heavy wooden trunks. They were not allowed to take their expensive jewels or their fine silk dresses. Lady Farrington was only allowed to keep the small amount of coin she happened to carry in her daily reticule.

They stood on the cold stone street outside their former grand home, watching the guards lock the iron gates against them.

Lady Farrington was completely panicked. She flagged down a passing, cheap hired carriage. She used a significant portion of her money to pay the driver to take her and Celine far away from the wealthy streets of Mayfair, deep into a poorer part of the city.

They arrived at a small, dark, and highly unpleasant inn. It smelled badly. Lady Farrington used her very last bit of money to pay for a tiny, cramped room with two narrow beds for a single week.

Since the moment of their arrival at the dreadful inn, Lady Farrington had been completely frantic. She refused to accept her terrible, sudden ruin.

She sat at a small, wobbly wooden table near the dirty window, using cheap paper and a borrowed quill. She had been writing letters continuously for five days. She wrote desperate, pleading letters seeking urgent help from wealthy relatives, both from Farrington’s proud side of the family and her own side of the family. She begged for a small cottage to live in. She begged for a small allowance. She begged for someone to save her from the terrible, smelly inn.

Celine sat quietly on the edge of her narrow bed, watching her mother write. Celine did not cry over the lost house or the lost silk dresses. She felt a strange, profound sense of deep, quiet peace. She was finally free from that house and all the bad memories that came with it.

For the number of days they stayed in the cramped room, they waited anxiously for a reply.

But not a single letter was ever sent back.

Every single morning, Lady Farrington would rush downstairs to the innkeeper, demanding to know if a messenger had arrived. The answer was always a rude, short "no."

It was completely clear to both women. None of their wealthy, proud relatives wanted to help them. They were entirely terrified of the Crown’s anger. No one wanted to be publicly associated with the massive, dark scandal of high treason and murder. Lady Farrington and Celine were completely, utterly abandoned by the entire London high society.

Two days before their paid time at the cheap inn was scheduled to run out, Lady Farrington left the room early in the morning without saying a word.

Celine stayed in the small room. She packed her few remaining items into a small cloth bag. She was mentally preparing herself to find honest work. She knew she could find a position as a simple governess or a quiet lady’s companion or even a maid in the distant countryside, far away from the terrible gossip of the city.

Suddenly, the door of the inn room opened.

Lady Farrington walked in. She was breathing heavily, having climbed the steep, narrow wooden stairs too quickly. But unlike the past five days of weeping and panicked pacing, her face was completely flushed with a bright, strange, highly excited energy.

"Celine, my child," Lady Farrington spoke, her voice surprisingly cheerful as she entered the room. "I have incredibly good news."

Celine stopped folding her simple gray shawl. She looked up at her mother. She frowned slightly, highly suspicious of the sudden change in mood.

"You were gone for a long while, Mama," Celine spoke softly, her blue eyes watching her mother closely. "Is anything wrong? Did the innkeeper demand more coin?"

"No, no. Not at all," Lady Farrington replied quickly, waving her hand dismissively in the air. She walked over to the small mirror hanging on the wall and began to fix her messy hair.

"Everything is perfectly fine. I was just out handling a very important matter. I was just finalizing the legal arrangements for your marriage to Lord Berwick."

Celine froze completely. Her hands tightened around the gray wool of her shawl.

"We will leave this dreadful place in exactly two days," Lady Farrington continued happily, completely ignoring her daughter’s sudden silence. She turned away from the mirror.

"Lord Berwick has formally agreed to marry you immediately. He is generously willing to completely overlook the terrible scandal of your father’s treason. And, most importantly, he has agreed to take me in as well and provide me with a comfortable suite of rooms in his country manor. That is an incredibly good fortune for us, do you not agree?"

Lady Farrington smiled widely, looking incredibly pleased with her own clever, selfish negotiation.

Celine stared at her mother. A sudden, deep, violent wave of revulsion washed over her stomach, making her feel physically sick.

"What?" Celine exclaimed loudly, completely dropping her shawl onto the narrow bed. Her face twisted into an expression of absolute, undeniable disgust at what her mother had just said.

"Do not act so terribly surprised, Celine," Lady Farrington scolded lightly, frowning slightly at her daughter’s lack of gratitude.

"My marriage to Lord Berwick?" Celine repeated, her voice rising in sheer, angry disbelief. She stood up from the bed, her hands clenching into tight fists at her sides.

"That terrible, violent widower? The man everyone in the Ton whispers about because he beat his wife to death in a drunken rage? Now you want me to marry him and take care of his four wild, undisciplined children while he likely beats me too?"

Lady Farrington’s smile completely vanished. Her face hardened into a familiar, cold, highly arrogant mask.

"Why are you so incredibly stubborn and ungrateful?" Lady Farrington spoke sharply, pointing a scolding finger at Celine. "Do you not understand our terrible situation? We have absolutely nothing! I went to massive, humiliating lengths to secure this match for you! I begged the man! I did it so that you will have a good life and a warm roof over your head!"