A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 118 - Hundred And Eighteen

Lord Farrington leaned forward. He rested his elbows on the polished desk. The smoke from his cigar drifted between them, creating a hazy veil.

"I don’t need the penalty money," Lord Farrington stated clearly.

He waved his hand, dismissing the massive fortune as if it were nothing more than a pile of dust.

"If the Duke refuses to marry Celine and pays the penalty instead, the consortium gains a million pounds. But that means nothing to me," Farrington continued. His voice was cold, flat, and dripping with arrogance. "I have my own resources that would last me for a very long time. My debts are managed. My lands are secure. Wealth is common, Hawksley. Any fool with a lucky investment can become wealthy." 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

He reached out and tapped the ashes from his cigar onto the edge of a heavy crystal ashtray. The soft tap, tapsound was the only noise in the quiet room.

Lord Farrington looked up. His eyes were completely devoid of warmth or human compassion.

"I need the connection, Hawksley," Lord Farrington said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "I need the bloodline."

Hawksley stood perfectly still, listening to his master.

"I need to be the father-in-law to the Duke of Ford," Lord Farrington declared. His hands gripped the edge of his desk. "I need my grandchildren to bear that title. I need the doors of polite society to open for me without question. I need the power that comes from standing beside one of the oldest and most respected families in England."

He leaned back in his chair again. He brought the cigar to his lips, took a slow puff, and exhaled the smoke toward the ceiling.

"Like the saying goes," Lord Farrington murmured, watching the smoke dance in the air. "A good name is worth more than riches."

He lowered his hand and looked directly at Hawksley’s bruised face.

"And the Hamilton name," Farrington said with finality, "is a good name. It is untainted. It is perfect. It will wash away any... unfortunate whispers that might surround our own family."

Hawksley knew exactly what whispers Farrington was talking about. He knew about the young man named Edward. He knew how the young man was brutally killed. But he also knew that speaking of such things meant certain death.

Lord Farrington chuckled softly. It was a terrifying, hollow sound that made the hairs on the back of Hawksley’s neck stand up.

Farrington turned his head and looked at Lord Hawksley. The amusement vanished from his face, replaced by a dark, lethal threat.

"If he doesn’t sign it," Lord Farrington said, his voice completely calm, "I will not blame the Duke, Hawksley. I will blame you."

Lord Hawksley’s breath hitched in his throat. "My lord, I have done everything..."

"If the Duke walks away," Lord Farrington interrupted smoothly, ignoring Hawksley’s plea, "I will just have to report your dealings from twenty years ago."

The color drained entirely from Lord Hawksley’s face. He turned a sickly shade of gray. The red handprint on his cheek stood out in stark, violent contrast against his pale skin.

Twenty years ago. The carriage accident. The forged ledgers. The death of Arthur Kingsley.

Hawksley thought that incident had been buried forever. He thought the rain and the mud had washed away all his sins. But Lord Farrington knew. Farrington had always known. The Earl had of course given him the money and power and used that secret to keep Hawksley on a short leash for two decades.

"You wouldn’t," Hawksley whispered, his voice shaking with absolute terror. "We were in this together. We are family. My sister is your wife."

"I would," Lord Farrington replied without a single moment of hesitation. He took another drag of his cigar. "Family means nothing to a man facing ruin. I will simply say I discovered your fraud recently and felt it was my duty to the Crown to hand over the evidence."

He tapped his cigar against the crystal ashtray again.

"There are still men in the magistrate’s office who remember Arthur Kingsley," Farrington noted casually. "There are men who would love to reopen that case. If I give them the real ledgers—the ones you thought you burned—you will hang, Hawksley."

Hawksley’s knees went weak. He gripped the wooden armchair tighter to keep from collapsing onto the floor.

"Surely," Lord Farrington continued, leaning forward with a cruel, mocking smile, "you do not want to ruin the reputation and connections you have built over the years, right? You do not want to trade your fine tailored coats for the cold stone walls of Newgate Prison. You do not want to end your life swinging from a rope in front of a cheering crowd."

Lord Farrington stared at him, waiting for the answer.

Lord Hawksley could not speak. His throat was completely dry. His heart was pounding so hard it physically hurt his chest. He was entirely trapped. He had spent twenty years building a life on the bones of Arthur and Genevieve Kingsley, and Lord Farrington was holding the match that could burn it all to the ground in a single day.

Hawksley shook his head. It was a frantic, jerky movement.

"No," Hawksley managed to choke out. "No, my lord. I do not."

Lord Farrington smiled. It was not a warm smile. It was the smile of a predator watching its prey surrender.

"Wise decision," Lord Farrington replied.

He leaned back in his large leather chair. He brought the cigar to his lips one final time. He looked past Hawksley, dismissing the terrified man entirely from his attention. The meeting was over. The threat had been delivered.

"Now get... out," Lord Farrington commanded softly.

Lord Hawksley did not hesitate. He did not bow. He did not say a polite goodbye. He turned on his heel and scrambled out of the room. He moved with a clumsy, desperate speed, his polished boots slipping slightly on the carpet in his haste to escape the oppressive, terrifying atmosphere of the Earl’s study.

He reached the heavy double doors, yanked one open, and practically threw himself out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him with a loud click.

Inside the study, Lord Farrington sat alone in the quiet. He took a slow puff of his cigar, blowing the smoke out in a perfect, unbroken ring. He looked at the closed door, his eyes cold and calculating.

The game was set. The pieces were in motion. The Duke of Ford would sign the paper, the Farrington family would secure their legacy, and anyone who stood in the way would simply be destroyed.