A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 125 - Hundred And Twenty Five

The doors of Rowan’s study clicked shut. The sound was a solid, final barrier that separated the two men from the rest of the household.

Carcel walked across the thick rug. His heavy riding boots left faint traces of road dust on the woven fabric, but neither man cared. He walked directly to the large, comfortable leather chair opposite Rowan’s massive desk.

Carcel sat down in the chair opposite Rowan. He let out a long, weary breath, the exhaustion of his rapid journey from London finally showing on his face. He rested his hands firmly on the polished surface of the table, his long fingers tapping a slow, thoughtful rhythm against the wood.

Rowan did not sit down immediately. He walked over to a small side table holding a collection of crystal decanters. He picked up a heavy glass bottle filled with dark amber brandy. He poured two generous measures into two crystal glasses. He knew they were going to need a strong drink for this conversation.

Rowan carried the glasses over to the desk. He handed one to Carcel, then walked around the desk to take his own seat in the high-backed leather chair.

Carcel accepted the glass with a nod of thanks. He took a slow sip, letting the strong, warm liquid soothe his dry throat. He set the glass down and looked directly into his brother-in-law’s bright brown eyes.

"I met with Vance," Carcel began. His voice was low, steady, and completely serious. "As soon as I arrived in the city, I went straight to where he said we should meet."

Rowan replied. "For you to be back in just days after leaving, he is exactly as clever as you said he was. He has eyes and ears in every corner of London."

" Precisely." Carcel replied, taking a sip of his brandy."

Rowan leaned back in his chair, holding his glass of brandy but not drinking it. He waited patiently for the report.

"We began investigating into Lord Hawksley," Carcel continued, dropping the glass on the table and folding his hands together on the desk. "We looked into his finances, his properties, and his family history. And what we found explains a great deal about his desperate methods."

"Tell me," Rowan said quietly.

"He is not from an old, noble family," Carcel revealed. A slight look of distaste crossed his handsome face.

In their world, a man’s bloodline often dictated his honor, and Hawksley’s bloodline was entirely built on trade.

"He is from a merchant family." Carcel continued. "His father got a little money in shipping goods from the colonies, but they had absolutely no title, no standing in polite society."

Rowan frowned. "A merchant’s son. Then how did he become Lord Hawksley? How did he acquire a Baronetcy?"

Carcel leaned forward, resting his forearms on the heavy oak desk. "That is the truly interesting part. He did not earn the title through military service or service to the Crown. He acquired it through marriage. Or, rather, through his sister’s marriage."

Carcel took another sip of his brandy. "His sister was considered a great beauty. She was paraded in front of the titled men of London, backed by her father’s shipping business. She caught the eye of a man who needed an ally to help him ship his goods. Her father agreed for the money and social elevation. She married into the Farringtons."

The name hung in the quiet air of the study.

"Lord Farrington married the merchant’s daughter," Carcel explained smoothly. "And used his considerable power to elevate his new brother-in-law. Hawksley got a Baronetcy from his brother-in-law’s influence in the House of Lords. Farrington pulled the strings, called in his favors, and essentially bought the title for him."

Rowan sat perfectly still. He absorbed the information, his sharp mind quickly connecting the dots.

He raised his free hand. Rowan scratched his chin slowly, feeling the slight scrape of his afternoon stubble. He looked down at the polished surface of his desk, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

"So," Rowan said. His voice was a soft, dangerous murmur.

If Lord Hawksley was merely a merchant’s son who had been gifted a minor title, he did not possess the true, deep-rooted power required to trap a Duke. Hawksley did not have the political connections or the high-standing reputation to execute such a bold, flawless blackmail scheme entirely on his own. He was a wealthy bully, yes, but he was not the mastermind. He was the hound. Someone else was holding the leash.

Rowan lifted his head. His bright eyes met Carcel’s dark ones.

"The real threat is..." Rowan started.

Both Rowan and Carcel uttered the name in unison.

"Lord Farrington."

The words echoed in the quiet study. The realization settled heavily over them. Lord Farrington, the quiet, stern Earl, was the true architect of this disaster. He was the puppet master. Hawksley was simply the tool being used to force the Duke of Ford into the Farrington family.

Carcel replied, giving a sharp, definitive nod. "Exactly."

Carcel sat back in his chair, his expression turning grim. "I found it incredibly suspicious how a mere merchant’s son had such vast influence in the railway consortium. How could a man with a bought title control so many shares and dictate terms to a Duke? It made no sense. So, Vance and I traced the money and the influence backward. And every single path led straight back to his brother-in-law. He owns the railway consortium."

Rowan nodded slowly. The picture was finally clear. The trap was not built on a single railway line; it was built on an Earl’s ambition.

"Indeed," Rowan said. His voice was cold and flat.

He set his glass of brandy down on the desk. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, brass key. He unlocked the top drawer of his desk. The lock clicked loudly.

Rowan reached inside the drawer. He brought out a thick, brown paper parcel. He opened it and pulled out the crisp, white legal documents. There were two sets of papers.

One was the marriage settlement Lord Hawksley had handed him in the hallway. The other was the railway business contract he had signed at the consortium office.

He placed the two contracts flat on the table and pushed them firmly across the polished wood, stopping them right in front of Carcel.

"Have a look at this," Rowan said quietly.