A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 22 - Twenty Two

Delaney was baffled by the dismissal.

"But I’m paying you a fortune!" She snapped, her frustration boiling over. "I have the money!"

"You have gold," Grist corrected. "Hawksley has power. There is a difference."

He pointed to the door. "Go on now. Before someone sees you here."

Delaney went to three more investigators.

The third one, a man named Mr. Angus, actually laughed in her face.

"You want to investigate Lord Hawksley?" Angus cackled. "Why don’t you just set yourself on fire? It would be quicker."

The fourth one didn’t even let her finish the sentence. As soon as she said "Kingsley," he shut the door in her face.

The fifth one was a woman. Mrs. Pringle. She looked kind. She listened to Delaney’s story. She looked at the gold.

"My dear," Mrs. Pringle said softly. "I have children. If I take this case, they will be orphans by the end of the week."

"Is he that powerful?" Delaney whispered. Her voice trembled.

"He is the devil," Mrs. Pringle said. "And the devil has ears everywhere. Please. Put your money away. Go back to wherever you came from. Hide."

Dealany walked down the street thinking,

" What do I do? Where do I find someone who is not afraid to face Lord Hawksley? Who is not afraid to stand for truth and fight for justice?"

She decided to take a stroll to clear her head.

It was late afternoon when Delaney climbed back into the hired carriage. The sun had began to set, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple.

She sat heavily on the leather seat. She did not look at her bag. The gold coins were still there. They were now just heavy, useless metal.

She had thought money was the answer. She had thought she could start something with the twenty pounds she had gotten. Maybe a clue or a major lead. She had also thought that once she had the sixty thousand pounds from Aunt Margery, she could fix everything. She could buy Justice.

But Mr. Grist was right. Justice wasn’t for sale. It was owned by men like Lord Hawksley—men with titles, men with power, men who could crush a family like a bug and never lose a night’s sleep.

Delaney felt tears prick her eyes. She fought them back. She refused to cry in a hackney carriage.

She looked out the window as the carriage entered the posh streets of Mayfair. They passed the beautiful townhouses. They passed the ladies in their silk dresses walking their little dogs.

It was a different world. A world where bad things didn’t happen. A world where she used to live comfortably. A world where people parents die in accidents for crimes they didn’t commit and a world where the bad cover up their tracks.

The carriage turned into the gates of Hamilton House.

Delaney wiped her eyes furiously. She put on her mask. She stiffened her spine. She arranged every strand of her hair into the perfect bun, wearing her bonnet and smoothing the little wrinkles on her dress.

The carriage stopped. Delaney took her bag, stepped out and paid the driver. As the carriage left, she walked up the stone steps. Mr. Simmons opened the door.

"Welcome back, Miss Kingsley," Simmons said warmly. "Did you have a productive trip to the library?"

Delaney froze. The library. Right. That was her cover story.

"Yes," Delaney lied. Her voice sounded hollow. "Very productive. I found... I found exactly what I was looking for. Thank you for asking."

Nothing. I found nothing but fear and disappointment.

She walked past Simmons.

As she crossed the foyer, she looked up.

At the top of the grand staircase, standing like a statue, was the Duke. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

Rowan was watching her. He had seen her hired carriage drive past the gate, stopping at the courtyard. He was leaning against the banister, his arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing a dark blue coat that fit him perfectly. He looked tall, strong, and imposing.

He looked down at her. His eyes swept over her gray dress, her tired face, her dusty boots, her bonnet in her hand.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t mock her. He didn’t give her a criticizing remark. He just watched.

"You were gone a long time," Rowan said. His voice carried across the empty hall.

Delaney gripped her bag tighter. She felt tired. She felt dirty from the city.

"I am thorough, Your Grace," she said.

"Did you find your books?" Rowan asked. "The ones you couldn’t find here?"

"Yes," she whispered. " I did."

"You look tired," Rowan observed. He uncrossed his arms. He took a step down the stairs. "Simmons, send tea to Miss Kingsley’s room."

"Yes, Your Grace," Simmons said.

Rowan looked at her for one second longer. His expression was unreadable. Was it suspicion Or was it concern? Both of them knew not what to call it.

"Rest, Miss Kingsley," Rowan said softly. "We can always continue tomorrow. You don’t really look good."

Delaney nodded. She couldn’t speak. If she spoke, she would scream.

She hurried up the stairs, brushing past him. She kept her head down so he wouldn’t see the shine of tears in her eyes.

Rowan watched her go. He watched her gray dress disappear down the hallway of the West Wing.

He frowned.

He knew she hadn’t been to the library. She smelled of London smoke. She smelled of the city.

And for the first time since he met her, she didn’t look like she wanted to fight him. She looked defeated.

Rowan felt a strange mixture of confusion and anger flare in his chest.

Who hurt her? he wondered.

And why did he suddenly want to find them and ask them why they did what they did to her?

Delaney closed the door to her room. She threw the bag and bonnet on the bed, slid to the floor, hugged her knees, buried her face in between them and silently cried her heart out.