A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 204 - Two Hundred And Four

Carcel let out a low whistle of pure amazement. It was the perfect weapon to end the Oakridge silk scam case.

"And how exactly does Miss Kingsley know about this highly secret safe?" Carcel asked, deeply impressed.

"Lady Celine Farrington," Rowan explained. "She told Delaney everything. Celine knows where the key to the safe is kept. She is going to steal the ledger and deliver it to Delaney in exactly three days."

Carcel stared at Rowan for a long moment. He slowly shook his head, a wide, genuine smile breaking across his face.

"It seems we are both attracted to incredibly capable women," Carcel smiled, thinking of his own brilliant, fierce wife, Ines. "While we were tearing apart the dusty city archives, she simply walked into a dress shop and secured the entire victory."

Rowan nodded his head in complete agreement. His heart swelled with profound love and pride.

"It seems so," Rowan agreed softly, looking down at her elegant handwriting one more time.

Then, his face became entirely serious again. The smile faded, replaced by a look of deep, solemn purpose. He remembered the final paragraph of Delaney’s letter. He remembered the desperate, heartbreaking plea from the young Lady Celine.

Rowan looked up at Carcel.

"Carcel," Rowan asked, his voice dropping into a respectful, quiet tone. "Can I ask you for a favor?"

Carcel immediately recognized the serious shift in Rowan’s demeanor. He stopped smiling. He stood tall, offering his absolute, unwavering support.

"What is it?" Carcel replied, ready to do whatever was necessary.

Rowan stood up from his chair. He held out the thick parchment letter, offering it to his brother-in-law.

"Read the last paragraph," Rowan instructed quietly.

Carcel took the letter. He scanned the final few lines. He read the name Edward Fitz. He read the tragic story of the murdered stable boy and the weeping girl who simply wanted a place to grieve.

Carcel slowly lowered the letter. His eyes were incredibly cold. He hated Lord Farrington with every fiber of his being, but reading about the cold-blooded murder of a young boy made his blood boil with a new fury.

Rowan met Carcel’s dark eyes.

"Can you help me find where he was laid?" Rowan asked simply.

Carcel did not hesitate for a single second. He folded the letter carefully and handed it back to Rowan.

"It is a small matter," Carcel replied, his voice a low, deadly promise. "I will write a letter to Vance immediately. I will tell him to drop the search for the Oakridge case and focus entirely on this young lad’s case. He will question every gravedigger, every local magistrate, and every retired servant until he finds that boy’s resting place."

Carcel paused, a tiny, grim smirk touching the corner of his mouth to lighten the heavy, tragic mood in the room.

"Just know," Carcel added, raising a single eyebrow, "your payment to Vance is increasing drastically. He has not slept in days."

Rowan nodded his head seriously, completely ignoring the cost. He would empty his entire vault if it meant bringing peace to Celine and justice to Farrington.

"I know," Rowan agreed firmly. "And he entirely deserves every single pound. He worked really hard behind the scenes to uncover the coachman’s confession and every other evidences."

Carcel nodded in agreement. He turned toward the door, ready to leave and write his instructions to his investigator.

"We have the coachman’s confession for the carriage accident," Carcel summarized quietly. "We will soon have the ledger for the silk scam. And we will find the grave of the murdered boy. Everything is moving in our favor, Rowan."

Carcel looked back at the Duke of Ford.

"Now, we just only have to deal with Lord Farrington," Carcel stated clearly.

Rowan replied, his eyes turning as cold and hard as winter ice. "I agree."

He was entirely ready for the war. He was ready to rip the arrogant Earl from his high social standing and give him the justice he deserves.

Before Carcel could even reach for the brass door handle, another sharp knock came on the door.

Rowan frowned deeply. Two interruptions in a single morning was highly unusual for his well-trained staff.

"Come in," Rowan called out, his voice returning to its sharp, commanding tone.

The door opened, and Mr. Simmons stepped back into the study. This time, the elderly butler did not carry a silver tray. He looked slightly confused, his usually perfectly blank expression replaced by a look of mild bewilderment.

"Forgive the second intrusion, Your Grace," Mr. Simmons apologized, bowing his head.

"What is it, Simmons?" Rowan asked impatiently, wanting to return to his planning.

"Your Grace," Simmons began, his voice hesitant. "A woman is looking for you in the foyer."

Rowan’s frown deepened. The house was strictly closed to visitors. "A woman? Did she give her name? Is it one of my sister’s friends from society?"

"No, Your Grace," Simmons replied, shaking his head. "She does not appear to be a lady of the Ton. Her clothes are quite plain, and she arrived on foot, not by carriage."

Simmons paused, clearing his throat slightly.

"She says her name is Flora," Simmons finished.

The quiet study went completely, utterly silent.

Rowan froze. He stared at the butler. His mind, usually so sharp and capable of recalling thousands of names and estate figures, suddenly went entirely blank.

Flora.

Rowan tried to remember where he had heard that particular name. It sounded incredibly familiar, like a distant echo from a past life. He searched his memory. Was she a former maid? A tenant from one of his country estates?

And then, like a lightning strike in the dark, the memory hit him with staggering force.

He remembered the carriage ride with Delaney a week ago. He remembered the rain, the mud, and the terrifying crash. But right before the carriage fell, they had been on a very specific mission.

Aunt Margery had sent them into the city.

He and Delaney had been trying to talk to a young woman who used to work for the Kingsley family. A young woman who possessed a vital piece of evidence regarding the Farrington family.

A young woman named Miss Flora who was Lady Celine’s handmaiden.

Rowan’s eyes widened in absolute, complete surprise. His jaw actually dropped slightly.

He looked at Carcel, who was watching him with a highly confused expression. Then, he looked back at the butler.

"Miss Flora?" Rowan asked, his voice a breathless whisper of pure disbelief.

Fate was not simply working in his favor; it was practically handing him the entire victory on a silver platter.

Rowan didn’t wait for the butler to answer.

"Bring her in," He commanded instantly, his voice ringing loudly through the study. "Bring her in right this second, Simmons!"