A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 214 - Two Hundred And Fourteen

She stood very still in the dark shadows, waiting. The minutes stretched out into an agonizing, completely unbearable eternity.

Every single time the cheerful shop bell chimed at the front door, Delaney held her breath. Her muscles tensed instantly. She peeked very carefully through the small gaps in the fabric rolls, only to hear the dressmaker greeting normal, wealthy country customers.

First, it was an older baroness looking for fine silk gloves. Then, it was the loud, demanding family member of a local viscount who frequented the shop, demanding a brand new, highly expensive ballgown for the upcoming London social season. The cheerful, mindless chatter of the wealthy women felt entirely wrong and incredibly jarring to Delaney. They were discussing fancy parties, country dances, and silly local gossip, while Delaney was standing in the dark shadows, waiting for physical proof of high treason and cold-blooded murder.

"Please, Celine," Delaney whispered under her breath, her voice barely a tiny sound.

She closed her hazel eyes tightly. Her hands clenched so tightly into hard fists at her sides that her fingernails dug painfully into her own palms, right through the soft gray leather of her gloves.

"Please be safe. Please come," Delaney prayed silently.

She waited for nearly half an hour. The rhythmic, steady ticking of the grandfather clock sounded like a loud, banging drum in her sensitive ears. The sickening, cold knot of dread in her stomach grew heavier and more painful with every passing second.

She could not wait much longer to avoid drawing suspicion. She was just about to abandon her hiding spot, take the altered dress, walk out the front door, and tell Hamish they needed to go back, when she heard a very soft, highly hurried sound.

Rustle. Rustle.

It was the distinct, unmistakable sound of silk skirts moving very quickly and desperately across the wooden floorboards.

Delaney turned her head sharply toward the end of the dark aisle. A small, frantic figure slipped quickly around the corner of the tall wooden shelf, practically falling into the narrow space.

It was Lady Celine Farrington.

She looked absolutely flushed and completely exhausted. Her pale cheeks were burning a bright, feverish red. She was breathing incredibly fast, taking short, harsh, painful gasps of air that shook her entire slender frame. Her beautiful blonde curls were completely messy, escaping wildly from beneath her dark, simple bonnet. She wore a thick winter cloak wrapped tightly around her small body to hide whatever she carried inside.

"Celine!" Delaney whispered urgently, taking a quick, long step forward to catch the young girl if she collapsed.

Celine did not say a single word of greeting. She did not even say hello. She immediately looked over her shoulder, her eyes wide with sheer panic. She checked the aisle to see if anyone had followed her. She listened intently for her mother’s loud, demanding voice or her father’s heavy, terrifying footsteps.

When she saw they were completely alone and safely hidden by the hanging fabrics, Celine turned back to Delaney. Her hands were shaking violently as she pulled them out from the warm folds of her cloak.

"I have it," Celine gasped out.

Her voice was trembling so badly the words were barely understandable. Tears of fear and sheer exhaustion filled her blue eyes, spilling over her eyelashes and running down her flushed cheeks.

"I have it, Miss Kingsley," Celine repeated, taking a shuddering breath. "I did it."

Clutched tightly in Celine’s trembling, gloved fingers was a book. It was bound in cracked, dark black leather. It looked incredibly old and heavily used. The edges of the paper pages were yellowed and stained with age and dampness.

Delaney stared at the ledger.

The breath completely left her lungs. Her hazel eyes widened in pure, stunning shock. It was real. It was the physical proof of twenty years of dark lies, heavy bribes, and brutal murder. It was the absolute key to her late father’s freedom and her Hawksley’s ultimate downfall. It was finally here, right in front of her.

Delaney reached out her hand. Her own fingers were trembling slightly now, filled with pure adrenaline and overwhelming, massive relief. She gently took the book from Celine’s firm, desperate grasp. The cracked leather felt cold and rough to the touch.

As Delaney opened the front cover slightly to ensure the written pages were intact, a folded piece of thick, expensive parchment suddenly slipped out from between the leaves. It fluttered down toward the floor, but Delaney caught it quickly against the fabric of her dark blue dress before it could land.

"What is this?" Delaney asked softly, looking down at the old, folded paper in her hand.

"A letter," Celine whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek with the back of her trembling hand. "I found it folded inside the ledger when I opened the safe. It is in my father’s handwriting. Read it. Please."

Delaney carefully unfolded the crisp parchment. The black ink was sharp, elegant, and written in the formal, rigid style of the elite. But the actual words were filled with pure, undeniable poison.

To Lord Hawksley,

I write to remind you of our quiet, binding arrangement. The Oakridge silk matter is buried deeply, but it requires constant, careful tending to remain hidden from the Crown’s eyes. Do not forget who holds the shovel.

You will continue to be my proxy for my shipping ventures at the docks to keep me unseen, and you will vote in my favor in the House of Lords. If you fail to do so, the true shipping manifest and the ledger will quickly find its way to the High Chancellor’s desk. You will hang for treason, and I will watch. Do not test my patience.

Farrington.

Delaney stared at the harsh, cruel words. It was an explicit, undeniable, written threat. It proved absolutely that Lord Farrington knew Hawksley was guilty of the Oakridge scam, and he had been using that guilt to control him for years. This letter alone, combined with the ledger, was enough evidence.

Delaney carefully folded the letter and tucked it safely back inside the pages of the ledger. She held the book tightly against her chest, holding it as if she were holding a precious, fragile child.

She looked up at the young woman standing in front of her.

"Thank you," Delaney whispered. Her voice was thick with profound, genuine, overwhelming gratitude. A warm tear formed in her own hazel eye. "Celine, you are incredibly brave. You have risked your entire life for me. Thank you."

Celine looked at Delaney. She did not smile. The terrible, haunting fear in her blue eyes did not fade away at all. She wrapped her arms tightly around her own waist, shivering violently despite her heavy, warm winter cloak.

Celine took a broken, shaky breath and spoke.

"My family is in deep trouble, Miss Kingsley. My father was summoned yesterday."