A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 57 - Fifty Seven

Harry lifted his chubby little hands in the universal command for "pick me up immediately." His fingers opened and closed like a small starfish.

Ines laughed. It was impossible to resist him. She scooped him up. He felt solid and warm, smelling of milk and the expensive soap Edith used for his bath.

Harry let out a squeal of triumph. He grabbed the lapel of her traveling habit with one hand and patted her cheek with the other.

"My, you look dashing, Your Grace," Ines said, smoothing his dark hair which was sticking up in a defiant tuft at the back. "You look like a proper gentleman ready to conquer the ton."

Harry babbled something that sounded suspiciously like "Biscuit," but Ines chose to interpret it as agreement.

"Aunt Edith really did a good job," Ines continued, turning to the maid who was fastening the straps of a travel bag. "Making you look so handsome for me. You will surely steal all the hearts in London."

She leaned in and kissed his nose.

Harry giggled. It was a wet, bubbly sound. He reached up with lightning speed and tried to catch the velvet ribbon of her bonnet. He missed the ribbon but managed to grab a fistful of air near her ear.

"No, no," Ines chided gently, bouncing him on her hip. "We are going to see your Uncle Rowan. Do you remember him? Don’t cry when he carries you, okay? He is terrified of tears. He thinks babies break if they cry."

Harry looked at her with wide, dark eyes, then let out a cute, gurgling laughter, as if the idea of a terrified Duke was the funniest thing he had ever heard.

"That’s my boy," Ines replied, kissing his forehead. "You have the Anderson charm already. Dangerous."

She turned to the door.

"Now, let’s go and meet your father. He must be waiting for us, and if we are late, he will start eating the travel snacks."

Ines walked out of the nursery, carrying the heir to the Dukedom. Edith followed close behind, carrying a bag filled with nappies, wooden toys, and emergency biscuits.

They walked down the grand staircase of Anderson Hall. The morning light streamed through the high windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.

Carcel was waiting in the foyer.

He was leaning against the heavy oak table, looking every inch the relaxed Duke. He wore a dark riding coat and tall boots. When he saw his wife and son descending the stairs, he straightened up. His face, usually marked by a lazy sort of contentment, broke into a wide grin.

"There they are," Carcel announced. "The two most important people in Carleton.

Harry saw his father. He began to wiggle in Ines’s arms.

"Da!" Harry shouted. "Da-da!"

Carcel stepped forward and took the boy from Ines. He lifted Harry high into the air, making the child shriek with joy.

"Are you ready for the city, little man?" Carcel asked, bringing Harry down and kissing him loudly on the chubby cheek.

Harry giggled again, smacking his hands against Carcel’s shoulders.

"He is ready," Ines said, adjusting her gloves. "He has his best coat on."

"And his mother looks quite beautiful too," Carcel said, turning his gaze to Ines. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, lingering for a moment. "Even if she is a tyrant in the mornings."

Ines rolled her eyes, but she smiled. "The carriage, Your Grace. The carriage waits for no man."

They walked out into the crisp morning air. The large traveling coach was waiting, the horses stamping their hooves on the gravel. The footmen bowed.

Carcel handed Harry to Ines once they were seated inside, then climbed in himself. Edith settled onto the opposite bench with the baby bag.

The door closed with a heavy thud.

"To London," Carcel ordered.

The carriage lurched forward. Ines looked out the window as the green fields of their home began to roll past. She held her husband’s hand with her left hand and balanced her son on her knee with her right.

She only hoped her brother was having as good a morning as she was.

Rowan Hamilton was not having a good morning.

In fact, he was having a morning that made him wish he had chosen to become a monk instead of a Duke.

The boardroom of the Sterling Railway Consortium was not designed for comfort. It was designed for intimidation. The walls were paneled in dark mahogany that seemed to suck the light out of the room. The air was thick with the smell of cigar smoke and aggressive capitalism.

Rowan sat on one side of a long, polished table. His portfolio was open before him. He was tired. His eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep, and his patience was fraying like an old rope.

Opposite him sat Lord Sterling and his board of directors—five men with gray whiskers and faces made of granite.

Beside Rowan sat Delaney.

She was a vision in burgundy velvet. She sat perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap, the garnets at her throat catching the dim light. She looked every inch the supportive, aristocratic cousin.

"The price is too high, Your Grace," Lord Sterling said. He was a large man who looked like a bulldog wearing a cravat. He tapped a thick finger on the map spread out between them. "You are asking for a premium on the land rights for the Hampshire line. But the terrain is rocky. It will cost us a fortune to grade the track."

"The terrain is stable," Rowan argued, fighting to keep the irritation out of his voice. "And it cuts ten miles off the route to the coast. That saves you coal. That saves you time. Time is money, Lord Sterling."

"It is a risk," Sterling countered, leaning back in his chair. "We are willing to offer... ten percent less than your asking price."

Rowan stiffened. Ten percent was significant. It was the difference between stabilizing the estate for a decade and just getting by for a few years.

"That is unacceptable," Rowan said. "The land has been in my family for three centuries. I will not sell it for a discount simply because you do not wish to pay for quality engineering."

"Then perhaps we do not have a deal,"

Sterling said. He started to close his ledger.

The room went silent. The air tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

Rowan felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. He needed this deal. He had told Delaney it was for the future, and it was. He couldn’t walk away, but he couldn’t look weak.

He opened his mouth to speak, to perhaps offer a smaller concession.

Suddenly, a clear, calm voice cut through the smoke.

"If I may, Lord Sterling."

Every head in the room turned.