Page 62

“Kenrick?”

Rob rubbed his eyes and nodded. “Be glad you don’t have siblings to cause you grief! I thank God for Heather and Hereward. They at least never give me any gray hairs. As for Ingrid, I dread the day she is released from the schoolroom. I’ll be white haired in a week once we launch her on the ton! She will make Ava look like an angel.”

“Ava is an angel!” said Jerome, bristling instantly in Ava’s defense.

Rob smiled tiredly. “I will say marriage seems to suit her. Perhaps the secret to managing Ingrid will be to get her married as soon as possible. Then she will be someone else’s problem!”

“What’s Rick done?” asked Jerome, glad to be talking of something other than his own problems.

“Ruined a young lady and refused to do the honorable thing! I’m so angry with him—there is only so much even my credit can withstand. The Layne name is getting rapidly tarnished.”

Jerome winced. “Who—?” The door opening cut off his inquiry in mid-stream as Emrys and Deo came in, and the conversation reverted to his situation.

Jerome sustained a second visit from Sir William on the seventh day of his incarceration to inform him that his case would be heard in the House of Lords in two days’ time, and to brief him on his strategy for the defense.

“You will no doubt be forced to make a statement and questioned by the prosecution, who will attempt to twist your words to convict you. I straightly advise you to stick to the facts as you know them. Do not allow the prosecution to cozen you into surmises or speculation. I will do the rest. I am confident of full exoneration.”

Ava’s second visit was on the heels of Garrow’s and principally to assure him that he was certain to be successful. At least that was her avowed reason. He wondered how much of it was to reassure herself. Holding her close, he took solace from her unwavering belief in him and swore that once he was free of this terrible consequence of his past actions, he would spend the rest of his life trying to be worthy of this wonderful woman who, despite all this shame and scandal, seemed proud to call herself his wife.

Thus, Jerome arrived at the House of Lords in a hackney, accompanied by two Bow Street Runners—who were acutely uncomfortable escorting a peer of the realm—and entered the halls of Westminster with a heart that beat too fast and, despite Sir William’s encouraging words, a sick pit of fear in his stomach.

He was as immaculately dressed for the occasion as his circumstances allowed. And if his linen wasn’t as crisp as he would like, he hoped none but the most discerning eyes would notice. Even so, he knew, and it dented his confidence. Then he thought of Ava, and he set his shoulders back and lifted his head. Her love would sustain him through this, and then they would be reunited once more and able to put this terrible episode behind them.

He walked into the chamber with, if not quite his usual nonchalant air, then at least pride in his bearing and the knowledge that, linen or no, he was still one of the best-dressed men in the room.

The buzz of conversation in the room was loud, for the space was full. It was a long, high-ceilinged chamber with six magnificent gold chandeliers and half-circle clerestory windows along the outside wall to afford light. The lower three quarters of the walls were dressed in red brocade wallpaper and red hangings hung over the entrances at the front of the room and behind the King’s Throne, which was the focal point of the room’s design.

Rows of seats lined the walls, and platforms down either side provided a second tier of seating. The upper portion of the walls and ceiling were painted cream, so the overall effect was of red, cream, and gold opulence, accented by wood paneling on the high dado line below the windows and in the red upholstered pews upon which the lords sat. Several rows of these also occupied the center of the room, and at the rear, behind them, the table at which the bewigged learned gentlemen of the bar sat or stood.

It was to one end of this large table that Jerome was guided to take his seat beside Sir William, robed in black, with his long wig upon his head. At the other end was Sir Nicholas Connyngham Tindal with his client, Lady Mostyn, who was the only woman in the room. Between them were sundry fellows in smaller wigs, whom Jerome surmised to be attorneys or clerks of court as they were all busily scribbling.

Lady Mostyn stiffened at the sight of him and glared malevolently at him. He stared back, unsmiling, determined that she would not provoke him into revealing shame or guilt. He inclined his head in acknowledgment of her and then took his seat.

The house quietened, and after some preliminaries the case got under way. The charges were read out, and the prosecution made the opening address. Lady Mostyn did not speak, leaving the address to her counsel.

In his conclusion to his opening remarks, Tindal said, “I put it to you, my lords, that this man, whose reputation as a libertine is well known to you all,” he waved in Jerome’s direction with disdain, “did willfully and maliciously seduce an innocent young girl of only eighteen summers, and when caught compromising her, refuse to do the right thing by her. Not content with that, he then, upon discovering her alone and frightened on the edge of a dangerous cliff, did throw her from said cliff into the sea and only afterward claim that she fell. This stain upon the peerage is a murderer in cold blood, so lost to all gentlemanly instincts that when given the opportunity to absolve his sin, he did refuse and place an innocent young girl in utmost peril. I therefore ask you, my lords, in good conscience, that you find him guilty of murder and sentence him to hang.”

He paused at this point while murmurs ran around the house. Jerome sat through this barrage of lies with his head up and attempted to look as unconcerned as possible.

“I shall now call my witnesses,” went on Tindal. “Is Lord Barrington in the house?”

“Aye,” said Barrington. A middle-aged man, short of stature and with a tendency to corpulence, rose in his seat.

“Will you step forward, my lord, and answer a few questions?” requested Tindal.

“Happy to, sir,” said Barrington, leaving his seat in the pews to join them at the table. Barrington was sworn in.

“My lord, were you a guest of Lord and Lady Mostyn in July of 1812 at their estate in Northumberland?”

“I was.”

“And was this man, the Marquess of Ravenshaw, also a guest at that time?”

“He was.” Barrington threw Jerome a dark look from under his graying brows.

“And did you note during your stay any contact between Miss Charis Dunsenay and the Marquess?”

“I should say so,” said Barrington with a hearty chuckle. “The little minx set her cap at him from the start.”