Page 40 of Dangerous Illusions (Dangerous #1)

G IDEON RECEIVED DAINTRY’S LETTERS with only a small degree of surprise, for he had long since understood that she did not concern herself much with notions of propriety.

Nonetheless, he did not reply to them. Her father did not share her notions, and he had no wish to figure, since he had written the first letter, as the instigator of a clandestine correspondence.

That she and the other ladies meant to confront Seacourt and expected Jervaulx, not to mention himself, to support them, he found disquieting.

He smiled at her naive assumption that he could influence his father, and though he knew he could not, decided he must certainly attend the Assize Court on Thursday, so that she should not think he had basely deserted them.

And, too, despite all her independent airs and graces, she was vulnerable and all too likely to make a fool of herself if he were not there to protect her from the consequences of her own impulsiveness.

What his father would make of his presence, he could not imagine, nor did he attempt to do so, but Thursday morning found him at Launceston Castle in the ancient county capital, where Dukes of Cornwall still came to receive their feudal dues, and where assize courts had been held since the twelfth century.

There was a great deal of traffic since Thursday was a market day, but he was able without much difficulty to pass through the town gate of the castle and drive his curricle straight inside, past the jail and onto the castle green, where the Assize Court building was located.

Court was already in session when he entered, but although Sea-court was seated near the front, he saw no sign of the ladies or St. Merryn before he found a place in the second row.

Jervaulx, the sole magistrate, was seated behind the high bench, and looked sharply at him for a brief instant before returning his attention to the case at hand.

Once Lady Ophelia’s carriage had passed the Launceston sheep market and made its way down the hill, Daintry could see the ancient south gate of the castle ahead.

“There it is, ma’am.”

“Yes,” Lady Ophelia said. “We will go round to the north gate and right in, too, for I’ve no mind to present myself or you gels to the populace at large as a spectacle. I do wish your father had seen fit to accompany us, or even your brother.”

Susan had been silent, as usual, but at these words she murmured, “Papa is so angry with me. ’Tis a pity Melissa cried so when we wanted her to stay with Annie, and insisted upon going to stay with Charlotte, or we need not have seen him today.”

Daintry said pacifically, “He agreed to allow Melissa to stay at Tuscombe Park until this business is settled, which must mean he expects Jervaulx to decide in your favor, love, so cheer up. We will have Deverill on our side, at all events, and Aunt Ophelia has arranged for Sir Lionel Werring to plead your case. Sir Lionel is most eloquent, is he not, ma’am? ”

“He’d better be,” Lady Ophelia said grimly.

Susan fell silent again, and when they rolled through the castle gate, Daintry realized they were passing a prison.

The sight of a man in chains being led inside by a burly jailer reminded her of how casually she had said she would go to prison rather than give Susan up. The thought made her feel sick now.

The huge round tower of the castle rose up on her left, and ahead on the castle green she saw the Assize Court building.

The carriage rolled to a stop, and the footman riding behind leapt down to open the door and let down the steps.

Daintry got out first, accepting the footman’s hand when she realized her knees were weak.

There were people standing around, but she did not see anyone she knew.

For some reason, she had expected to see Deverill, but she told herself now that he must have expected St. Merryn to accompany them and had decided it would not be tactful to make his presence known at once.

Her father had flatly refused to come. In fact, he had agreed to allow Melissa to remain at the house only when Lady Ophelia had pointed out that the child would not be allowed in the courtroom and could scarcely be left in the carriage.

“Only think what people would say about a man who forced his innocent little granddaughter to sit outside a courthouse in plain view of all the riffraff, only because he was too puffed up in his own conceit to look after her properly himself,” she had said.

Though he had given in on Melissa’s account, nothing they had said would induce him to accompany them to Launceston. “Susan’s made her bed and must lie in it,” he said flatly. “It is no doing of mine, and I’ll be damned before I’ll set foot in Jervaulx’s court and let him smirk at my misfortunes.”

When Daintry had pointed out to him that it was Susan’s misfortune and Susan’s future that was at stake, he snarled, “Stuff and nonsense. All Susan has to do is to obey her husband, and she will get on perfectly well with him.”

“And what about Lady Catherine Chauncey?” Daintry demanded. “Is Susan expected to get on well with her, too?”

“More stuff and nonsense. If Seacourt’s taken a mistress, it is plain that Susan has not been a good wife to him. She must strive to do better, and that’s all there is about it.”

“She is not going to go back to him, Papa.”

“Of course she is. Jervaulx will order her back simply because a wife belongs with her husband.”

Remembering those words now as she entered the courtroom with her great-aunt and her sister, Daintry prayed he would be proved wrong.

Looking swiftly around, she saw that there were few women present, and not one to whom she would wish to be seen speaking.

At first she did not see Seacourt or Deverill, but then, as if drawn, she found herself looking at a head of dark auburn hair set above a pair of broad shoulders.

Deverill shifted in his seat and turned, his gaze locking with hers.

He did not smile, but so certain was she that his intent was to protect her sister that she smiled at him to show him she was grateful for the support of his presence.

She had never expected to look to any man for protection, but she had to admit now that it was rather pleasant to be able to do so.

She glanced at Lady Ophelia and Susan, but the former was searching the crowded room for her solicitor, and Susan, white-faced, was staring at the floor and trembling.

Sir Lionel, a small, wiry gentleman dressed with quiet good taste, approached them, nodded at Lady Ophelia, touched Susan’s arm, and said in low but carrying tones, “This way, Lady Susan. I’ve seats for you near the front so you will not have to walk the full length of this place when your name is called. ”

“Are you quite prepared for this business, Lionel?” Lady Ophelia demanded over the rumble of noise around them.

“As prepared as possible, Ophelia, but as I warned you—”

“Yes, yes, I know. Just do your best. No one can expect you to do more than that.”

Daintry looked at her aunt in dismay. “Does he think Susan cannot win, ma’am?”

“Take your seat, my dear.”

Sir Lionel indicated space on one of the polished oak benches near the front, and Daintry, realizing that they had begun to draw attention, quickly took her seat.

She could see Deverill ahead of her, at the end of the next row, and taking comfort from his nearness, turned her attention to his father.

The marquess, though harsh of countenance, much thinner, and nearing his sixtieth year, looked a good deal like his son, she thought.

He was seated high above everyone else in the court, wearing the black robes and a full-bottomed powdered wig of a magistrate, and he had noted their presence, for Susan’s case was soon called.

Daintry had no notion what to expect, but when Sir Lionel began to explain that Lady Susan sought permission from the court to live apart from her husband, she saw Susan begin to tremble more than ever, and prayed hard that the solicitor would be eloquent indeed.

He was not a barrister, after all, but Lady Ophelia had assured them that merely to present their position with regard to the habeas corpus did not require one, and that to engage one would serve only to annoy the magistrate.

Sir Lionel began persuasively enough by explaining that he spoke on behalf of an innocent woman who had been grossly mistreated by the very man sworn to protect and cherish her. But that was as far as he got with his rehearsed periods.

“One moment, Sir Lionel,” Jervaulx said suddenly. Daintry noted that his voice was low like Deverill’s but contained more of a growl. The sound was not comforting. “The man you speak of is Lady Susan’s husband, is he not?”

“He is, my lord.”

“Then one fails to comprehend your point, sir. The law of England attributes general dominion of a husband over his wife, so she must always be better off in his custody than elsewhere, regardless of how he treats her. By entering into marriage, she consents to submit to his will, so he may keep her by force and he may beat her—within reason, one hopes—if she disobeys him. In any event, the law disapproves of separation, since a much greater amount of happiness is produced in the married state when the union is known to be indissoluble than could be enjoyed if the tie were less firm. Lady Susan must return to her husband.”

“No!” Daintry was on her feet, crying out the word before she had any notion that she was about to do such a thing, but even the chorus of gasps from the courtroom audience was not enough to silence her. “You cannot send her back to him! It would be too cruel!”