Page 106 of The Ladies Least Likely
With the first witness Froggart called, Mal’s stupefaction was complete.
Mr. Thorkelson, looking more than ever like an aged Viking warrior gone to fat, took the witness stand and swore an oath to be truthful.
Mal turned to glare at Sybil, who raised her brows in disdain.
So she’d had both the steward and his solicitor working in her interests.
He’d not given her full credit for the depth of her guile.
It seemed his lot ever to be deceived by women.
Froggart began by asking Thorkelson about how Mal had mischaracterized Sybil’s flight to the Continent with the ducal income.
“Her Grace left for France with the intention of finding a house in Paris for her and the children,” Thorkelson claimed, broadcasting news that, if true, he had not seen fit to share with Mal.
“Since she has spent much time living in France herself, she felt it would be beneficial to their education to learn the language. When she heard that Mr. Grey was describing her as having fled the country with stolen goods, she returned at once to prove her innocence.”
“Did she return the money?” Mal said loudly, outraged at her guile. Froggart glared at him, and Oliver scowled at his speaking out of turn.
“Why should Mr. Grey go about with unfounded accusations that Her Grace had taken more than what was essentially her property as the Duchess of Hunsdon?” Froggart asked.
“In addition to casting aspersions on the character of a mother who has nothing but the care and security of her children at heart.”
Mal’s loud snort was pointedly ignored.
“I regret to say that I believe that Mr. Grey harbors a great deal of ill will toward the duchess,” Thorkelson said.
“This is not the first time he has cast such aspersions on her character. In fact, it’s widely known that he objected to his father’s marriage most strenuously, and in the time he has been in London, he has not dined, nor very frequently visited, at Hunsdon House.
” He coughed lightly. “This casts some doubts, at least in my mind, about the sincerity of his wish for the guardianship of the Delaval children.”
“Oh, indeed?” Froggart asked his witness. “Why do you suppose he would interest himself in these children who have no real claim upon him?”
Mal stiffened in outrage. No claim but blood, he wanted to shout.
Thorkelson coughed again, a low rumble. “I am loathe to make the suggestion, but I fear very much that Mr. Grey has interested himself more than is usual in the incomes and allowances pertaining to the Hunsdon estates. We all know that, due to the unfortunate circumstances of his birth, he has no claim to inheritance himself. A man in such a position might very well see his guardianship of the young duke and his siblings as an opportunity to line his own pockets.”
Mal turned and glared at Sybil. The nerve of her, to suggest of him the very deed she was guilty of! She schooled her features into innocence, but a coy smile flickered about her painted mouth.
Froggart went on to paint Sybil as the picture of a bereaved mother who saw herself and her cherished children threatened and besieged by the avaricious, ruthless bastard son of her husband.
What could the court do to protect this noble and virtuous woman from Mal’s greedy and undeserving clutches?
Award her guardianship of the children until Hugh was twenty-five, Froggart concluded, and give her the ability to direct and oversee the Hunsdon estate so she might be at liberty to support and provide for her children.
Mal’s horror grew as he saw Oliver’s face softening at Froggart’s depiction of a duchess deprived of her proper station, her maternal impulses stifled, her very well-being at stake.
Sybil adopted an appropriately sorrowful, downcast look, avoiding Mal’s look of rage.
How dare she even call herself a mother, he thought furiously, when to his knowledge she had never once denied herself an entertainment to see to the care of the children.
She had left them in the nursery under the care of servants and spent their income on her own pursuits.
But he had not made any better a showing for himself.
He had not exactly been the doting brother, either.
Rosenfeld stepped forward to cross-examine the witness, and Mal felt a rush of confidence as he began questioning Thorkelson about the recent state of affairs at Hunsdon House, and the evidence that Sybil had left the children without proper oversight or care.
Thorkelson somehow contrived to blame this on Mal.
“It is my understanding that the servants left because Mr. Grey was threatening them on grounds that they felt unreasonable,” Thorkelson said, looking as if it pained him to tell this outrageous bouncer.
He glanced at Sybil once, and Mal saw the commanding nod she gave him in response. What hold had she gotten over the man?
“He then, I am told,” Thorkelson went on, “brought in a very common person, unrelated to the family—and someone of questionable occupation as well—and installed an entirely new staff of her choosing. I am also told this woman, though she has no formal relationship with Mr. Grey, has been living at Hunsdon House, running it as if she were the duchess. Sleeping in the duchess’s chambers, if reports are to be believed, and wearing the duchess’s gowns. ”
Mal glared at Thorkelson, who looked unrepentant. Sybil gasped and withdrew a painted fan, waving it about her face as if overcome with shock.
Mal dared a glance at Amaranthe. She met his eyes with a worried look. She didn’t like that Thorkelson had as much as suggested to the court that she was Mal’s mistress. He could tell by the proud tilt to her chin.
But she also saw that things were going badly for him, and she was more concerned on his account than her own.
Her commissions would not dry up if his suit failed and gossip circulated about her.
Rather, the brief fame might drive business her way.
He was the one who stood to lose everything if Oliver ruled against him.
His aspirations to the law would be ended, his livelihood would be gone.
He’d be cast into the world with nothing—nothing to offer a wife, at any rate—and Sybil would never let him near his half-siblings again.
His gut tightened. He had to win. He had to defeat Sybil somehow.
“One wonders how the duchess knew anything of what was occurring at Hunsdon House,” Rosenfeld said mildly, “since she was abroad in France and concerned with her own affairs.”
“Her Grace has many friends here, Your Honor,” Thorkelson told the judge.
“She is particularly intimate with the Duchess of Cumberland, the wife of Prince Henry, and the Duchess of Gloucester, Prince William’s wife.
They have kept her apprised of developments, especially those they feared were not in the best interests of the children. ”
So that was it. The wives of the royal princes, though both commoners, nevertheless held a great deal of sway over London society.
Maria, now the Duchess of Gloucester, was herself illegitimate, and though she had first married an earl and now a royal duke, she would never be received at court.
If Sybil had ingratiated herself with the royal family—even the less accepted members of it—she could turn public opinion as well as the court against him.
Mal would be crushed like a bug under a boot.
His only powerful patron had been his father, and the duke was dead.
“And since her return,” Froggart continued, “Mr. Grey has denied the duchess access to Hunsdon House. He has deprived her of her own home. More than that, he has kept her from seeing her children. Your Honor, you cannot imagine the pain and distress this has caused to Her Grace’s tender mother’s heart.
What legal protection can the court grant her, I ask, to protect this widowed mother and her helpless children from the incursions of a man who has no claim upon their affections or their estate? ”
Sybil produced an embroidered handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. Froggart turned and looked Mal straight in the eye, repeating his last accusation with emphasis. “No claim.”
“No claim,” Oliver mused, watching Mal as well.
He was an insect trapped in amber under their combined, condemning gaze. Even Rosenfeld had no defense for him.
It didn’t matter if he were cast into the outer darkness.
He’d been there before. On his own account, it meant nothing.
But Hugh. Ned. Millie. Their faces swam before his eyes.
The hungry, pleading looks on their faces when he’d found them in Amaranthe’s parlor, like frightened birds who had found sanctuary.
Their eager delight that first night they had dined together at Hunsdon House, their pride at being included with the adults, and the merry moments they’d had at dinners to follow.
Ned’s look of pride when he’d unearthed that manuscript for Amaranthe, knowing he was granting her a great privilege.
Hugh’s correct bow to her when they readied to leave for Bristol.
Ever aware of his ducal burden, the boy was unable to disguise his wish for her approval.
And Camilla, who had made herself Amaranthe’s devoted little shadow, clinging to her skirts and demanding to learn Greek.
In the past weeks he’d come to know his siblings better than he ever had.
Before they’d been a responsibility; now they were dear.
If he lost this suit, he had no doubt Sybil would bar him from seeing them.
He’d be reduced to haunting Hanover Square, waiting for the children to emerge.
Asking Amaranthe to ask Joseph to give him news of his own blood.
He’d lose the chance to guide the lads and teach them how a young man survived in a world that could be so cruel.
He’d have no chance to make sure Camilla was courted correctly and by young men worthy of her when it came time to make her launch.
Sybil would take from him the chance he’d glimpsed to have a real family at last.
But if he spoke now, he’d take away Hugh’s inheritance. He’d take away Ned’s chances at a good profession and Camilla’s chance to marry well.
And if he didn’t speak, he’d lose the children to Sybil, who would take these things from them anyway.
Mal looked to Amaranthe. He saw the urgency in her eyes. She leaned forward, clutching a package to her chest, her face pale, her eyes wide and frightened.
What do I do? He signed to her as he had seen her speak with Thaker, though he didn’t doubt his gestures were inaccurate as well as foolish-looking to the rest of the room.
She held his gaze and answered without hesitation, the meaning of her quick signs clear. You must do what is right .
Funny that she would give him such counsel.
But he was relieved at her answer. She trusted him to act on his own principles.
And he knew that whatever he decided, Amaranthe would tell him he’d been right.
She believed in him and his ability to choose the best path.
She didn’t see him as buffeted by misfortune or at the mercy of bad luck. She saw him as a man of integrity.
It was astonishing and undeserved, but he saw all this in the clear, steady light of her gaze.
And he knew that however he’d scolded her, deserved or not, and however far he fell in public opinion or material circumstances, he could come to Amaranthe and she would take him in.
She would never condemn him as he had her.
She would accept him as he was, whatever his mistakes, his peccadilloes, his past behavior, and his birth.
She would believe in his ability to do better, to repair his errors, to make things right.
With her beside him, everything would be right. As long as he did everything in his power to keep her. And keep Sybil from taking everything he loved away.
Mal stood, cleared his throat, and stepped to the edge of the cliff.
“It happens I have some claim on the estate,” he said.
Froggart swept him with a freezing stare. “You are not to speak. Your barrister will argue your case before the Master. What little case you have,” he added with a sneer.
Mal stepped toward the bench, beckoning to a surprised Rosenfeld to join him. “Your Honor. If you will permit me. New evidence has recently come to light that has a substantial impact upon my case.”
He withdrew the precious bit of parchment from the pocket inside his coat and handed it to Rosenfeld.
“I have discovered the existence of a valid marriage between my mother and Hugh Langston Delaval, third Duke of Hunsdon.” He glanced from the judge to Popplewell, whose eyes were huge behind his glasses, and Sybil, whose mouth hung open in shock.
“These marriage lines make me their legitimate firstborn son,” Mal said quietly. “I am not the guardian of my father’s children or his estate. By terms of the entail, I am his heir.”