A Most Delicate Pursuit (23 page)

“I'm afraid there's more to it than that.”

“I don't understand.”

“Bainbridge had many allies among the ton as well as other wealthy businessmen who depended on him to increase their bank accounts. They're most upset that I killed their golden goose.”

“That's ridiculous.”

Michael shrugged. “I agree. Ash believes we can convince them that I acted out of self-defense and to protect you.”

“But that's what you did.” She stepped back, covering her mouth with her hands. “What's going to happen to you?”

Michael sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “At the very least, if I'm found guilty of illegal dueling, then a fine or perhaps a few months in prison.”

“Oh.” Tears formed in her eyes and she dabbed at them furiously. “What is the worst that can happen?”

It killed him to be so blunt, but Michael knew he owed it to her to tell her the truth. To do less was unforgivable.

“At the most, I'll be hanged.”

Never would she forget Michael's last embrace before they parted or the way he'd held her while she'd sobbed in his arms.

“I can't do this,” she told him, sniffing and dabbing at her eyes. “I can't leave you like this.”

He sighed and she felt his pain as acutely as her own. “It's better this way. I can't bear the thought of you watching them arrest me.”

“But perhaps if we promised that you'd go to London and attend the inquiries, they'd at least let us go back together.”

“If it were only the crime of dueling, I'm sure it would be permitted, but murder is a bit more serous than that.”

Bea nodded. This was the worst possible nightmare. “I can't believe we're going to be apart when I've just gotten you back.”

“It is the worst turn of luck, isn't it?” He leaned down and kissed her again. “But we must see this through, no matter the outcome. You've no need to worry. We have Ash to testify for me, and I know he'll hire the best legal council, though how I will ever repay him, I've no idea.”

“I'm sure it's he who owes you. After all, you married his stubborn sister-in-law,” she said, making a poor attempt at lightening his spirits. “One would think that is payment enough.”

She was rewarded when he chuckled. “I suppose that's true. Though I think we both rather made out well in the transaction.”

Bea nodded and pulled in a ragged breath. “You'd better come back to me,” she said. “I won't forgive you if you don't.”

“I shall do my very best.”

Leaning down, he kissed her again, but this one was different than the others. Deep, lingering, and bittersweet. It was a goodbye and a promise of love eternal.

And Bea well knew it could be their last, so she held her breath as long as she could, taking him into her heart and giving him her soul in return.

“I love you,” she told him. “Never doubt it.”

“I love you, too, Beatrice. Know that your love will sustain me when all else falls away.”

She could have gazed into his eye forever, lived and died by the rise and fall of his chest, and spent eternity in his arms…

“It's time to go,” Ash said, suddenly beside them. “They're going to be here within the hour.”

Michael nodded and gently pushed Bea from his embrace.

“Goodbye, the both of you. I'll see you in town.”

With that, Bea allowed Ash to lead her away, gently guiding her to the waiting carriage. She kept her gaze on Michael, even as she was helped into the cab. When she hesitated, just before stepping on board, he gave her a curt nod and a smile that spoke volumes of how much he was going to miss her.

Bea stepped inside, looking out the window until the rigging set off down the road. In all her life, she would never forget the look of him, standing there, soldier straight, chin up, awaiting his destiny.

And the sight of him broke her heart completely.

As it was, the arrest was a simple affair. Barely an hour after Ash and Bea had gone, the column of twenty mounted soldiers came down Slyddon's main road. Michael hadn't moved from the spot where Bea and Ash had left him. He wanted to remain as long as possible, holding on to their last moments together, as if, by his will alone, he could keep time from pushing forward.

But time was an unwilling beast. It did not stay subdued for long.

“Lord Michael Carver, Earl of Bladen?” the commander called out as he dismounted from his horse.

“Yes,” he answered.

“I am Commander Landon Josephs. By the order of the Prince Regent, you are now placed under arrest for the charges of unlawful dueling and murder most heinous. Do you surrender yourself at this time?”

“I do.”

“Then, by the order of law, I'm to take you to the Tower forthwith, where you shall be held until your judgment has been decided.” He motioned for his men-at-arms to step forward.

Over the next few minutes, Michael was patted down for weapons, placed in shackles, and then led to the prison transport. It was a plain, blue covered wagon. It had no windows, save for the barred opening at the back and behind the driver's seat. Inside, there were only two benches, one on each side, and metal rings for the irons to be attached.

He took a deep breath before entering, attempting a courage he didn't feel. Stepping inside, the wood floor creaked beneath him, a sound that he was certain mimicked that of the gallows when the condemned tread across it. Two soldiers followed him inside. When his shackles were affixed to the iron ring, they quickly exited the wagon. The next thing Michael knew, the door was slammed shut and the metal key was turned in the lock. It was a coarse, scraping sound that echoed around him, crushing his hopes and setting his nerves on edge.

Outside he could hear the sounds of nervous horses stepping about, the coughing and quiet conversation of the men closest to the wagon. Closing his eye, he summoned up his last memory of Beatrice. He would use that to garner his strength and help him to face what lay ahead. It wasn't an absence of courage that plagued him but rather a deep sadness that the gentle union they'd begun might not be allowed to flourish.

Nonetheless, he would face his future. He would take whatever punishments the fates saw fit to foist upon him. He still considered himself a very lucky man to have known the love of a woman such as Beatrice.

And he wouldn't have traded a single moment of their time together for a chance at a different future. He was a man who'd been loved and was in love. If he took nothing else from this world, he was fine with that.

In the end, Beatrice had been worth it all.

As they rode back to Summerton, Bea noticed Ash was keeping a watchful eye out the window. She remembered seeing Michael do the same thing. He'd always been alert when they'd traveled together, even more so on their return to Slyddon from the coast. Likely, it had been their soldiers' instinct that was borne out of many months serving together in Spain.

“Tell me about your abduction,” Ash asked. “What happened when you were taken?”

Bea nodded and told him the entire story, up to and including when Michael had rescued her.

“I see.” He sat back in the seat and crossed his arms. Having fallen silent, he wore a pensive expression that unsettled her even more.

“What is it?”

“I'm curious. Was there anyone else about?”

“There were the two who were in the carriage with me, the driver, and a third man who died when you attempted your first rescue.”

“And the woman?”

“Millie. She stayed close to me. Even when we arrived in Bennington.”

“I'll set one of my men on her trail. Best to find out what she knows and how'll she testify. We don't want any more last-minute surprises.”

Beatrice tried to relax, but it was near to impossible. “Tell me, is there any hope at all?”

“I won't lie to you, Beatrice. There is a very real chance that the court may rule against him. He has been censured for dueling in the past. I think your former suitor knew that. Why else call the man out?”

Bea could no longer hold back her tears. She dabbed at her eyes. “I wish he were alive, for I swear I'd shoot him myself.”

Ash sighed. “And I would hold your coat.” He shook his head. “Bainbridge was a cruel, calculating man, but he was not stupid. He must have known that Michael was vulnerable.”

“I remember him saying that his plans were going forward. He'd been challenged before and he'd had no concerns about it then.”

“I've already sent men to investigate, both here in London and at his estate in Scotland.”

Bea took a deep breath. “Will Michael be forced to stay in prison until the trial?”

Ash looked away a moment. “I'm afraid so. Of course, I'll petition for his release on bond, but I doubt it will be granted. His are most serious charges.”

“I hate that he has to stay locked away.”

“As do I, but Michael is a soldier. He's been in worse places.”

In the end, Michael had stayed a guest at the Tower for twenty-nine days before his trial began. Thankfully, since his best friend was an influential duke, his living quarters resembled more an expensive inn rather than a prison cell. He'd a good bed with warm quilts, plus a cook and valet who came every day to see to his meals and his dressing. Compared to what many at the Tower suffered, his was nothing more than an inconvenience, a fact that was not lost on him. Although he'd tried on more than one occasion to refuse his friend's kindnesses during his stay at the Tower, try as he might, Ash wouldn't hear of it.

On the day that his trial began, he awakened before dawn, more than ready to see this affair to its conclusion. Of the nights spent in the Tower, he'd hardly slept. Night after night he'd been haunted by dreams of Beatrice: one moment they'd be making love, and the next she'd be with Bainbridge, his hands about her throat, the last remnants of life draining from her.

Now awake, he'd already washed and dressed for today's events.

In that moment, he only wanted it to be over, whether he was found guilty or not, whether he'd leave a free man or find his fate at the gallows.

He took comfort in the fact that if the court turned against him, at least Beatrice was safe and with those who loved her. With his title and Ash's protection, she needn't marry again if she didn't want to. During the war, he'd regretted the battles he'd fought, the men he'd killed. But not so with Bainbridge. He was finally put down, once and for all. The blackguard would never hurt another woman.

It was in the midst of his ruminations that he heard the key turning in the lock.

“Ah, Michael, you're awake.”

Ash entered the cell and another younger man followed him. Tall, thin, stoop-shouldered, he looked as though he'd spent his entire life bent over a desk. He wore wide, thick spectacles and, like his body, his face was long and narrow, and his cheeks and chin were as sharp as cut glass.

The stranger nodded to Michael as he lifted his hat and gave him a tenuous smile. He appeared to be a nervous sort, clutching his impossibly large case with a white-knuckled grip.

“This is Mr. Jonathon Fisk, your defense council,” Ash told him. “If we're to get you out of this tangle, then this is the only way to do it.”

Michael nodded to the other man. “With the charges they have against me, I doubt there will be any chance of a good defense.”

“I won't lie to you, Lord Bladen. It is a complicated case. First, your colluding with His Grace to keep Mr. Bainbridge from Lady Bladen is quite debatable. His Grace has already given a deposition in regards to the man's reputation.”

“Which is to say, his was deplorable,” Ash added.

“The fact that you and Lady Bladen were married in haste might count against you. I believe if the two of you testify to the seriousness of your love for each other, the court will be sympathetic. Especially so, considering her ladyship's refusal of Bainbridge's offer of marriage. That His Grace procured a special license as well as that you were joined in a proper ceremony should help your marriage to be recognized as valid. There's very little to contest there, especially since the previous suitor is now deceased.”

Michael let out a breath. “At least there's that.”

“And the other charge?” Ash asked.

“It's a bit more complicated.” Opening his satchel, he removed a leather-bound book and placed it on the table in front of him.

“As to the charge of unlawful dueling, which resulted in the death of Mr. Bainbridge, I plan to call several witnesses to testify that Lady Bladen's life and freedom were threatened. I must ask you, however, who proposed the duel?”

Michael sat back in his chair. “I did. He'd already taken my wife from me, held her at gunpoint, and threatened her life. I felt it was the only way to get her away from him.”

“Of course,” Fisk said, scribbling in his book. “You will need to testify to that.”

“I will.”

“I think, given your reasoning, it should go well.” He shrugged. “Now, you understand the prosecution will also provide witnesses to support their case?”

Michael nodded. “I do. And to the charge of murder?”

Fisk closed the book in front of him. “That, sir, will be difficult to disprove. You are a top marksman, are you not?”

“I am,” Michael said.

“And yet you chose to deliver a fatal shot?”

“I did. As long as Bainbridge was alive, my wife's life would have been in danger.”

Fisk tilted his head sideways. “Was there a romantic attachment between them?”

Michael knew it had been a tough question to ask. “Not in the least. Prior to his abduction of her, they had never met.”

“Indeed,” Fisk said, dipping his quill into the ink pot and writing in his book.

“Why is it, do you think, that Bainbridge was so determined to marry your wife?”

“We're not so clear on his motives. We think that he meant to use her to manipulate His Grace.”

“An interesting theory,” he said.

“I'm sure when her use was done, he would have killed her.”

“But you have no proof of that?”

Michael shook his head. “I do not.”

Ash leaned forward. “This is beyond acceptable. Lord Bladen is a decorated soldier. He has an exemplary record of service in His Majesty's Army.”

“Of course, Your Grace, and I will be calling you to testify to that.”

After the councilor left them, Ash turned to Michael. “Do you think that will be enough?” Ash asked.

“I think we're wasting our time and your money on this scheme.”

“It's not a scheme. You're innocent of the charges and I mean to prove it.”

Michael walked to the small, barred window, crossing his arms. “But I'm not innocent. I initiated the duel, knowing full well that my skill bested his. I shot him. What's more, I wanted to kill him. I was happy to do it and I feel absolutely no remorse.”

“I know you better than that.”

Michael turned back to him. “The truth is, Ash, I'm tired of fighting. I've been doing it all my life. My father, the gossips, Connie, and now the courts. Perhaps this is as it should be. I've a little money left in my accounts. It should be enough to cover a grand tour for Bea. She's always wanted to travel.”

“What she wants is for her husband to stay alive. She loves you.”

“And I love her. But love isn't always enough.”

Ash shook his head. “Well, for the sake of both of you, I hope you're wrong. I know that, in the end, love was what saved me. If you'll let it, you may find it will save you as well.”

Michael watched his friend leave. He knew that no truer words were ever spoken. The question was, was he worthy of being saved?

It had been an extremely long morning, which had now dragged into a seemingly endless afternoon, and there was no end in sight. The small gallery was crowded with onlookers, people Bea had known and many who she hadn't. Lady Farabee and Lord Cowlington, two of the biggest gossipmongers in London, were in the row of seats right behind them.

There was an atmosphere of excitement in the room. All around her, the crush of people sat shoulder to shoulder, buzzing like an angry beehive. The temperature in the room was practically sweltering and the entire place reeked of unwashed bodies and a nauseating mixture of colognes.

They brought her husband into the chamber and Bea gasped at the sight of him.

“Michael.” She covered her mouth, her eyes filling with tears.

During his time at the Tower, he and Ash had decided that the women should not visit him. They'd insisted that a prison cell was nowhere a gentle lady should ever be. Though she and Caro had argued vehemently, Ash remained unwavering. Even Amelia had agreed. They would be together soon enough, she promised.

Her heart nearly broke at the sight of him.

A guard at each side, he was escorted into the room. He was thin and pale but stood as tall as ever. Though he wore his usual sharp wardrobe, this time it was only a plain brown coat, a starched white shirt, and newly pressed pants. One was forced to dress simply when one was in the Tower.

He looked in her direction and sent her a mischievous grin and a wink.

She started to stand but felt Ash's hand on her arm. Aching to go to him, to touch and feel the solidity of him, it took all of her strength to relax back into her seat. It was excruciating to see him like that, but at least being this close was a balm in itself. He was alive and well, or relatively so.

It tore her heart to think of him locked away in a prison cell. He'd enjoyed the outdoors more than anyone she'd ever met.

Others filed into the courtroom as well. Twenty-four white-wigged gentlemen dressed in black robes filed in. Members of the House of Lords, they were the peers who would act as judges and decide her husband's fate. Bea had heard that the duke of Curryington would sit as judge over the proceedings. He was a tall, behemoth of a man, middle aged and generally said to possess an ill temper.

After the peers, her husband's barrister, Mr. Fisk, took his place across from where Bea and Ash were seated. Finally, the High Lord Steward, Lord Kendall, a short, rotund man entered to take his place in front of the Lords.

Through the course of the afternoon, there were all sorts of testimonies given. Some spoke of Michael as a good friend, if a bit impetuous. Others spoke of him with fist-shaking anger, referring to him as an arrogant, black-hearted rogue.

Just then a cacophony of frantic whispers traveled around the room. A woman entered the chamber. Dressed in a royal blue gown, black lace overwrap, her hair swept up under a tall hat decorated with peonies and delicate vines, she curtsied and bowed her head.

“Lady Merriweather,” Lord Kendall said, “thank you for coming.”

“You're quite welcome, Lord Kendall, Your Honors.” Turning to face the crowd, she smiled demurely, but not before sending Michael a pointed expression.

Bea glanced at her husband and saw him send a barely perceptible nod in Lady Merriweather's direction.

A challenge had been issued and answered between them.

“What is your relationship to the defendant?” Kendall asked.

“He and I were”—she paused, sending a glance toward Bea—“close friends. Very close friends.”

Again she smiled.

“Go on,” the barrister said.

“He'd once professed his undying love to me, promising me that if my poor, poor George ever were to pass on, he would stand by me.”

“Really? He offered to marry you?”

“That was how I took his meaning, yes. Knowing that Michael was there for me helped me grieve for my dear husband.”

“I see. And when your time of grieving ended?”

She sighed. “I met with him when I attended the Summerton ball a few months ago. I'd heard that he'd come on hard times. I meant to help him if he'd let me.”

“What happened?”

She dabbed her eyes. “He told me he no longer wished to continue our friendship. That he'd already had one unsuccessful marriage and didn't want another.”

“I see. And what happened after that?”

“I learned that very night that Michael and Miss Hawkins, uh, excuse me, Lady Bladen, had left for Hampshire. Not long after they left, my own travels took me south as well. While I was down there, I visited with him again.”

“And what did you discuss on that occasion?”

“I told him of the rumors I'd heard about Lady Bladen. But later I found that they'd married. Imagine my surprise when I'd heard that they'd married.”

“Indeed. And why have you come to testify here today?”

“It's my belief that the marriage between Lord Bladen and his wife is a fraud. That they plotted against poor Mr Bainbridge. When he confronted them, Lord Bladen challenged him to a duel. Of course, being an expert duelist, his lordship killed him outright.”

Pandemonium broke out and the room filled with gasps, angry shouts, and accusations that were bandied about. It took several minutes for the judge to return the room to order. When a semblance of calm settled over them, the barrister faced his witness once again.

“What reason could they possibly have for committing such a heinous crime?”

Lady Merriweather pulled her fan from her sleeve and began to wave it furiously. “It's my understanding that Lady Bladen's guardian had arranged a marriage between her and Bainbridge that she'd declined.”

“And Mr Bainbridge disputed their claim?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“How did you come to know this?”

“He told me, sir. He'd been an acquaintance of my late husband. The two had had business dealings for years. Anyway, I was traveling south with Lord Carrick and we spent a night at Dorrowby's Inn. Mr. Bainbridge was staying there as well. He told me all about his troubles with Lady Bladen.”

“Thank you, my lady.” The barrister turned to Fisk.

“Any questions, Mr. Fisk?”

Michael's attorney stood. “I do have questions, yes.” He strode around the table and moved to stand in front of the witness box.

“Lady Merriweather, have you any proof to corroborate your claims?”

She gave him a sharp expression. “Proof? I would hope my word would be enough.”

Fisk shook his head. “For some things, it is. But in a court of law, where a man's life is at stake, a mere verbal testimony is sadly inadequate. Tell me, were there any witnesses present when you had your discussion with Lord Bladen?”

“No,” she said.

“What about your discussion with the deceased, Mr. Bainbridge?”

She sat straighter, her shoulders back and her chin up. “It was a private conversation.”

“I see,” he said and then turned to the bench. “I've no more questions for this witness, my lords.”

Clearly abashed, Lady Merriweather left the witness box.