The Counterfeit Gentleman (36 page)

“There, you see,” Bethia said. “This is all for the best.
Now that the worst has happened, just as you predicted,
you will have to accept what I have been telling you all
along.”

“And what is that?” he said, stroking her hair.

“That I care not a fig what any of them think or say or
do. The ‘ladies’ and ‘gentlemen’ of the
haut ton
have no
power to hurt me because their opinions do not matter to
me.”

He started to point out that she could not leave England with him because she was afraid of the sea, but almost as if
she could read his mind, she said, “When you are beside
me, I am not afraid of anything—not the deepest ocean, not the densest fog. You must accept that I am going with you,
for if you try to slink away without me, I shall simply fol
low you. And I shall find you, even at the ends of the
earth.”

* * * *

Bethia had never before had occasion to be inside the
Old Bailey, and she found it was far smaller than she had
imagined. The spectator’s gallery was packed, and the only empty seats were the ones around her and Adeline and Lit
tle Davey. As far as she could tell, that was the only posi
tive benefit of the ton’s desire to ostracize her and anyone
else connected with her or her husband, who was even
more thoroughly isolated in the defendant’s box.

“Look there,” Adeline said, speaking directly into
Bethia’s ear and pointing at someone below them. “Is that
not odd?”

At first Bethia thought her friend was directing her attent
ion to Lord Blackstone, who with his cohorts around him
was sitting behind the prosecutor, but then Adeline said, “I was wondering why Lady Letitia did not join us today.”

Shifting her glance, Bethia saw that Digory’s barrister
had been joined by Mr. Kidby and Lady Letitia. The solici
tor was handing over some papers to Mr. Lyttcott and the
two of them began an intense conversation. A few minutes
later, Mr. Kidby and Lady Letitia took seats directly behind the barrister.

“Whatever do you suppose is going on?” Adeline asked.
“And what on earth could those papers be?”

Bethia could not answer, but in her heart she prayed for a
miracle, which no longer seemed totally impossible be
cause Lady Letitia was smiling quite smugly.

A few minutes later, everyone rose to their feet and the
judge entered and took his place behind the bench. The last
murmurs died down, and everyone listened intently when
he asked the question, “How do you plead?”

Before Digory could reply, Mr. Lyttcott rose to his feet
and said, “With all due respect, my lord, I must point out
that my client, Digory Anderby, Lord Blackstone, alias
Digory Rendel, cannot be tried by this court since he is a
peer of the realm and thus can only be tried before the
House of Lords.”

For a moment there was stunned silence, then the court
room erupted with noise as everyone tried to talk at once.
The judge banged his gavel repeatedly but to little avail.
Only his threat to have the room cleared of spectators suc
ceeded in quieting the mob.

Through it all, Mr. Lyttcott stood quietly, a faint smile
on his face. When he could finally be heard, he said merely,
“If I might approach the bench, my lord?”

The judge nodded, and the barrister took the papers Mr.
Kidby had brought and handed them over to the judge, who
started reading them.

It seemed a lifetime of unbearable suspense to Bethia,
but it was probably only ten minutes before the judge raised
his head and said, “As this court has no jurisdiction to try Digory Anderby, Lord Blackstone, this case is dismissed.”

The judge rose to his feet, but before he could take a
step, a voice rang out. “You lie! He is nothing but a bas
tard! I am the rightful Earl of Blackstone!”

It was Geoffrey, the erstwhile Lord Blackstone, and he
was livid with rage.

“I beg to correct you,” the judge said with a look of dis
gust on his face. “It would appear that you are nothing
more than the illegitimate offspring of a bigamous mar
riage.”

“You lie, you lie!” Geoffrey shrieked. Reaching under
his jacket, he pulled out a gun and aimed it at the judge,
who immediately ducked down behind the bench. “It is all
a plot to deny me my heritage!”

All Geoffrey’s supporters were now scrambling over each other in their attempt to get away from him as fast as possible, which made it impossible for the bailiffs to reach him—
not that they were exerting any particular effort to apprehend
the onetime earl, who now leveled his pistol at Digory.

“You are the imposter, and I am the rightful earl,” Geof
frey cried out. “I will see you dead at my feet if I have to
hang for it myself!”

To Bethia it seemed as if nothing could save her hus
band, and she would have thrown herself from the balcony onto the madman below if Little Davey had not caught her arms and held her back.

The shot and the scream were simultaneous, and Bethia
felt her heart stop beating. But to her astonishment, her husband did not fall down nor did he seem to be the least bit
discomposed.

Indeed, it was Geoffrey who was now screaming and clutching his right arm to his chest. “You’ve broken my
arm,” he wailed.

“And I shall break your head if you don’t stop snivel
ing,” Lady Letitia said, holding her cane up ready to strike
him a second time if that should prove necessary. “Bailiff, I
suggest that you retrieve the pistol this scoundrel was at
tempting to use. I would not be at all surprised to discover
it matches the one that was used to murder Mr. Harcourt.”

* * * *

Digory could not fault his friends for wanting to cele
brate the splendid coup that Lady Letitia had engineered,
but it was getting later and later, and the revelry showed no
sign of abating. As much as he liked his friends, he could
not help wishing that they would all go home and leave him
alone with his wife, who had scarcely moved a step away from him since his release from custody.

“Do you suppose they will notice our absence if we slip out?” he murmured now.

“Do you suppose I care if they do notice?” Bethia
replied, smiling up at him.

“Then after you, m’lady,” he said, his heart nearly bursting with pride that she loved him above all others.

* * * *

“I suppose we shall have to give a ball,” Bethia said
while he was brushing out her hair.

“A ball?” Digory asked blankly, his mind on other, more
delightful activities.

“Well, we could, of course, have a Venetian breakfast
first, but there will be so very many people who will be scrambling to secure an invitation—after all, you are now
the darling of the ton—that I really think we should have
the ball first, followed perhaps by a musical evening. Then
perhaps a few dinner parties, opera parties, a breakfast or
two—I must see what dates are still free.”

He stopped her chatter by kissing her neck. “Do you
know, my dearest love, I have no interest in such entertainments.”

Turning around, she stared up at him, wide-eyed with as
tonishment. “But how can you not care about your standing
in society? How is it possible for you not to care what other
people think?”

For a moment he thought she was serious, but then he
saw the twinkle in her eyes. “Are you mocking me?” he
asked with pretended gruffness.

“Mocking you?” she said with a saccharine smile. “But my lord, ever since we met, you have not missed a chance
to point out to me how important the opinion of the ton is,
and how I must do nothing to jeopardize my reputation. Now that you are an earl and thus have unlimited entree
into the highest levels of society, I made sure that you
would—”

His laughter interrupted her. “I admit I have been a fool.”

“And do you acknowledge that you were wrong to
squander even a moment of our time together?”

He pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around
her. “Kiss me, and you may have your ball and your Venet
ian breakfast and anything else your heart desires.”

“All I want is to be with you in your little cottage in
Cornwall.”

“I am afraid there are two problems with that.”

He could feel her stiffen in his arms, and her eyes were
worried.

“I see,” she said, trying unobtrusively—and unsuccess
fully—to extract herself from his embrace.

“The first problem is that I now am the owner of an estate in Cornwall, which has been shockingly run down by
the previous owner. I cannot shirk my obligations to my
tenants.”

She relaxed, and a faint smile began to play around the
corners of her mouth. “A not insurmountable problem. I am
sure I can adjust to the role of lady of the manor. And the second problem?”

“I am afraid that once you cease your foolish prattle and
allow me to carry you off to my bed, I shall not willingly
let you out of my embrace for days and days.”

“Perhaps even weeks?”

“I promise to do my best,” he said, picking her up in his
arms.

“And as I have already ascertained, your best is quite
good indeed.”

“I love you,” he said with no more levity.

“Then cease your ‘foolish prattle’ and show me just how
much,” she said with an impish grin.

It was all worth it, he realized. Every moment of pain he
had suffered—every slight and indignity he had endured—
it had all brought him to this point. He had spent years
wishing that his father had treated his mother with the re
spect and honor that she deserved, and yet now, if he had
the power to go back in time and change whatever he
wished, he would alter nothing.

Because all of the events of his life had conspired to
bring him to this place and time, and Bethia was now so
firmly entrenched in his heart, it was impossible for him to imagine life without her beside him.

“You are crying,” she said wonderingly, reaching up to brush a tear off his cheek.

“I have never been happier in my life,” he replied, carry
ing her over to the bed and laying her down gently.

“You will be a wonderful earl,” Bethia said. “Everyone
will come to admire you, I am sure.”

He laughed out loud. “What do I have to say to persuade
you that I don’t care a fig about the title or about anyone
else’s opinion?”

“Why,” she said looking up at him innocently, “you do not have to say a thing
...”

Taking her meaning, he quickly lay down and wrapped
his arms around her and pulled her close.

“And as for me,” she said, “I shall exercise great restraint
and forbear to point out to you that you have been insisting
since the day we met that I should care about such things.”

He silenced her with a kiss, and after a few more mo
ments, his darling beloved wife abandoned all thoughts of
restraint.

Copyright © 1994 by Charlou Dolan

Originally published by Signet [ISBN 0451177428]

Electronically published in 2013 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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