Page 73 of Touched By a Traitor
“Are you suggesting, Miss Morton, that my court is inept?” the judge shrieked.
“Certainly not, Your Honor,” Charlotte replied, her tone even and measured. “I merely wished to emphasize that a court as esteemed as yours would never make such a grievous mistake. I have passed the bar under the tutelage of the Duke of Chatham, and I am here today to represent Lord Carlisle in this matter.”
The judge leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “There is a fundamental injustice at play here, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Morton?”
Charlotte met his gaze unflinchingly. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, Your Honor.”
“The fact that you are a woman may prove advantageous,” the judge said with a hint of a sneer. “As the sole female in this courtroom, I imagine some men might be swayed by sympathy, seeing you as the fairer sex, easy on the eye.”
Andrew gritted his teeth, imagining the most painful ways to tear the man apart. But he soon relaxed as he watched Charlotte’s fingers curl beneath the wooden table, her nails digging into the surface. Her claws were out, he mused. He felt proud she would grow stronger before animosity and fight her own battle, although he would gladly assist.
“I have the utmost faith, Your Honor,” Charlotte began, her voice ringing with conviction, “that you will ensure the objectivity of all present. I also trust in your impartiality, as well as that of our learned colleague representing Lord Byron today. After all, I am but a humble representative of the court. The matter at hand, the accounts of the journalists, and your ultimate judgment will bear consequence only for Lord Carlisle and his family.”
Judge Hoffman fixed Charlotte with a piercing stare, his voice echoing through the courtroom. “Were there written applications submitted for the presence of these journalists?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Charlotte replied.
“Provide me with their names.” The judge’s command hung heavy in the air, a palpable weight pressing down on the proceedings.
As the interrogation wore on, Hoffman’s interruptions became increasingly frequent, his questions serving as a barrier, preventing Charlotte from presenting her case in full. Andrew, observing the spectacle with growing frustration, cleared his throat pointedly, sending a warning to the judge to tread carefully.
The court listened, rapt, as the tale of injustice suffered by Daisy Creswell unfolded—Lord Byron’s broken promise, his false claims that she had deliberately compromised her virtue to escape their engagement, and the harassment endured by an unchaperoned lady whose only crime was pursuing an education. However, when the time came for judgment, Lord Byron’s reprimand was little more than a slap on the wrist, a mere crown to be paid in recompense.
From Andrew’s perspective, Charlotte had emerged victorious on paper, and that was all the law would allow them. He recognized the inadequacy of the judgment even as he accepted its strategic value—they had established Byron as a liar in the public record.
*
Three hours later,the Creswell family sat at a teashop, Andrew feeling proud of his wife’s legal prowess despite the hollow nature of their victory. Across from him, Charlotte and Daisy satrigidly, their faces set in stony expressions. Charlotte’s fingers clenched and unclenched in her lap.
“You won. Be happy,” Andrew said, though his tone suggested he understood the bitter taste of such limited justice.
Daisy’s eyes flashed with indignation, her voice trembling with barely contained fury. “The compensation is humiliating. It might have been better if Byron wasn’t fined at all.”
Andrew rubbed his temples, the familiar weight of protecting his family while navigating society’s constraints pressing down on him. “Byron was sufficiently embarrassed in a court of law, and the record shows him as a liar. I have my own methods of ensuring he pays his due for what he attempted to do to you.”
Daisy’s voice trembled with barely contained rage. “And the way the judge insulted Charlotte… I nearly leapt to my feet in outrage.”
“He may have behaved if you had advised him to call you Lady Carlisle, Charlotte,” Andrew said, though privately he seethed at the disrespect shown to his wife.
“Why should she not receive the respect she deserves merely for being a barrister? She was called to the bar by the Inns of Court and had every right to be there! And wasn’t his insult indirectly directed at you, Andrew? Why aren’t you angry?” Daisy exclaimed.
“I’m angry at the system that creates such injustices,” Andrew said carefully, “but public displays of temper would only harm Charlotte’s standing. Byron will answer for his lies through other means.”
The weight of what they had accomplished—and what they could not—settled over the table. Charlotte had proven a woman could argue law as competently as any man, even if the system still refused to grant them equal justice.
Andrew’s thoughts turned to securing his sister’s future happiness, knowing that Byron’s defeat, however limited, hadat least cleared the path for better prospects. The afternoon’s legal victory, modest though it was, had demonstrated that the Creswell family would not suffer attacks on their honor without consequence.
“I’ve been considering Lord Bridgewater as a potential suitor,” Andrew said, watching Daisy’s reaction carefully. “With Byron’s accusations now publicly discredited, we can move forward with confidence.”
Daisy’s shoulders slumped, her earlier defiance giving way to weariness. “Who do you have in mind now?” she asked, her voice resigned and barely audible over the clatter of the carriage wheels.
“Lord Bridgewater. Have you made his acquaintance?”
A faint smile brightened Daisy’s features. “Yes, I had the pleasure of dancing with him once.”
Andrew leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “And what was your impression of him?”
“He made for easy company.”
