Page 36 of Scoundrel for Sale
“It just happened,” Gabe muttered. “I’ll explain later.”
“And I have to call you this, Fair… Fair… What was it again?”
“You can call me Davenport. It’s fine.”
“Good, because—"
“De Noronha!” the duke barked. “I believe I asked you a question.”
Tiago quickly explained his reasons for being in England.
“What?” the duke snapped once Tiago came to the part about Nigel trying to strip Abbie of her portion. Having heard the rumors that the duke had a soft spot for a pretty face, Abbie batted her eyes, trying to look innocent and beleaguered.
It worked if the fire that came into the duke’s eyes was any indication. “That swine! And what’s worse, she is Captain Lord Hartlebury’s sister. He must not get away with it!”
“I could not agree with you more, sir,” Tiago said gravely.
The duke glanced at his pocket watch. “I have a half-hour to spare. Why don’t I sit in on this hearing?”
Mr. Vickery responded to this suggestion with predictable enthusiasm, and in short order, the six of them were seated around the defense table.
Abbie would relish the look of horror that crossed Nigel’s face when he entered the hearing room for years to come. First, his eyes fell upon Tiago. She could almost mark the moment he placed his uniform as that of a Portuguese officer. A pallor swept across his face. Then he spied the Duke of Wellington seated at Abbie’s side, and his face turned from white to green.
As he fumbled to pull out his chair, Abbie wondered if he might cast his accounts right there in the middle of the hearing room.
The corrupt Judge Waring re-entered the room from a side door, frowning when he noticed the duke sitting at the defense table. “Your Grace,” he stuttered, “I-I thought your business had concluded.”
“I find I have a material interest in this case,” Wellington replied.
The judge fumbled his papers as he took his seat behind the pulpit. “May I enquire as to the nature of this interest?”
“I am here to serve as a character witness,” the duke said firmly.
“Ch-character witness,” Judge Waring said. “Just so. Well, shall we begin?”
Mr. Vickery smiled as he rose to his feet. “Let’s.”
Chapter 16
“Well,” Abbie said, “that exceeded all of my wildest hopes.”
Their party, save the Duke of Wellington, who had to hurry off to another appointment, was gathered in the hall, savoring their victory. During the hearing, Mr. Vickery had presented the marriage contract Abbie found in the attic and had posited that it was the real reason Nigel had filed suit. Every time Nigel’s barrister had tried to object—that it was unrelated to the current suit, that the matter had already been finalized, that there was no evidence that the contract Abbie had found was valid—the Duke of Wellington had contradicted him.
Not that the duke had any legal authority. But really—he was the Duke of Wellington. Failing to acquiesce to his opinion constituted both social and political suicide, and it seemed that neither Nigel nor Judge Waring had much stomach for it.
And Rodrigo de Noronha turned out to be a better witness than anyone could have hoped. Not only had he brought with him a sheaf of papers bearing Carlotta’s true signature, demonstrating rather compellingly that the signature on Nigel’s copy of the marriage contract had been forged, he had traveled with Carlotta to England and personally overseen her marriage settlement all those years ago. The true contract, Rodrigo testified, was the one Abbie had found, and Carlotta had returned to Portugal complaining bitterly that the Davies had cheated her.
Nigel’s face took on a pinched quality as he sensed the writing on the wall. “My apologies, Mr. de Noronha. As this all took place years before my birth, I knew nothing of it.”
Abbie was surprised the force of her glare didn’t bore holes in his skull. Because, of course, that was a lie. Nigel had admitted that he knew Carlotta had been robbed.
But, as he offered to sign Carlotta’s dowry back over to Rodrigo on the condition that the Dulson estate would not be asked to pay back the income it had generated over the past sixty years, and drop his suit against Abbie to boot, she chose to bite her tongue.
And when Mr. de Noronha, delighted to have the missing piece of his family’s estate restored, insisted upon paying the legal fees and costs Abbie had incurred in defending the case, her happiness was complete.
Well, she thought, glancing up at Gabe.
Almost.
