Page 66 of Daisy and the Duke
The magistrate read the description and peered at the necklace, then nodded slowly. “They are one and the same. And I understand that Lady Rutherford herself announced on the night in question that she had never seen the necklace before. So Miss Daisy Merriot clearly could not have stolen it fromher.”
The baroness pursed her lips, obviously annoyed to have her own words used in such a way. Daisy began to feel a spark of hope. Perhaps she would get out of this unscathed.
“Well, that seems to clear things up in regard to the accusation of theft,” said Tristan, clapping his hands once to get everyone’s attention. “Do you have other accusations to make, Hornthwaite?”
The vicar swallowed. “No.”
“No…” Tristan prompted.
“No, your grace.”
“I’m so glad to hear it. Now, if you’ll just make a short announcement to the good people gathered here, we can conclude this whole business.”
“Conclude?” Hornthwaite asked hopefully. “What do you wish me to say?”
“You’re the orator, not me. Just a short speech, man. Explain how wrong you were, how you regret defaming the reputation of Daisy Merriot…that sort of thing.”
“And then I can leave?”
Tristan nodded, and swept a hand outward to indicate that it was time.
Hornthwaite looked nervously over the crowd. They’d all heard everything, so his apology was a mere formality. For a man used to speaking every Sunday, his speech now was quiet. Tristan urged him to speak up more than once.
When Hornthwaite finished, he heaved a sigh of relief, though the looks of mingled shame and contempt on the faces of the others would likely haunt him for years.
Tristan held up a hand to stop anyone from leaving or speaking. “Thank you, all, for hearing Mr. Hornthwaite’s words. I think we can agree that he’s been brave throughout, from the first accusation to the revelation of his remarkable mistake.” Tristan offered a hand for Hornthwaite to shake. “Well done.”
“Thank you, your grace,” Hornthwaite said, bewildered.
“That’s all then. You’ll want to return to the vicarage, I expect.” Tristan paused for a fraction of a second, then delivered his final blow. “You better be moved out by the end of the month. I wish you the best of luck in finding a new position. Anyone who is interested in offering you a living should of course feel free to speak to me personally. I’ll be happy to explain the situation. That will be all.”
Hornthwaite paled, but said nothing.
Some others present were not so restrained.
“Wecan’tbe without a vicar, your grace.”
“The search will take months!”
Lord Lyon smiled wider. “Not to worry. I have a candidate in mind. A military chaplain with a respectable, if humble, background. With luck, he’ll consent to take the position.” Then he turned back to Hornthwaite, looked him over with utterly aristocratic disdain, and said, “Why are you still here?”
Hornthwaite cast one look at Daisy, a look filled with hatred, and then looked to Lady Rutherford, who seemed to find the fan in her lap absolutely fascinating.
After a moment of deadly awkward silence, he hurried from the room.
“And now for the next matter at hand,” Tristan said. “Mr. Kemble, will you proceed?”
“Thank you, your grace. I wish to address the theft that occurred at Rutherford Grange.”
The spectators greeted this statement with obvious confusion. One man even said, “Didn’t we just hear the end of that?”
Kemble shook his head. “I do not refer to the false accusation made by Mr. Hornthwaite. I refer to a previous theft, carried out several years ago.”
“I don’t understand,” Daisy said.
“You will, Miss Merriot,” the duke said quietly.
“Shortly after the death of William Merriot, Baron Rutherford, his second wife stated publicly that not only would she remain as baroness, not dowager, but that the title would even pass to her own daughter, Bella Merriot, who was born Bella Dunley, as that was the name of Lady Rutherford’s first husband. The baron’s daughter, Margaret, his only blood offspring, would inherit nothing—neither the title nor any part of the baron’s considerable holdings.”
