Page 90 of The Vagabond Viscount
A perplexed Flynn was led back to the holding room. He had not been given the opportunity to speak in his own defense. It didn’t sit well. He had spent his entire life being powerless against his father, and the one chance that he might’ve had to speak out against the earl had been taken away from him.
Sir James followed him into the room and took Flynn by the arm. “Lord Bramshaw, you appear a little confused. And I am guessing you want to know why I didn’t put you on the stand. I didn’t because the evidence from everyone, especially the doctor, was compelling, and I don’t think you would have done yourself any favors by giving your side of the story.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice edged with frustration.
“I mean, people can become emotional and, at times, angry when they are given the opportunity to defend themselves. Your father, may he rest in peace, was not a good man. But a court of law is not the place for you to be finally telling the world of his evil deeds. If you walk free today, you will have plenty of time to settle scores.”
The door of the holding room opened. Augusta, along with her father and uncle, arrived. She was red-eyed, and her bottom lip quivered, but she was holding her tears at bay. For him.
Flynn and Augusta settled into a corner, holding hands. Augusta was silent. She looked wrung out. He couldn’t imagine what sort of toll this trial was taking on her. At a time when she should be basking in the joy of impending motherhood and spending sweet afternoons wrapped up in his embrace, she was sitting in a courtroom while her beloved husband was on trial for his life.
Flynn bent and kissed her brow. It was hot and sweaty when it should have been cool. “My love. I am so sorry that I have put you through this,” he murmured.
Augusta squeezed his hand and replied, “We are in this together, to the end. No matter what happens.”
The door opened once more, and a court clerk poked his head inside and spoke to Sir James Pence. He, in turn, addressed Flynn. “The jury is back. I think we have a verdict.”
“Is the fact that they are back within an hour a good or a bad sign?” asked the Duke of Mowbray.
Sir James shrugged. “One can never tell. And I don’t make a habit of giving clients false hope when I cannot promise anything.”
The guards came in, and Flynn got to his feet. He hugged Augusta one last time. “I shall see you soon, my love.”
Back inside the courtroom, there were a good deal more people in the public gallery than had been there earlier in the morning. He spied Gideon and Serafina in the crowd.
Thank heavens they are here to support Augusta if this all goes wrong.
“Earl Bramshaw, please take a seat in front of the jury,” ordered Earl Talbot.
Flynn made his way over to the chair which had been placed in front of the jury. A simple majority would give a final, fateful verdict.
His heart was thumping hard in his chest. The next few minutes would define the rest of his life.
“My lord triers, is there a verdict?”
The jury nodded as one.
“On the count of murder, how many votes do you have for a verdict of guilty?”
Flynn closed his eyes. He didn’t want to watch.
“None, my lord. And none for a verdict of manslaughter. We have agreed on a unanimous verdict of not guilty, the act of self-defense having been proven.”
ChapterFifty-Five
“Not Guilty.” Flynn covered his face with his hands and took in three deep, calming breaths. His mind was still trying to absorb and make sense of what the words ‘not guilty’ actually meant. It was only when he caught the cry of anguish from Augusta that he finally dropped his hands and looked to the public gallery.
His wife was wrapped up in her father’s embrace. Her head was buried in the folds of the duke’s jacket, while her whole body shook as great, heart-rending sobs tore through her.
A hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he turned to meet the gaze of his defense counsel. He numbly accepted Sir James’s outstretched hand, muttering a weak, “Thank you.”
Is this real?
The court erupted into applause and shouts of ‘justice has been done.’ The rowdy cheers were still echoing off the ancient wooden walls when the judge finally brought his gavel down on the oak bench.Bang. Bang.“Order. I will have order,” he demanded.
Flynn would give the man anything he wanted, just as long as he could walk from the court a free man.
The room settled into near silence once more. Augusta was still weeping in her father’s arms.
