Page 87 of The Vagabond Viscount
When Augusta’s movements became more frantic, he gripped the top of her legs, urging her on. “Take what you need—let me give this to you.”
She came with a sigh which went straight to his manhood, sending Flynn over the edge and into a deep well of pleasure.
“I love you… you are my life, G.”
“I love you too, Flynn. No one will ever tear us apart again.”
ChapterFifty-Four
The Morning Herald
19th August 1818
Earl Bramshaw to be tried for murder.
It gives this correspondent no joy to report that the trial of the newly minted Earl Bramshaw, formerly Viscount Cadnam, is to go ahead today at the House of Lords. After hearing the various rumors which have been circulating around London regarding the previous earl, and his brutal treatment of his son, one can only pray, dear reader, that justice is served.
Flynn would have much preferred to have gone by road for the journey from the Tower of London to Westminster, but he was overruled. There was a long history of tower prisoners being ferried back and forth along the River Thames, and that was especially true for nobles. When it came to the trial of peers of the realm, tradition was to be observed. He was to go to court as he had arrived, by boat.
Leaving the Tower of London, Augusta had protested, demanding that she be allowed to travel with her husband, but the guards and officials refused. Prisoners only. His wife was a picture of barely-held-together anguish as her father came and took her away.
Thank heavens for the understanding Duke of Mowbray. For a man who had been through his own trials of late, he hadn’t hesitated to offer Flynn any and all forms of assistance when asked.
If things went badly today, he was going to need to call on his father-in-law one last time. To keep Augusta safe and help raise their child. A child Flynn would never know.
In the boat, he sat and observed the River Thames. The breeze rustling through his hair was a welcome change from the closed-in air of the Tower of London. Other vessels moving up and down the river provided a welcome distraction.
Please, Lord, let me never have to set foot in that place again.
At the end of their journey along the river, the boat drew in at the small dockside below the Palace of Westminster. Flynn was taken up a set of ancient stone steps and into the building. The guards from the Tower bowed as they handed him over to the court guards. “Lord Bramshaw.”
“Thank you, gentlemen, you have been most kind to my wife and me. Please don’t take this personally, but I hope never to see any of you ever again.” If he was found guilty, he would be back in the Tower of London before nightfall.
He was led through a large, heavy oak door and along a narrow corridor. Flynn still found it hard to accept that he was the earl, and when people spoke to him, he kept looking over his shoulder, expecting to see his father.
But he is dead. At my hand.
Reaching the end of the walk, Flynn was ushered into a small antechamber and told to take a seat. He dropped onto a hard wooden bench and sat, head bowed. He threaded his fingers together, grateful that they hadn’t clapped him in irons. That would have been the ultimate humiliation.
After a few minutes wait, a man dressed in a dark suit and wearing a long black judge’s robe stepped into the room. A wave of nausea rolled over Flynn at the sight. While the man had a pleasant enough look about him, his manner of dress still reminded Flynn of the legendary Hanging Judge Jeffreys who had sentenced hundreds of so-called traitors to death following the English civil war.
That will not be my fate. They can’t execute me.
That thought kept pulsing through his brain. He didn’t want to consider what might happen if he was found guilty of murder. His life would be destroyed. And though his wife and unborn child would survive, they would be ruined.
“Earl Bramshaw. We haven’t met before, but I am Earl Talbot. I will be acting as Lord High Steward for your trial. You are to be tried by a jury of twenty-three of your noble peers. To return a verdict of either guilty or not guilty only requires a simple majority of not less than twelve.”
Flynn nodded. He had spoken with his father-in-law the previous afternoon, and the Duke of Mowbray had explained some of what was to happen. With an election having been recently held, parliament had been prorogued until the new year. The House of Lords was not in session. Flynn was to be spared the indignity of a trial before the full house.
“You will shortly be brought before me at the Lord High Steward’s Court. I thought it only fair that you understand what is to happen today and how the case is to proceed,” explained Lord Talbot.
“Thank you. I appreciate you coming to offer me your instruction. May I ask if, when I am before the court, will I be granted the opportunity to explain what happened?”
The door to the small chamber opened, and Augusta walked in. She took one look at the black-robed judge, then Flynn and let out a sob of distress. To Flynn’s relief, Clifford Kembal followed close on his daughter’s heels.
The Duke of Mowbray put a comforting arm around Augusta and placed a kiss on her brow. “We must trust in English justice. Come now. Give your husband your best wishes, then let us go and find somewhere to sit.”
Lord Talbot’s gaze settled briefly on Augusta’s pregnant belly. He shook his head, then quickly took his leave.
