Page 77 of The Forger and the Duke
But he had not made any better a showing for himself. He had not exactly been the doting brother, either. Rosenfeld stepped forward to cross-examine the witness, and Mal felt a rush of confidence as he began questioning Thorkelson about the recent state of affairs at Hunsdon House, and the evidence that Sybil had left the children without proper oversight or care.
Thorkelson somehow contrived to blame this on Mal.
“It is my understanding that the servants left because Mr. Grey was threatening them on grounds that they felt unreasonable,” Thorkelson said, looking as if it pained him to tell this outrageous bouncer. He glanced at Sybil once, and Mal saw the commanding nod she gave him in response. What hold had she gotten over the man?
“He then, I am told,” Thorkelson went on, “brought in a very common person, unrelated to the family—and someone ofquestionable occupation as well—and installed an entirely new staff of her choosing. I am also told this woman, though she has no formal relationship with Mr. Grey, has been living at Hunsdon House, running it as if she were the duchess. Sleeping in the duchess’s chambers, if reports are to be believed, and wearing the duchess’s gowns.”
Mal glared at Thorkelson, who looked unrepentant. Sybil gasped and withdrew a painted fan, waving it about her face as if overcome with shock.
Mal dared a glance at Amaranthe. She met his eyes with a worried look. She didn’t like that Thorkelson had as much as suggested to the court that she was Mal’s mistress. He could tell by the proud tilt to her chin.
But she also saw that things were going badly for him, and she was more concerned on his account than her own. Her commissions would not dry up if his suit failed and gossip circulated about her. Rather, the brief fame might drive business her way. He was the one who stood to lose everything if Oliver ruled against him. His aspirations to the law would be ended, his livelihood would be gone. He’d be cast into the world with nothing—nothing to offer a wife, at any rate—and Sybil would never let him near his half-siblings again.
His gut tightened. He had to win. He had to defeat Sybil somehow.
“One wonders how the duchess knew anything of what was occurring at Hunsdon House,” Rosenfeld said mildly, “since she was abroad in France and concerned with her own affairs.”
“Her Grace has many friends here, Your Honor,” Thorkelson told the judge. “She is particularly intimate with the Duchess of Cumberland, the wife of Prince Henry, and the Duchess of Gloucester, Prince William’s wife. They have kept her apprised of developments, especially those they feared were not in the best interests of the children.”
So that was it. The wives of the royal princes, though both commoners, nevertheless held a great deal of sway over London society. Maria, now the Duchess of Gloucester, was herself illegitimate, and though she had first married an earl and now a royal duke, she would never be received at court. If Sybil had ingratiated herself with the royal family—even the less accepted members of it—she could turn public opinion as well as the court against him. Mal would be crushed like a bug under a boot. His only powerful patron had been his father, and the duke was dead.
“And since her return,” Froggart continued, “Mr. Grey has denied the duchess access to Hunsdon House. He has deprived her of her own home. More than that, he has kept her from seeing her children. Your Honor, you cannot imagine the pain and distress this has caused to Her Grace’s tender mother’s heart. What legal protection can the court grant her, I ask, to protect this widowed mother and her helpless children from the incursions of a man who has no claim upon their affections or their estate?”
Sybil produced an embroidered handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. Froggart turned and looked Mal straight in the eye, repeating his last accusation with emphasis. “No claim.”
“No claim,” Oliver mused, watching Mal as well.
He was an insect trapped in amber under their combined, condemning gaze. Even Rosenfeld had no defense for him.
It didn’t matter if he were cast into the outer darkness. He’d been there before. On his own account, it meant nothing. But Hugh. Ned. Millie. Their faces swam before his eyes. The hungry, pleading looks on their faces when he’d found them in Amaranthe’s parlor, like frightened birds who had found sanctuary. Their eager delight that first night they had dined together at Hunsdon House, their pride at being included withthe adults, and the merry moments they’d had at dinners to follow.
Ned’s look of pride when he’d unearthed that manuscript for Amaranthe, knowing he was granting her a great privilege. Hugh’s correct bow to her when they readied to leave for Bristol. Ever aware of his ducal burden, the boy was unable to disguise his wish for her approval. And Camilla, who had made herself Amaranthe’s devoted little shadow, clinging to her skirts and demanding to learn Greek.
In the past weeks he’d come to know his siblings better than he ever had. Before they’d been a responsibility; now they were dear. If he lost this suit, he had no doubt Sybil would bar him from seeing them. He’d be reduced to haunting Hanover Square, waiting for the children to emerge. Asking Amaranthe to ask Joseph to give him news of his own blood.
He’d lose the chance to guide the lads and teach them how a young man survived in a world that could be so cruel. He’d have no chance to make sure Camilla was courted correctly and by young men worthy of her when it came time to make her launch. Sybil would take from him the chance he’d glimpsed to have a real family at last.
But if he spoke now, he’d take away Hugh’s inheritance. He’d take away Ned’s chances at a good profession and Camilla’s chance to marry well.
And if he didn’t speak, he’d lose the children to Sybil, who would take these things from them anyway.
Mal looked to Amaranthe. He saw the urgency in her eyes. She leaned forward, clutching a package to her chest, her face pale, her eyes wide and frightened.
What do I do?He signed to her as he had seen her speak with Thaker, though he didn’t doubt his gestures were inaccurate as well as foolish-looking to the rest of the room.
She held his gaze and answered without hesitation, the meaning of her quick signs clear.You must do what is right.
Funny thatshewould give him such counsel. But he was relieved at her answer. She trusted him to act on his own principles. And he knew that whatever he decided, Amaranthe would tell him he’d been right. She believed in him and his ability to choose the best path. She didn’t see him as buffeted by misfortune or at the mercy of bad luck. She saw him as a man of integrity.
It was astonishing and undeserved, but he saw all this in the clear, steady light of her gaze. And he knew that however he’d scolded her, deserved or not, and however far he fell in public opinion or material circumstances, he could come to Amaranthe and she would take him in. She would never condemn him as he had her. She would accept him as he was, whatever his mistakes, his peccadilloes, his past behavior, and his birth. She would believe in his ability to do better, to repair his errors, to make things right.
With her beside him, everything wouldberight. As long as he did everything in his power to keep her. And keep Sybil from taking everything he loved away.
Mal stood, cleared his throat, and stepped to the edge of the cliff.
“It happens I have some claim on the estate,” he said.
Froggart swept him with a freezing stare. “You are not to speak. Your barrister will argue your case before the Master. What little case you have,” he added with a sneer.
