How the Earl Entices

by Anna Harrington

  “Point of order!”

  This time, the loud shout from the floor caught enough attention that voices fell quiet just long enough for Lord Batten to be heard as he waved his hat in the air to be recognized to speak. But as with everything else that had happened so far, proper procedure fell by the wayside as men began to jeer at him, behaving more like the MPs in the Commons than distinguished peers of the realm.

  “Point of order!” Batten tried again. This time, he ignored the jeers and continued on, shouting them down, “This is the first trial of a peer for treason in nearly one hundred years.” He turned in a circle so that his voice would carry above the din to the far corners of the room. “The proper procedure is in question.”

  More jeers and boos went up, until the entire room had joined in.

  Ross inhaled a deep breath for patience and kept his expression inscrutable, not allowing the humiliation of this debacle to register on his face. For his entire adult life, he’d worked tirelessly to serve England, to be a statesman with decorum and dignity. Only for his reputation to be sullied by this.

  “Spalding is an earl,” Batten continued, drawing boisterous laughs at that embarrassingly obvious statement. His face reddened, yet he pressed on, “It is not our place to try him for treason.”

  That statement shocked the room. Even the lawyers were taken aback as indignant shouts went round of Trial of peers by peers!

  “It is our right—nay, our very responsibility—to ensure an attainder first!” He pounded his fist on a table when astonished gasps went up at that declaration. “His crimes have betrayed England, and he does not deserve any of the privileges afforded him as a peer. He has forfeited the respect and dignity of the title, and so he should be stripped of all rank and privilege, to be tried like a common criminal!”

  His jaw tightened at that. So much for a fair trial.

  “The king must attaint!”

  More angry thumps of Batten’s fist were lost beneath the noise of confusion and chaos that erupted so loudly that they could have been the crowd at the Ealing races instead of England’s so-called finest. Wentworth’s knowing smirk only deepened at the unfolding fiasco.

  Batten pointed an accusatory finger at Ross as he sat on the platform that served as the trial’s dock, placed on display like a stuffed peacock for all to gawk at.

  Ross’s eyes met Christopher’s as his brother crowded into the rear of the chamber with the guards, even then allowed only just inside the door. Kit solemnly returned his gaze.

  Guilt gnawed at his gut. His brother didn’t deserve to have the family name dragged through the mud like this, to lose their fortune, or have his future ripped away the way it would be once the trial was over and Ross was hanged. Kit would be expelled from the Home Office and marked forever as the brother of a traitor, having no peace for the rest of his life.

  What Ross regretted most about this—the only thing he regretted—was what his conviction would do to the people he cared about. To Christopher, for destroying four hundred years of family legacy connected to the Spalding title, to Mary Jacobs for never bringing to justice the man who murdered her husband, and to Grace, for not giving her and her son the future they deserved.

  “Attainder is meaningless!” Lord Daubney shouted at Batten from his seat at the side of the chamber. “A peer cannot claim privilege in cases of treason, you pompous blowhard of a—”

  Laughter and shouts drowned out the end of that tirade. The pounding of the High Lord Steward’s staff went unheard, so did pleas by the lawyers to allow them to continue to present their evidence.

  “The Spalding title must first be attainted,” Batten insisted, his cheeks now turning scarlet. “It is a matter of moral principle!”

  A final insult, and it galled him. It wasn’t enough for them to destroy his family’s reputation beneath a charge of treason. No. They wanted to humiliate him first.

  Amid the clamor and confusion, Ross stood and stepped forward. He shouted out, “I claim only those rights due to me as a servant and citizen of England!” He glared at Batten, so ferociously that the man’s ruddy face paled to white. “Unless you prefer to play at being king, to strip even those God-given rights away from me.”

  Hoots and howls filled the room as Batten sank down onto his seat.

  “But if you feel the need to rob me of my birthright before you have even heard the evidence against me,” Ross continued, shouting out the challenge, “then so be it! Attainder changes not one of the facts, nor does it nullify the sacrifices I have made in service to my country.” Then he drawled distastefully, taking direct aim at most of the peers surrounding him, “While lesser men have sacrificed nothing.”

  Duly chastised, the room fell quiet, the jeers and laughter fading to murmurs and whispers. The Lord High Steward gestured with his white staff for the barristers to continue.

  Ross straightened his shoulders. Finally.

  A commotion went up from the rear of the room as the chamber door was pushed open wide. Shouts from the guards, jostling and confusion—a flash of toffee-colored hair—

  Grace.

  Unable to believe his eyes as she pushed her way into the chamber, his heart stopped. Then jarred back to life with a painful thud when he saw the papers she clasped in her hands. Christ! The damned woman had disobeyed him, and now, she was putting her own life on the dock next to his. Worse—if she’d brought with her the list of names, she’d sealed both their fates.

  Shoving aside the surprised men blocking her way, she stumbled forward, breaking through the hold of the guards and the hands that reached to stop her. An uproar erupted inside the chamber as she rushed toward him, with Kit barely breaking stride as he followed after to keep her safe.

  “I have them!” She thrust the papers toward him. Then she turned to shout out to the entire room. “I have documents that prove the Earl of Spalding innocent of treason!”

  “They’re not enough,” he rasped out, shaking his head. “Without the journal—”

  “I have it!” She held up a small book and smiled at the stunned shock that pulsed over him. She repeated his words to him from the night of the masquerade, “Better late than never.”

  Impossible. It simply couldn’t be…Yet he took it from her and flipped through it, scanning the pages for proof that it belonged to Wentworth. That it held the evidence he needed for his own exoneration and for the ambassador’s guilt.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” she asked intensely, her eyes glistening as if she couldn’t believe it herself.

  “Yes.” He leapt the low railing and jumped to the floor, then grabbed her into his arms and shouted with joy as he twirled her around in a circle. “Yes!”

  Beaming at her, he set her down with a quick kiss, then strode into the middle of the chamber. He held up the papers and journal as he called out to the room. He paused to let them all take a good long look. Exoneration was proving sweeter than he ever imagined.

  “My noble lords!” he shouted above the bewildered cacophony as all the peers shot to their feet. “I beg your attention!”

  The noise quieted just enough for him to be heard.

  “I am innocent!” He shook the pages in the air over his head. “And here is the proof.”

  A fresh round of shouts went up, this time followed by calls for more guards. The uniformed men grabbed Ross by the arms and began to drag him from the chamber.

  “Silence!” The word reverberated through the chamber as Sebastian Carlisle, Duke of Trent, shouted down the crowd of peers. “Stop this madness!”

  “Come to order!” the Duke of Chatham demanded.

  Beside Chatham, Edward Westover, Duke of Strathmore, rose slowly to his feet and immediately drew the attention of the chamber, which quieted into muffled whispers beneath his ire.

  “Release that woman,” Strathmore ordered the soldiers who had shoved Kit away and were struggling to drag Grace from the chamber, hanging on to her as she fought to remain. Every inch of the duke resonated with the co
mmanding authority of the decorated army officer he’d once been and with the imperial presence of the powerful peer he’d become. “Now.”

  The soldiers froze, as if debating whether to carry out their duty as guards or follow the duke’s orders. Thinking better of it, they let her go.

  The guards holding Ross loosened their hold. He tore himself away from their grip and rushed back to the center of the room. He faced the guards now, not turning his back on them, because if they changed their minds and dragged him from the chamber, he was as good as dead.

  “The Earl of Spalding has always been a well-respected peer of the realm,” Trent called out in the growing calm that was settling over the chamber, now that the shock of Grace’s arrival had worn off. The presence of guards had sobered all of them. “As such, he deserves to be heard.”

  With gratitude toward his cousin lightening his chest, Ross seized the opportunity. “I am not a traitor! I have dedicated my life to my country and to my king, first as an officer in His Majesty’s army and then in service to the Court of St James’s. I have served here and on the continent for over a decade, even during those dark days against Napoleon. My brother fought valiantly against the Americans and the French, and my father, the late earl, always sat in service to this House. Always.” A few nods of agreement acknowledged his family’s dedication to their country. He placed his hand over his heart as he turned in a slow circle to face all the peers sitting in judgment of him. “I’ll admit—in my younger days, I was a bit of a handful.” He allowed himself a half grin of arrogance. “I am a Carlisle, after all.”

  Uneasy laughter went up at that.

  Encouraged, he continued, “But never have I been disloyal or unwilling to serve England and her king to the best of my talents and resolve. And you, my most noble friends, are well aware of that. In your hearts, you know it.”

  The soft rise of murmured whispers acknowledged the truth of that. He held up the papers again, like a battle flag.

  “I know what you’ve heard, those accusations and baseless rumors that have permeated London, claiming that I committed treason and murder.” His eyes moved deliberately from peer to peer now, daring each of them to make eye contact with him and challenging them to believe him. “I was unable to be here to defend myself against them because I was still making my way back to English soil from France. But these pages show my innocence. They prove without doubt who is responsible for the real acts of treason that have occurred.” Now going on the attack, he swung his gaze to Wentworth. As the man’s face turned white, a sweet vindication cascaded through Ross. The swirling emotions of grief and overwhelming relief stung at his eyes. “And for the murder of Sir Henry Jacobs.”

  At that announcement, the chamber filled with new shouts and arguments, including among the solicitors and barristers. The Lord High Steward gave up trying to enforce order and slammed down his white shaft on the table, ordering that the session be dismissed and the chamber emptied. In the confusion, the guards stood uncertainly at the sides of the room, not knowing what to do.

  The Marquess of Ellsworth picked up the Lord High Steward’s staff and snapped it in two, symbolically ending the trial.

  “Take him out!” the Lord High Steward ordered the guards to remove Ross from the dock. Then he gestured at the entire room. “Clear out the chamber! We’ll sort through this in peace and quiet. Clear them out!”

  The guards came forward through the confusion and took Ross’s arms. He caught a last glimpse of Grace as they pulled him from the chamber, her eyes meeting his through the crowd. The joy that filled him was immeasurable.

  Not moving, Grace watched until Ross stepped from the chamber, and the crowd closed in around her. Curious stares came from the men, who whispered to each other about her, all of them frowning and scowling in turns. Despite the Lord High Steward’s orders to clear the chamber, even more men pushed in though the wide-open doors, to find out what had happened and why the trial had been stopped. MPs from the Commons, more guards, secretaries, assistants—the room had become a crush, with even more stares and whispers, now joined by pointing and loud calls that brought her to the attention of the room.

  She rubbed her clammy palms against her skirt as the metallic taste of uneasiness grew on her tongue. She needed to leave, to find space and air, to hide from the unwanted attention. Slowly, barely able to shuffle forward through the press of bodies, she started toward the doors.

  A flash of blond hair caught her attention, the line of a familiar jaw, narrowed eyes—

  Vincent.

  A shoulder slammed into her from behind. The force of the blow shoved her forward, and she stumbled, nearly falling. The gentleman grabbed her arm to catch her and muttered his apologies for not seeing her, then released her and pushed his way forward.

  Panic roiled in her stomach. Her gaze darted back—

  He’d turned away in the crowd as he made his way toward the door, his back turned to her and his face hidden. Turn around so I can see you, so I can be certain…An icy fear slithered up her spine. If Vincent had seen her, if he knew she was there—Oh God.

  “Grace!”

  Christopher shoved his way through the crowd to her side, but when he reached for her, she pushed him back. She couldn’t look away, not until she knew. Turn around, damn you!

  Sensing her distress, he took her arm, not letting her dismiss him a second time. He demanded with concern, “What’s the matter?”

  “I thought—” The knot of fear in her throat choked her. She started again, breathlessly, “I thought I saw someone I used to know…”

  “Who?” He craned his neck to see where she was staring.

  “Lockwood.” The single word was nearly lost beneath the cacophony around them.

  “Who?”

  The man turned. Finally she had a clear view of his face—

  Not Vincent.

  Relief poured from her. She clutched at Kit’s arm to steady herself as she saw the blonde gentleman laugh at something the other men with him had said, a wide smile beaming from a face that had to be ten years younger than her brother-in-law would have been now. A man who wasn’t nearly as tall, not nearly as wide or solid as Vincent.

  Her shoulders dropped as she let out a harsh exhalation, expelling the fear that had attacked her. She corrected, “A ghost.”

  Kit frowned in confusion, unable to fathom what she’d meant by that or who she’d been looking at. But deciding that there was no threat after all, the tension drained out of him as he grinned down at her. “A ghost would never be foolish enough to haunt such a formidable woman.”

  She smiled, half at the flattery of his compliment, half with relief. A ghost, that was all. Just like the other ghosts she’d seen of Vincent along the road from Sea Haven. How foolish she was to think she’d seen him! They’d both changed over the years, certainly—would she even recognize him now if she saw him, or him her? Would he even consider that she could be here, when he thought she’d died a decade ago? She nearly laughed at herself that she’d let her past conjure up specters when her future with Ross now spread out so gloriously in front of her.

  When Kit led her forward through the crowd, she craned her neck around for one more glimpse of the door that the guards had led Ross through. It led into the depths of Parliament, surely only accessed by MPs. But the longing to prove that he was finally safe was too much to quash. “Can I see Ross?”

  “Not until tonight, I’m afraid.” He grimaced, not looking down at her, his attention on the crowd around them. “We’re likely to be questioned for hours.”

  She tensed. “We?”

  “They’ll want to speak to me, too, to find out what we knew and when. I’ll take you to Spalding House, then come straight back here.” He frowned down at her in stern warning. “Don’t run away this time.” He grumbled, “I don’t fancy another chase through the streets of London after you.”

  Placing a reassuring hand to his upper arm, she laughed. The worry and fear eased away completely as
they stepped through the chamber door and into the far less crowded outer hall. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath and relished in it.

  “You’re an amazing woman, Grace Alden.” He lowered his mouth to her temple but didn’t slow his strides to escort her away as quickly as possible, to get her safely tucked into Spalding House and himself back to saving Ross. “What you did…”

  “Was exactly what Ross would have done to save me.”

  “That’s the God’s truth.” He smiled knowingly. “He loves you, you know.”

  All of her tensed for a fleeting moment as sheer happiness poured over her. Then she nodded against his shoulder with a soft tremble as they passed through the door and outside into the sunlight. She whispered, “I know.”

  The nightmare was finally over.

  Chapter 27

  “That’s everything.” Ross finished relating the events of the past few months to the Home Secretary. The same details and events he’d shared earlier with the Secretary at War, the Prime Minister, the Lord Chancellor, and the Master of Ceremonies for the Court of St James’s. The same details he was certain he’d have to relate again to King George tomorrow. But now, he wanted to end this and go home to Spalding House, where Grace was waiting for him. “Any more questions?”

  The expression on the secretary’s face remained solemn as the man sat across from him at a table in a reception room in the Palace of Westminster, where officials had been questioning him since they escorted him from the Lords. Beyond the tall windows, the dying reds and purples of the fading sunset fell mutedly across London, and an attendant had already come into the room an hour ago to light the lamps and stoke the fire.

  The secretary shook his head. “I think you’ve told us everything we need to know.”

  Thank God. Only then did Ross allow himself to ease back in his chair. Only then did he let himself completely believe that he would be exonerated.