“What is he supposed to do?” Vander asked. “Hire another governess? From all accounts, he sacked one of her governesses and the other quit. It would be hard to demonstrate respect for Snowe’s Registry after that.”
“Ward has to make a huge gesture,” Mia insisted. “There’s India! She’ll help.” She started waving frantically.
Ward turned as Thorn Dautry’s wife, Lady Xenobia India, joined them.
“Hello, Mia darling,” India said, dropping a necessarily shallow curtsy, since she was obviously carrying a child. “Mr. Reeve, it’s a pleasure to see you. And Vander, you’re looking a bit peevish this evening.” She went up on her toes to kiss the duke.
“Where’s Thorn?” His Grace growled, by way of greeting.
“Here,” came a laconic voice. Ward had not seen Thorn Dautry since he and Vander had helped him rout Mia’s uncle, the scoundrel who’d had him thrown in prison.
Now he thought of it, if that old crook hadn’t died, he might have had to thank him for stopping his wedding to Mia.
“India,” Mia cried, “Ward needs our help. He has to make a grand gesture to convince Eugenia Snowe that he truly loves her.”
“Does he truly love her?” India peered at Ward. Whatever she saw in his eyes must have satisfied her, because she turned back to Mia and said, “Flowers?”
Ward shook his head. “Not extravagant enough.”
“Excellent!” Mia said, clapping her hands together.
“What?” her husband asked.
“Ward has something in mind. I can tell.”
It seemed he was making a grand gesture.
Chapter Forty-four
Tuesday, June 30, 1801
The House of Lords
Palace of Westminster
Ward had barely reached the seat beside his solicitor when a parade of a hundred or so scarlet and ermine clad British peers filed in and took their places along the benches on either side of the Lord Chancellor, who was presiding over the session.
His father had complained that most of those seats remained empty even during the most important bills—but not today. Not in light of the fascinating news that the notorious Lady Lisette had mothered children, legitimate children, with the late Lord Darcy. That was news enough, but the fact that Lady Lisette’s mother was sponsoring a private act demanding guardianship of those orphaned children?
The peers crowded on the benches like peas in a cartload of pods.
Ward’s grandmother was seated with her solicitors to the right of Ward. She did not spare him a glance.
The case opened with ceremonial blather. A Proclamation of Silence was followed by a turgid list of articles and circumstances and general foolishness, until the private act pled by Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Gilner, of the County of Surrey, was called.
Her interminable plea drew to a close with an unambiguous statement: the young Lord Darcy and his sister should not be brought up by a man of illegitimate birth who, while he was to be congratulated for his profitable innovations in machinery (leaving the distinct impression that Ward had been whittling knife sharpeners or the like), had nevertheless been imprisoned in the recent past.
As soon as the word “prison” was uttered, a buzz rose from the benches that sounded like enraged hornets on the move. Neither Ward nor Mia had ever made public the reason he’d deserted her at the altar, disappearing the night before their wedding ceremony.
The duchess’s learned counsel concluded with a satisfied waggle of his periwig. “Her Grace feels that there can be no possible comparison between herself and Mr. Reeve when it comes to the ability to properly raise a young peer of the realm, an orphan whose mother has been tragically taken from him.”
Lizzie was not mentioned.
Ward’s head solicitor bounded to his feet with an eagerness that corresponded to the acclaim he was receiving by leading this particular case. He launched into an erudite discussion of the fact that Lord Darcy’s will assigning guardianship of his children to Ward had been proved in the Court of Chancery.
Fair enough, but everyone in the room knew that was irrelevant. A private act could invalidate Lord Darcy’s will, as it had overturned others.
What this case came down to was a show of force on both sides. The Duchess of Gilner had carefully marshalled facts in order to attack Ward’s person.
Ward had chosen to marshal people.
One by one, his solicitors called peers to the witness box. Some of them were waiting in the witnesses’ benches, but a few made their way from the peers’ benches. The Duke of Pindar’s explanation of Ward’s wrongful incarceration led to a gale of chatter. The Duke of Villiers answered questions in a sardonic drawl, reminding the assembly of his own illegitimate children and daring them to imagine that his offspring would be unsuitable parents.