Gayle Wilson - His Secret Duchess

“If I might, my lord Chief Justice, I would be pleased to show the court the record of the marriage of His Grace, then Lord Stanton, to Mary Winters, the accused,” the lawyer said deferentially.

With the Duke of Vail standing at his back, he might well have spoken to the king himself, but his courtesy was appreciated. Here, at last, was someone skilled in according the king’s justice the deference with which he should be treated. Mollified, the judge inclined his head.

The barrister laid the book on the justices’ table, and then opened it to the last page. None of them appeared to notice when Traywick moved to peruse, as they did, the record he presented.

“And the dates?” the lord justice questioned. With one long white finger he traced the date of the entry above the marriage record in question. “How do you explain that there are more than thirty years between the previous entry and this?”

“Apparently, the vicar who officiated recorded the marriage in the older of two parish registers. Irregular, perhaps, but perfectly legal, I assure you, my lord Justice.”

“Then, if the witnesses are here present to verify—” the judge began, only to be interrupted, most respectfully interrupted, by the duke’s lawyer.

“It is unfortunate that both witnesses are now deceased, my lord Justice. Tragically deceased when their yacht sank in a storm while crossing the Channel.”

“And the priest?” the judge questioned, the first hint of doubt creeping into his tone.

“Alas, the vicar has also passed to his deserved reward.”

“How convenient,” said Traywick, his voice vicious with sarcasm. “Surely, my lord, you must see that this is all a hoax designed to trick the court Improper register, all the witnesses dead, and yet these two would lead us to believe that a true marriage took place seven years ago and has been kept a secret since. This is mere trickery, my lord,” the merchant said. “An attempt to allow this woman to escape justice.”

The judge pursed his lips, obviously swayed by the argument, but he was not given long to consider its merits.

“I would remind my lord Justice of a legal point about which he is most certainly informed,” the London lawyer said smoothly. “The entire purpose of recording marriages began as an attempt to put an end to the legal entanglements caused by the clandestine unions so frequently entered into by our ancestors.”

“Of course,” the justice agreed.

“It was found that actions brought by one party against the other in such a union tied up the court’s time, which might better be spent on more important judicial matters.”

Again the judge inclined his head in agreement. All of this was commonly known legal history, and although he was not certain of the barrister’s point, it was intellectually entertaining to find a well-informed mind in such a provincial proceeding.

“But since that is not the case in point, therefore—”

“Not the case—” The justice interrupted, having lost the thread of the argument somewhere, only to be cut off himself.

“Both parties were of legal age, and neither is denying that the marriage took place. Indeed, both will testify to this court that vows were exchanged. Therefore, there should be no impediment to the recognition of its legality.”

The lord chief justice was momentarily silenced by the logic. Everything argued was true. If, of course, both parties agreed. He turned to the accused.

“And will you so testify, Mary Winters, that the exchange of vows recorded here did indeed take place?”

Mary looked up at his question. Her eyes moved back to consider the man standing in the central aisle of the hall. The crowd was hushed in expectation. There was some emotion, some silent communication between Vail and the woman he had claimed as his wife, and then the justice found Mary Winters’s remarkably clear blue gaze focused again on his face.

“I will, my lord,” Mary said, her voice calm, despite the aura of breathless anticipation with which they had awaited her answer. An answer that was not a lie, considering the wording of the question that had been posed.

Vail drew a breath. That had been, all along, what he feared most. That Mary’s honesty would force her to deny what he had claimed.

“And you considered those vows to be binding on you both, a true marriage?” the justice continued.

There was, this time, no hesitation. “I did, my lord,” Mary Winters assented truthfully.

“Then, if the banns were read—” the judge began, relieved, only to be interrupted again by the persuasive voice of Vail’s barrister.

“I must inform you that there were no banns, my lord Justice.” He had to raise his voice to continue to speak over the murmur that resulted from that startling information. “But as you are well aware,” he went on, “it is always the priest’s prerogative, as an officer of the Archbishop of Canterbury, to grant dispensation for special causes.”

“And the special cause in this case?”

“To facilitate this marriage in order to allow His Grace’s attendance on that field of battle now commonly referred to as Waterloo. Despite having been grievously wounded during the Peninsular Campaign, he had appealed to Whitehall to recommission him so that he might assume command of his men to give support for the glorious victory of the Duke of Wellington against the Corsican monster.”

The words were carefully chosen, reminders of Vail’s role in that defeat and the cost of his unquestioned heroism in other battles, a blatant admonition that the justices should remember the distinguished military career of the man standing in appeal before them and a less-than-subtle remonstrance to their patriotism.

“Indeed,” the chief justice said faintly.

“Therefore,” the barrister went on, speaking more strongly, surer now of his audience, “you must see that, whatever action Mr. Traywick is so foolish as to try to prosecute against Her Grace, the Duchess of Vail, it should not be conducted in this court.”

“Again, I protest that this woman—” Traywick began, only to be cut off by the whiplash of Vail’s voice.

“If you profane my wife’s name with another of your vile accusations, be warned that I shall kill you.”

The gray eyes were cold and calm, but there was suddenly no doubt in Traywick’s mind that the nobleman meant exactly what he said. The merchant’s lips closed against the savage rejoinders he longed to make against the woman who had turned him into a monster. He looked for the first time fully into the threatening eyes of the man who had claimed Mary Winters as his wife, and for some reason wás reminded of her son. And then, of course, Traywick realized why the remembrance of the child he so seldom bothered about now had come into his head. Of course.

Suddenly Marcus Traywick threw back his head and laughed, the sound chilling and disturbing. Peal after peal, hysterical with delight, his laughter rang through the room, eventually silencing the whispering crowd.

The shock of distaste at the merchant’s display was briefly seen on the controlled face of the Duke of Vail before he turned away. Only one person in the courtroom realized the reason for the insane laughter. Again, Mary Winters bowed her head. And this time those who believed her to be in prayer were not mistaken.

Those who continued to watch the elegant Duke of Vail after the lord chief justice summarily dismissed the proceedings were perhaps surprised that the person he sought out first was not the woman he had claimed as his wife or the lawyer he had brought from London to plead her case. Instead, Vail walked over to a small, undistinguished man, his clothing the same as that of the simple village folk who had come to witness the trial. He had stood in the back of the courtroom, quietly watching the drama Vail had just enacted unfold.