“Composing and publishing seditious material in direct contravention of the Blasphemous and Seditious Libels Act of 1819.”
“You cannot charge anyone with the same offense twice, Nolley—especially when she has already pleaded guilty!” Leo grabbed the man by the lapels and snarled in his face. “That is the law. Not that you have any regard for it!”
“This isn’t for the placard.” Nolley pulled himself away and held up a rolled-up newspaper that he slapped in Leo’s chest. “It’s for this!” Then with a click of his fingers the militia charged forward and Leo was pushed unceremoniously to the side. “Turns out that your fancy woman is one of the ringleaders of that treasonous rag that incited lastnight’s riot. Writes her poison under the unimaginative pseudonym of K Pendle because she thinks we’re all idiots. Funny that the only idiot that she fooled was you though, isn’t it, your grace? Thank goodness the rest of us weren’t taken in by her sultry wiles, though, ay? But at least you got your cock wet.”
The punch was instinctive and totally out of character but for once Leo enjoyed the sight of blood as the bastard flew backward onto the pavement, his nose bleeding profusely.
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Portia was huddled in the corner of the same airless, dingy cell in the Grove Street Jail—only this time she had it all to herself.
Or at least she did now that Nolley had gone.
For how long he would leave her all alone in the dark, she had no clue, but she hoped it was long enough to come up with a plan. Because if she didn’t come up with something brilliant soon, she was doomed.
The rest of the cells were quiet, so she had no idea where the others were, but she knew that she wasn’t the only one of them to have been arrested. Nolley had bragged that he had personally arrested three of her fellow traitors down at the quay and that one of them had informed on them during their interrogation, so she dreaded to think what the authorities knew or how brutal the other interrogations had been. She had painful bruises everywhere after being shoved unceremoniously wherever Nolley had decided she needed to be shoved. He had seemed to take particular satisfaction in pushing her so hard into the cell that she had ended up falling to the floor before he snuffed out the only lantern down here in the bowels of the building.
It did not take a genius to realize that he was keeping her in the dark—both figuratively and literally—because he wanted her absolutely quaking in her boots by the time she was brought before the magistrates in the morning.
But the man was a fool if he thought taking the paltry singlecandle away and bellowing directly into her face would put the fear of god into her. The very real fear of a trip to Botany Bay had already done that the second she had been arrested, and she was now so terrified she didn’t even have the capacity to cry.
She heard footsteps coming down the stairs and braced herself for more verbal abuse. Then slumped in relief when she saw the unmistakable outline of Leo emerge from the darkness—although he wasn’t alone. For some reason, alongside a prison guard and a complete stranger, he had also brought his mother and Lord Teignmouth along.
They all held back while he approached the bars. “There’s not much time,” he said in a hushed whisper as soon as she made it to them. “You are being taken directly to Bristol assizes at dawn where you will stand trial. The court sits the day after tomorrow and they plan to rush this through, Portia. All the magistrates are in agreement. What with it being your second offense.” She could see the guilt etched into his handsome face for his part in that. “And with them having more than enough evidence to convict you.”
“What evidence?” Nolley hadn’t told her any of this.
“A watchman who saw you leaving the warehouse where you keep the printing press shortly before they arrested the others there, red-handed. Every single column that you have written, including the one you left out on your desk in your handwriting that has the exact same headline as the placard the constable is still adamant he saw you waving at the protest. Several more half-finished articles that he found in your things at my house.” Now he appeared guiltier still despite his clipped but matter-of-fact tone. “They had a search warrant and I couldn’t stop them. And one of your fellow conspirators—an Edgar somebody—has named you as K Pendle, the assistant editor ofEquitasand author of the opinion piece.” Of course Edgar would be the one to feed her to the wolves. “It’s all pretty damning, Portia.”
“Oh god.” She felt sick and the room began to spin. “I don’t stand a chance, do I?”
He shook his head. “Not in a courtroom. I’ve racked my brain, and you only have one option left to stop them throwing the book at you.”
“I am not going to incriminate the others to save myself!” She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she sold William or Jim or Percy down the river. “I will not make a deal with the devil for immunity!”
He reached through the bars to cup her cheek; his fingers gentle despite all the anger in his eyes. “They are all first offenders who will leave here with a fine at worst, so they won’t bother asking you to.” Leo’s expression was grave and frustrated and furious all at the same time. “Especially as they intend to put you on the next convict ship that leaves Bristol harbor. And be in no doubt that they can do that to Miss Portia Elizabeth Kendall.” He paused. Gulped. Steeled himself. “But they will have to pardon the Duchess of Debden.”
“What?”Surely she hadn’t heard that right?“I can’t marry you!”
“You are going to bloody well have to if you don’t wish to live out the rest of your days in a penal colony on the other side of the world!” He had never sounded so angry or so bitter. The sunny, funny man that she knew was now replaced by a stranger. “Trust me—after all the lies you’ve spewed, I don’t want to do this anymore than you do!” He practically spat that. “But I feel a misguided sense of responsibility for convincing you to plead guilty yesterday, despite all your calculated machinations!” His expression more than conveyed his reluctance, and yet he didn’t pull his hand away from her face. “But I’ve bribed a guard and brought the bishop of Bath and Wells with a special license. Dragged along two upstanding witnesses, and I’ve bought you about fifteen minutes until Nolley realizes that he’s been sent on a wild-goose chase and comes back here and puts a stop to this. Therefore, you need to choose immediately which awful fate you would prefer. Fourteen years of brutal incarceration, which you likely won’t survive, or the unpalatable chore of being shackled to a duke!”
Chapter
TWENTY-ONE
“Welcome home, your grace.” Mrs. Rumpole, the housekeeper, dipped into a curtsy as soon as Portia walked through the front door. The woman looked shocked to be doing it, but she could not possibly be as shocked and stunned by it all as Portia was. “I have had the maids run a bath for you.” She then dipped a curtsy toward Portia’s new mother-in-law. “As requested, your grace, I have also sent up all the medical supplies you asked for.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Rumpole.” It was the duchess—now the dowager duchess—who answered because Portia had no words. Neither, apparently, did her new husband, who hadn’t uttered a single one to her since they had hastily mumbled vows to one another in that fetid prison cell several hours ago. That he chose to stalk straight to his study and slam the door rather than linger in her company any longer now that they were finally back in the Royal Crescent did, however, speak volumes. “Could you have some breakfast sent up on a tray shortly too? Our new duchess has had quite the ordeal overnight and desperately needs some rest.”
On leaden feet, she followed Leo’s mother up the stairs and was about to continue up the next flight when the other woman stopped her with a gentle hand and a smile. “I hope you do not mind, but Isent word ahead while we were waiting for everything to be sorted to have all your things moved to your new bedchamber on the family floor. I couldn’t allow you to see the mess that horrid constable made of your things. Some, I fear, are now beyond repair and they confiscated so much but…” She brushed that violation away. “We’ll sort all that out in due course. Let’s get you cleaned up first.”
“Thank you.” Portia forced a smile even though she felt dead inside because this woman had been nothing but kind to her over the last few turbulent hours. Why she wasn’t as angry as her son was that he had married someone like her, she couldn’t fathom, but she was grateful for at least one friendly face on the worst day of her life.
She was led to an enormous bedchamber painted in soothing soft green. It was a feminine room, but not overtly so. Like everything in this house, it was decorated and furnished more for comfort than to make a statement, yet it made a statement anyway. A beautiful, canopied bed was draped in expensive, crisp linens that had been delicately embroidered with trailing ivy and wildflowers. A thick, luxurious rug covered almost all of the highly polished wood floor. Gossamer lace billowed gently in the summer breeze floating through the open window and just before it was a fancy enamel bathtub. Inviting steam wafted from the frothy bubbles, which reached all the way to the top of the bath. As much as Portia wanted to sink into it, it still felt wrong.
“This is too much, your grace. There was nothing wrong with my old room and I will be perfectly content to remain—”
“Nonsense.” The duchess—the dowager now—bustled over and began to unlace the back of Portia’s gown. “You are the new mistress of this house, and this is the mistress’s room.”
“Your room, you mean?”
