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“And do you, Mr. Carmichael, know what then became of the journal?”
“My brother gave it to his lover, a Frenchwoman known as Mademoiselle Yvette Petit.”
“I see. And how do you know this to be the case? Is your brother in the habit of regaling you with his interactions with Mademoiselle Petit?”
“No, Your Honour. He made no mention of the incident until recently, when word reached him that a page from the journal had been published in a French newspaper.” Richard hung his head. “If he’d told me sooner, I should have gone to the authorities with the news.”
“Even though robbing one of the Crown’s generals could be construed as treason and your whole family would suffer?”
Richard hung his head. “Even though, Your Honour. I know my duty to King and Country.”
Samuel ground his teeth together.
“Did your brother tell you why Mademoiselle Petit wanted the journal?”
“I, ah, believe my brother and Mademoiselle Petit had a falling out over Samuel’s decision to hunt for a respectable wife. She required the journal as proof that his adoration for her was unwavering, despite his plan to wed.”
“If that is the reason, rather than a plot on the part of Mademoiselle Petit to sell secrets to her homeland, why, after being provided this proof, did Mademoiselle Petit begin distributing pages?”
“She declared that if he loved her enough to rob a peer for her, even a Scottish one, he must wed her and make her respectable. The pages were used as blackmail against the act.”
Samuel raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t heard that part of the story before, but Richard’s disgruntled tone and expression spoke to the truth of his words.
“I take it your brother would not wed Mademoiselle Petit?”
Richard shook his head. “Being more stubborn than sensible, he forced her hand by calling her bluff.” He added in a mutter, “Even though he wished to marry her all along.”
The rapt crowd gasped at the revelation that, in so far as they knew, Samuel truly loved his French mistress.
“We are not here to judge where Mr. Carmichael places his affections,” Levington protested. “We’re here to establish his innocence in the matter of treason.”
Samuel suspected his innocence rested fully on a judgement of his character, one which Richard apparently felt free to slander.
“And where, sir, are Mademoiselle Petit and the journal now?” the judge asked.
Richard shook his head. “I’ve no idea, Your Honour.”
“And in what way is the Duchess of Aspen involved? Surely she was not part of your brother’s hunt for a respectable wife, being already wed.”
“I believe Samuel intended to gain influence over Her Grace, and thereby the Duke, in the hope of seeing his sentence mitigated.”
“Is it your opinion that your brother’s sentence should be mitigated, Mr. Carmichael?”
Samuel held his breath, willing Richard to say yes. To at least do that.
Richard shook his head.
“That is not for me, a doting older brother, to say.”
He pulled free a handkerchief and swiped it across his brow.
“Are you well, Mr. Carmichael?”
Samuel doubted it.
Richard may have found sober apparel somewhere in his wardrobe, and tamed his hair from its usual careless curls, but he’d almost certainly been out drinking all night, or worse, to gather the courage for the performance he was giving.
Richard dabbed his forehead again.
