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“No, Your Honour, I am not well. It is a terrible thing, to have to testify against my own brother, but on top of that, I have suspended my own courtship, of a marital relation of the Earl of Safonhouss. I did not wish the young lady to worry as to my motives, in view of this case.”
A murmur of sympathy swept through the onlookers. Close behind Samuel, he heard a woman’s muffled sob and knew it to be their mother. He hoped Richard’s testimony wouldn’t spur her to change her mind and testify on Samuel’s behalf. Even a mother’s word would hold little sway against a gentleman’s. Samuel would spare her the indignity of speaking in court, and she must still live with Richard after Samuel was gone.
But not, apparently, with Miss Broun. It galled Samuel all the more to see how neatly Richard had won free of the complication of courting the girl, now that he no longer required her. He’d jilted her and made the act appear noble, the cad.
“Have you any questions?” the judge asked Mr. Levington and the prosecutor.
“No, Your Honour,” the prosecutor said, expression insufferably smug.
Mr. Levington looked to Samuel, who shook his head. They’d discussed various ways they might trip Richard up, but all were precarious and more vicious than Samuel cared to be. Levington met Samuel’s gaze and gave a slight nod behind him, to where he knew his mother sat. Again, Samuel shook his head in the negative. He would not drag her through this.
Squaring his shoulders, Levington stepped forward.
“I would like to ask Mr. Carmichael if he speaks French.”
Samuel raised his eyebrows, for he and Levington hadn’t discussed that question.
Richard turned to Levington with a frown. “I, ah, a little, as do many people.”
“Does your brother speak French?”
Richard darted a look past Levington, worried gaze meeting Samuel’s and skittering away.
“Maybe a word or two.”
“So you would say that you speak more French than your younger brother, despite the common knowledge that he is of a studious nature.”
“Many people speak more French than Samuel,” Richard said.
“But not many people were also at the London home of the Earl of Safonhouss the evening his journal disappeared and in a position to control the account that paid for Mademoiselle Petit’s accommodations. In fact, only the two of you fulfil those requirements. Is that not true?”
“It is,” Richard said flatly. He levelled a glare at Samuel.
“Do you find it odd that your brother could have a French mistress and learn absolutely no French?”
“He likes English too much to speak any other language,” Richard snapped. “Everyone knows his obsession with the English written word.”
“How odd that a man so devoted to English should betray England.”
Richard scowled at that, but kept his mouth clamped shut.
“Is there a point to your line of inquiry, Mr. Levington?” the judge asked.
“Only that, as Mr. Samuel Carmichael’s attorney, I can attest that the account which paid for Mademoiselle Petit’s London lodgings and stipend was employed by Richard Carmichael, not Samuel.”
The words swept through the courtroom like wind through wheat.
“Inadmissible,” the prosecutor cried, his smile gone. “He’s biased. He hasn’t even sworn in.”
Mr. Levington, round though he was, squared his shoulders and glared at the other attorney.
“Are you calling me a liar, sir?”
“I’m calling for your statement to be struck from the proceedings.”
“Gentlemen,” the judge snapped. “Be seated, Mr. Levington, unless you have any more relevant questions for Mr. Carmichael?”
“I do not, Your Honour. Thank you.”
