A Lover’s Kiss by Margaret Moore

Author:Margaret Moore
Language: ron
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Sir Douglas Drury conducted the sort of cross-examination that, while lacking the emotional fireworks of some of his colleagues, more than achieved its aim.

—the London Morning Herald

T he next morning, the Honorable Brixton Smythe-Medway led his wife and Juliette through the large gate in the semicircular brick wall outside the Old Bailey. The building was as imposing as a fortress, and Juliette could easily imagine how frightening it would be to be brought here as a prisoner.

Mr. Smythe-Medway, perhaps subdued by the architecture and nature of the edifice, paid the entrance fee without comment and they began to make their way through the narrow entrance to the spectators’ gallery.

They were not the only people coming to watch the day’s events, and Juliette caught excited whispers of Sir Douglas’s name from several small groups as they continued toward the gallery. To think she knew such a famous person—and he knew her.

To think he had even kissed her.

“We seem to have left it a bit late,” Mr. Smythe-Medway muttered, craning his neck to see if there might be a space for three people to sit together.

“Mr. Smythe-Medway!”

Waving his arm and smiling, not the least nonplussed by his surroundings, Mr. Gerrard stood well inside the gallery beside one of the pillars, his feet planted wide apart, as if he were trying to take up as much room as possible. Happily, the Earl of Buckthorne wasn’t with him.

“Ah, bravo, Mr. Gerrard,” Mr. Smythe-Medway said with satisfaction to his companions and an answering wave to Mr. Gerrard. “Between the two of us, we should be able to have enough room. Stay behind me, Fanny, and you, too, Miss Bergerine. I’ll get you there.” He paused and looked at his wife worriedly. “It is devilishly crowded, though. Maybe you ought to go home, Fanny.”

Lady Fanny shook her head and her eyes revealed unexpected determination as she held a perfumed handkerchief over her nose.

“I should know by now it’s pointless to try to get you to change your mind,” Mr. Smythe-Medway said, exasperated. Even so, love shone in his eyes, as it did every time he looked at his wife. “Very well. Stay close behind me, then. Charge!”

He started through the crowd, most of whom were chatting as if they were at the theater. The smell of so many unwashed bodies in layers of clothing wasn’t pleasant, but Juliette was used to far worse, so her handkerchief remained in her reticule.

Getting to Mr. Gerrard wasn’t as difficult as she had feared, either. The crowd parted for the well-dressed gentleman and the two women behind him.

“Good morning, Miss Bergerine, Lady Francesca, Mr. Smythe-Medway,” Mr. Gerrard said, speaking in a subdued tone, even though he was almost dancing with suppressed excitement. “We’re in for a treat! I’ve even heard wagers are being made on the outcome of Sir Douglas’s case—yet there he sits, cool as can be. I can only hope to be half so composed if I’m called upon to represent a prisoner in the dock!”

“Where is

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