Page 116 of The Wolf Duke's Wife
“You did not invite me, dear,” Lady Gillray said sweetly, “but when one’s ward throws an engagement ball without permission, one must naturally intervene.”
A low ripple of voices shivered through the room. The magistrate cleared his throat.
“By law, a ward under the age of one-and-twenty may not enter into marriage without the explicit consent of her guardian. The lady before us,” he gestured at Christine with a bureaucratic flourish, “has not obtained that consent.”
Christine felt her blood drain cold. “You cannot mean…”
“I do mean it,” Lady Gillray cut in, her voice shrill now with triumph, “as her legal guardian, I forbid this union. This…charade,” she said, sweeping her arm to encompass the hall, “isnull and void. I shall not see my ward ruin herself upon a beast’s title.”
Gasps punctuated the silence. Somewhere, a violin gave a small, pitiful squeak. Christine steadied herself.
“You have no right to be here.”
“Oh, I have every right.” Lady Gillray turned to the magistrate, “Show her.”
The man withdrew a folded parchment from his pocket and held it aloft. “A writ for the arrest of one Christine Davidson. On charges of theft.”
Laughter rippled from one corner, someone too startled to hide it. Christine stared. “Theft?”
“You took what was not yours when you fled my house,” Lady Gillray said, her eyes glittering, “jewels, books, clothing, all paid for by my generosity.”
“Your generosity?” The control she’d fought to maintain snapped, “You kept me as a servant in your home, you denied me correspondence, you starved me of everything but humiliation…”
“How ungrateful,” Lady Gillray sighed, the perfect portrait of injury, “I took you in when you had nothing. I raised you as my own.”
“You raised me as a slave!”
Gasps again. Whispers scurried across the room like mice. Christine stood trembling but unbowed, her voice rising with years of unspoken truth.
“You call it kindness, what you did to me. But there was no kindness in locking a girl away from every joy, in beating her when she spoke out of turn, in sending her to…”
“Enough,” Lady Gillray snapped, “your hysteria proves my point.”
“’Tis not hysteria if it’s truth,” said another voice, a woman’s, small but clear.
Heads turned. Jane stood at the edge of the crowd, hands clasped before her apron. Her face was pale, but her chin lifted.
“I served in Lady Gillray’s house. I saw how she treated Miss Christine. She was no ward, she was a prisoner.”
Lady Gillray’s lips peeled back in a snarl. “You are a servant. Your word is worth nothing.”
Jane flushed but held her ground. “Then let the bruises she gave her speak instead.”
The magistrate shifted uneasily. “If this…discourse could be taken elsewhere…?”
Christine barely heard him. She saw movement at the back of the hall, doors swinging open, a gust of cold air, a murmur rising from the guests. Then Tristan entered. He looked as though he had come straight from battle. His coat was torn at the shoulder, dust smudging his cheek, a shadow of blood at his temple. The fury in his eyes parted the crowd faster than any herald could have. He crossed the floor in three strides and stopped between Christine and the magistrate.
“That,” he said, low and dangerous, “will be quite enough.”
“Your Grace,” the magistrate stammered, “I am acting under the authority of a sworn guardian…”
“And I,” Tristan interrupted, “am acting under the authority of the law. I trust you have heard of habeas corpus? You will not take her anywhere.”
The magistrate’s confidence wilted under the ducal stare. “It was not my intention to…”
“To arrest my fiancée in her own house?” Tristan’s voice sharpened, “Then you must have a singular definition of restraint.”
Lady Gillray stepped forward, mouth tight. “You presume too much, Your Grace. The girl is not free to marry. The special license you obtained is invalid. I will see it revoked.”
