Chapter 21

The dread that Vanessa felt as she headed back to more familiar territory caused her chest to ache. She told herself that she had made the right decision by going ahead to Frank's estate with the countess, but that didn't mean guilt hadn't swamped her as the carriage rolled away in the opposite direction.

Was it truly too much to ask for a bit of peace from her troubles? Other than her freedom, that was all she'd ever wanted. And perhaps, if she was lucky enough, someone who loved her.

"How are you faring?"

She glanced over at Lady Beauvais and offered a tight smile. "I'm concerned about our reception once we get there." She looked down at her hands in her lap and added more softly, "And I can't help but think about Easton and how things are going in that courtroom."

"Lord Fane is a strong man. Determined and stubborn as most, but honest and true as well. As you said, he is sure to win the day."

"I hope so." She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the soft, velvet squabs of the coach. "For his sake. And for mine." She opened her eyes again and looked at the countess. "I never thought I would find someone who made me feel so… complete. But with Easton, I can share my dreams—my entire being with him, and I know he won't think poorly of me."

The countess smiled gently. "Love is a wondrous thing. I had the same feelings toward the comte before he passed." A faraway look entered her gaze. "I shall be indebted to him until the end of my days for showing me what true adoration can be like." She waved a hand and blinked rapidly as if struggling to hold back tears. "I care for George, but it is not the same as the all-abiding passion that my husband and I shared."

Vanessa found it strange to think of the Prince Regent as simply "George," but considering the countess was a longtime favorite of his, they had a more intimate bond. "I'm sure you miss him."

"Every day of my life," she breathed with the sound of regret and sorrow. "But I am still here, and he is not, and I must continue to endure. It is why I embark on the adventures I do—because it is the only way I know how to survive in this world."

Something told Vanessa that she didn't easily pour out her heart to anyone, or speak so frankly, but for some reason, she had found a confidante in Vanessa, which meant a lot to her. "You have done a lot for so many people. I know Miss Grantham and Miss Stratford will forever be grateful to you for supporting their dream of opening the Society."

The countess sniffed. "They are smart women. They would have found their footing without my money."

"Perhaps," Vanessa concurred. "But it would have taken much longer, and likely more sacrifices. You spared them the torment." She paused, ensuring that Lady Beauvais could hear the sincerity in her tone. "You changed my life. If it wasn't for your urging to continue painting, I'm not sure what path I might have followed. I just knew the Society was a way to escape. I didn't really have any plans following my arrival in Burnham-On-Sea. Think of the other women who relied on your charity. Iona, Tassy, the rest of the women who have followed."

A deep sigh escaped her companion. "I can see it is my husband who has guided me along this path. He always said I was inclined to help the less fortunate. I'm glad I can make a difference. It is not without its rewards."

"You refer to the attention of the Crown?" Vanessa guessed.

The lady shook her head. "No. I am able to meet lovely women such as you. It reminds me that I am not the only one who has suffered, but it doesn't mean we must continue to do so." Her focus turned distant. "When I was forced to leave France, I didn't know what would become of me. I was left adrift in a vast empire. It is because I found salvation that I want to offer it to others."

As the carriage fell silent, Vanessa didn't feel any sort of tension or unease. Instead, it was as if a weight had been lifted, and not just from her shoulders, but from that of the countess as well.

She allowed the subject to rest as she glanced out the window and allowed herself to be consumed by thoughts of Easton. She prayed that things were going well.

* * *

After swearing his allegiance of honor and truth on the Bible, Easton took to the stand and waited for the inquisition to begin. He had no doubt that the barrister for the baron was eager to conclude his job.

He sauntered over to Easton with something of a smug confidence. "Do you recognize the painting in question, Lord Fane?"

"Yes. It is one of my earlier works."

"Can you recall the exact year?" the man prodded.

"I should say about 1811."

"Indeed?" He nodded. "Are you aware the baron's close friend, Mr. Theroux, claims that his was done in 1813?"

"I did hear that, yes."

He smirked. "And yet, you still do not doubt your claim that yours is the authentic piece? You might say it is older, but upon inspection, the date on your work shows 1814, which cannot hold true. The expert that Mr. Hargrove presented also claims that Mr. Theroux's work is the older one, which means that you are the charlatan."

Easton didn't break his somber character, although the room started to buzz once more. "And you don't believe that the reproduction wasn't given an earlier date?"

"The proof is in the evidence, Lord Fane." The barrister walked around the room with his arms outstretched, as if to make a valid point. "Admit your guilt so that we might end this charade. Perhaps you will still be granted some dignity if you do so."

Acting as though he was considering the prospect, he scratched the side of his jaw. "I would like a lit candle instead and the second painting removed from its frame."

The man stopped preening and snapped his gaze back to him. "For what purpose?"

Easton glanced at the judge. "My lord, I ask this so that I might have the opportunity to prove my claim. There is a particular way I sign my work so that it is not copied."

The bewigged man held a sour expression and appeared to consider the matter. As he did, the barrister took the opportunity to disparage his character. "Should you take the word of someone who seduced a married woman and an innocent widow before that?"

This time it was Easton who snorted. "Perhaps if you are going to point the finger of adultery, you should look to the baron and his mistress." His focus turned to Mrs. Broadtree. "And speaking of Mr. Frank McGavin, weren't you the reason for the duel that resulted in his demise?"

The barrister turned red. "The baron and Mrs. Broadtree are not on trial here—"

Easton crossed his arms. "Then I would like to remind the jury of my peers that neither is Mrs. McGavin. She is a woman who suffered greatly at the hand of Mr. McGavin, and yet, you would villainize her for doing the same thing that her ‘respected' husband was doing, but only after she was a widow? Again, you should speak with Mrs. Broadtree if that is a crime worthy of note."

Before the opposing barrister could deliver a scathing remark in return, the judge spoke up. "The sole thing on trial here is the question of a painting's authenticity. Lady Ashefeld has already been found guilty of her crimes in this very courtroom under my rule, so I would remind anyone with a personal vendetta to that end, that there will be no recompense." When he looked at the baron and Mrs. Broadtree, they appeared properly chastised. "Adultery in any form is looked upon unfavorably by God and by this court, but I will hear no more disparaging over any character traits unless it directly affects the current charge." Once the courtroom was silent again, he turned to Easton. "I would be interested to see what you have to show so that this ridiculous circus might come to its conclusion."

"Of course, my lord." As Easton stood and waited for the frame to be removed from the painting in question, he glanced at the barrister who had returned to his clients. He saw that the baron and Mrs. Broadtree didn't look quite as sure of their victory as they had before.

The painting was removed from its housing and brought over to a clear table in the middle of the room, so that it might be observed by the judge and the rest of the court. The disputed original was brought over and unrolled as well. The expert who had confirmed the age of the paintings moved over to Easton, obviously curious about what he might have missed.

At first glance, Easton had to admit that it was an adept copy, but there was something he knew that the rest of the assemblage did not, other than Mr. Hargrove, with whom he'd confided. He wanted to ensure he held the audience in thrall before he'd revealed his final hand.

"I would like to request a candle from the court."

"Shall you drip wax upon the falsified art?" the opposing barrister remarked from behind him. Although he gained a laugh, Easton ignored him as a lit candle was brought forth.

He lifted a corner of the painting that Mr. Theroux claimed was the original and set it beneath the canvas, close enough that the flame flickered beneath but was in no danger of setting it on fire. There was a collective inhale as they waited for Easton to speak. "As you can see, there are no distinguishing marks on this piece. Wherever I move the candle, it is obvious that the only identifying signature is the one noted at the bottom front." He set it down and moved to his painting, the one he knew to be the true original. This time when he waved the candle behind the canvas, a series of numbers and letters appeared.

"I have used invisible ink on all my paintings since I first began. I add the date, the number of the piece in line with the rest, and my initials." As the flame clearly brought out the items that made sense, he held it up for everyone to see. "This is proof that I am the victim of fraud, not Mr. Theroux, who I dared to tutor at my cousin, Lord Stanton's townhouse, for a week or so many years ago. It was easy for him to duplicate my style, but that was all he was able to copy."

The instant he fell silent and blew out the candle, the room erupted in coarse shouts of frustration. He glanced at Mr. Hargrove, who inclined his head in approval. When Easton's gaze shifted to the opposing party, he could see equal parts fury and panic on the prospective faces.

With a smirk of satisfaction, Easton waited for the judge to speak.

When he stood and held up a hand to gain the attention of the unruly crowd, he announced firmly, "In light of the new evidence, I must rule in favor of Lord Fane. It appears that he has been unjustly accused. If found innocent, he has requested a scandalum magnatum, which I will readily grant." His dark gaze lit on Mr. Theroux. "I do not care for charlatans in my court." He motioned to the two men standing in the corners on either side of the room. "Arrest him."

As they started to close in on Mr. Theroux, Easton watched the rest of the drama unfold. The accuser shot to his feet and pointed at the baron. "It was their idea! She wanted her sister freed, and he claimed to love her. They have a bastard child together!"

As he continued to impart all the crimes of his conspirators, Easton noted that Mrs. Broadtree's expression turned pale while the baron actually flew at Mr. Theroux and wrapped his hands around his throat. "I'll kill you for this, just as I did McGavin!"

Murder was intent in his gaze, and combined with the unwitting admission of guilt that he just offered to a room full of witnesses, the judge ordered them all thrown into gaol.

Easton decided that was his cue to depart. He made his way to Mr. Hargrove, who had already gathered his things into a leather satchel.

After a speaking glance at one another, they headed out the door, leaving chaos in their wake.

Outside on the steps, they paused and turned to each other. "Congratulations on your victory, my lord. After watching you perform, I'm not sure you really required my services at all."

Easton grinned broadly, glad to have this nastiness well and truly behind him. "I had no doubt that I could clear my name, but I wanted to ensure that Vanessa's was not besmirched."

"I think you've accomplished that, even with the scandalum magnatum in place. After that display of unruly behavior, the judge will not be inclined to grant them any sort of leniency. Those three have effectively ruined any chance they might have otherwise had." He shook his head. "I shouldn't have to worry about looking for clients after this. Following that disrespectful display by my fellow barrister, I have the feeling not many people will be willingly knocking on his door."

Easton had to chuckle. "You are right about that, Mr. Hargrove. And thank you, for what you did do." He straightened the cuffs of his jacket. "If you will excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be."

His steps lighter than before, Easton hailed down a hackney and headed back to the townhouse, where he gathered his things. He would make faster time on horseback. With any luck, by early tomorrow morning he could be holding Vanessa in his arms—as a free man.

* * *

After having ridden all night, stopping only briefly to change horses along the way, a lump formed in Vanessa's throat as the coach rolled up the drive to Frank's manor house early the following morning—to her house, for however long she had possession of it. She gripped her valise in her grasp and glanced at Lady Beauvais, who was looking at her kindly. "All will be well," she noted.

Vanessa nodded, but she couldn't quite summon the proper confidence. She had wondered how Easton's trial had turned out, but she had every hope that he would prevail. She kept telling herself she'd done the right thing by going ahead, but as the coach came to a halt, she shoved any further musings aside.

The door opened, and she faced an unknown footman. No doubt there were many things that had changed since her absence several months ago.

She stepped to the ground and looked at the two-story, whitewashed edifice. When Frank had first moved her here as his new bride, she had been impressed by the size of her new residence. It had been comparable to that of her father. Although neither were members of the peerage, they had both made their own wealth and had ensured that they were never without their comforts. Unfortunately, that never seemed to extend to her. While her clothes were of the latest fashions, she would have much rather had the chance to live in peace and harmony.

As she walked toward the front door with the countess's imposing figure at her side, Vanessa realized how grateful she was for the lady's support. She wasn't sure she would be able to return to this place of haunting secrets without her.

The butler greeted them at the door, and although he was as stoic as Vanessa remembered, he offered her a slight smile when he saw her. "Dodson," she noted with an incline of her head.

"Mrs. McGavin." He shut the door behind them. "I received your message just yesterday. The guest room has been prepared for Lady Beauvais." He hesitated. "I assumed you might want to retain the mistress's chamber."

This time she was the one who paused. "Has the new heir not taken possession yet?"

"Mr. McGavin's cousin is due to arrive within a day or two. You should not have any interference until after the funeral."

"Thank you."

He rang a small bell and a maid immediately came rushing over. She bobbed a slight curtsy. "See that Lady Beauvais is settled in the Blue Room."

As the countess left with the maid, Vanessa was grateful for the moment to speak candidly to the servant. "How were things after I left?"

"It was… difficult for a time," he said slowly. Her heart sank because she knew that meant it would have been difficult for the downstairs staff, not for Frank. It wasn't as though he would have been bereft by her loss, merely annoyed that she had dared to make a fool out of him. It would not have been pleasant.

"I'm sorry for that, Dodson."

"Don't be," he returned firmly. "Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but we were all thankful when you found a way to escape. Mr. McGavin was our employer, and although I'm reluctant to speak ill of the dead, he was not a very good husband to you."

Vanessa swallowed past the lingering lump in her throat. "I appreciate that." She gave a heavy sigh. Although she wanted nothing more than to rest, she was almost reluctant to head up the stairs, where so many memories would assail her. However, she knew she had no other choice except to face those demons of her past. At least she could rest easy knowing that they were now just ghosts she must contend with. Frank no longer had the power to injure her.

Her hand trailed along the wooden railing on the way to the bedchambers. As she walked, she noted that nothing much had changed. The steps were still white marble and the foyer still retained the large gold chandelier. Tapestries and stag mounts lined the walls. Frank had enjoyed showcasing all his personal trophies because he believed it made him that more important in the eyes of the community that he served as magistrate. He wanted to host extravagant dinners and act as though he was born of blue blood.

She paused before her old room, her hand shaking as it hovered above the knob.

Closing her eyes, Vanessa summoned her courage and shoved open the door.

To her surprise, everything was exactly as she'd left it. She set her things down on the floor and walked over to the wardrobe, although it surprised her that the dressing table was virtually untouched. She opened the doors holding her gowns and again, it was as if she'd stepped out for the afternoon, rather than the past few months.

It astounded her that Frank had dared to leave everything as it were. She had imagined her clothes being ripped to shreds and tossed into the fire. But then, he knew she didn't care for such modern luxuries. There was only one thing she truly enjoyed, one thing that he had refused to allow her to continue after their marriage.

Her painting. He said it was a ridiculous occupation, and she should be spending most of her time learning how to please him, instead of what colors to mix to make the sky the perfect shade of blue.

Vanessa's lungs seized in her chest as she thought of the attic, where most of her things had been stored. Most of the things she had at Burnham-On-Sea had been given to her out of the generosity of Lady Beauvais.

She reached the end of the hall and turned one corner, and then another, before she found her way to the door that led to the farthest reaches of the house. The door was unlocked, and she dared to make her way up the creaky wood that opened to a plain expanse. It was musty, proof of the disuse, but the first thing she noted was her easel and paints. The easel had been broken into several pieces, some of the edges burned to a charred mess. The paint had been upset and littered the floor with several faded splotches.

But it was the paintings, the sketches that she had worked on so tirelessly from the time she was a child, that had been tossed into the fireplace. She spied the edges of a few pieces of canvas that had escaped the flames.

Vanessa sank to her knees as she held her stomach. If there was one way that Frank was sure to cause her the most pain, he had known this was it.

Tears started to fall from her eyes, not just because of the years of ruined art that she had poured her heart and soul into that were no more. They weren't for her father, for she had done her best to please him until the day he'd died, going so far as to marry someone she didn't love nor care about to try to earn the love he should have never withheld from her.

Mostly, it was because she was even more thankful that Frank was gone.

That was the most concerning of all.