The Truth About Dukes (Rogues to Riches #5) - Grace Burrowes Page 0,117

He wrote me a character to help me find my present post. He gave his violin to my wife, and she became proficient enough to teach music at the same academy where I’m employed. Both of my boys have modest trusts thanks to His Grace, and I will use those funds to see them educated as gentlemen. His Grace of Rothhaven is not only sane, he’s entirely decent.”

“The witness,” Weatherby said, “is opining about matters he is not qualified to testify to. The commission may excuse him with my blessing. I next call—or recall—Robert, His Grace of Rothhaven.”

“Mr. Weatherby.” Drossman crossed his arms and leaned forward. “I am cautioning you in advance that time is of the essence. Make your inquiries brief.”

Robert rose on slightly unsteady legs. Constance had bought him precious time, but more time would have been better. He took his place in the witness box and decided not to ask for a chair.

“Now, Your Grace,” Weatherby said. “I remind you that you are still under oath. Tell me, who sits upon the throne of England?”

The schoolboy answer came immediately to mind. “Good King George.”

“Ah, but which King George?”

The question was simple. Just as the French throne had been occupied by one King Louis after another, England for more than century had been ruled by a succession of King Georges. German George, Farmer George, Mad George…Robert’s mind refused to sort out the details.

“The royal one.” That produced a snicker from the jury. “He’s stout. He likes art. He spends like the entire national exchequer is his privy purse.”

“Right about that,” somebody called from the gallery.

“Would that be George the Fifth, then?” Weatherby asked, smoothly, too smoothly.

George the Fifth for some reason conjured an image of a mule. “George, to the best of my recollection. Not the fifth.”

Weatherby aimed a jovial smile at the jury. “Please note that His Grace thinks some random fellow named George sits upon the throne. Tell me, Your Grace, what is your name?”

“Robert.”

“But that’s not actually your name, is it? You were baptized Alaric Gerhardt Robert Rothmere. Why don’t you use your given name?”

There was a reason. Robert glanced at Nathaniel, who was looking stoic. “My father was Alaric,” Robert said, though that wasn’t the whole answer. “My mother preferred to call me by a name that would not result in confusion with the previous duke.”

Weatherby made a face conveying that the slow top had made a lucky guess. “And what day is today?”

“The day of my lunacy trial.” Someone in the gallery guffawed, and Robert cast around for the right day. A trial would not be held on Saturday or Sunday, meaning he had a one-in-five chance of guessing correctly.

“What day of the week is it, Your Grace? Surely you know the day of the week?”

The silence that followed started small and patient, then grew dismayed, and eventually tragic. Robert did not want to guess incorrectly—he was fairly certain the day was Friday, but it might be Thursday—and he was absolutely convinced a wrong answer would seal his fate.

Sir Leviticus rose. “Mr. Weatherby himself must grow forgetful, for this question was asked and answered by this very witness. Today is Friday, as His Grace recently informed us. Perhaps Mr. Weatherby intends to repeat his entire examination of the witness?”

Robert honestly could not recall answering the question previously, but Sir Leviticus’s ploy had reminded Drossman of the passing of time.

“Sir Leviticus has the right of it, Weatherby. You are repeating yourself. Have you any more questions that you haven’t asked previously?”

“Rothhaven knows not who sits on the throne of England. He knows not what day it is. I rest my case.” Weatherby made a sweeping bow in the direction of the jury.

Robert clutched the front of the witness box. “George the Fourth,” he said, a bit too loudly. “George the Fourth sits on the throne of the United Kingdom.”

That late answer—accurate though it was—only reinforced that Weatherby had succeeded in seizing the momentum of the trial, and God alone knew what the jury would make of a duke who could not recall the day of the week.

“Your Grace,” Drossman said, “you may step down. Sir Leviticus, you aren’t putting on any additional witnesses, are you?”

“Yes, sir,” Sir Leviticus said, as Robert took his place at the counsel table. “I anticipate the testimony will be brief.”

“See that it is. The commission is in recess for the noon hour. The proceedings will resume at two of the clock precisely.”

Robert knew exactly whom Sir Leviticus intended to