CHAPTER 33
The days had slipped through her fingers like sand, rushing ever forward to the moment she dreaded most.
Edward’s fate would be decided today.
Josephine twisted her gloved fingers in her lap as they rode in a carriage toward the Chancery Court. Michael sat beside her, his presence providing the confidence she desperately needed. Always attuned to her moods, he reached for her hand, enveloping it in warmth and comfort. Calming her nerves.
Throughout this whole ordeal, he had been her rock.
Her steadfast champion. Her lover. Her protector.
And after today, she would have to let him go.
Josephine had always believed herself a woman of integrity.
She had known from the start what she needed to do.
And yet she no longer knew if she had the fortitude to leave him.
She loved him.
She had always loved him. And she couldn’t bear life without him. He claimed to love her too, and she didn’t doubt it. Their connection was always strong. Undeniable. But would he resent her a few years from now when he realized too late the enormity of what he had given up because of her?
She sat stiffly in the carriage as they rattled through the streets of London. The Chancery Court loomed ahead, an imposing edifice of stone and power. Her stomach clenched. This day would decide her nephew’s fate. And, if she were honest with herself, a part of her own fate as well.
Just before they arrived, Michael turned to her, enveloped her in his arms, lending her his strength. His presence was a comfort she had no right to cling to, yet she found herself drawing strength from it.
"You need not fear," he said, as though reading her mind. His broad-shouldered frame was a refuge. But his unflappable confidence provided even more reassurance. "Everything will be fine, I promise. You are not alone in this."
Slowly, reluctantly, she untangled herself from his arms, avoiding his gaze. She could not bear to look at him, not when she knew that soon—too soon—she would have to let him go.
Her heart was too weak to do what was right. And yet she must.
The carriage rocked to a halt and Michael jumped out.
Josephine took a deep breath, then, taking his proffered hand, stepped out.
She caught sight of Mary, Lady Rutledge, waiting upon the steps of the courthouse.
The sweet lady smiled tremulously at her.
Lord Rutledge stood by her side, solemn and forbidding.
But when she looked his way, he nodded. A silent promise of support.
These people had lost their daughter. Then her brother had denied them a relationship with their grandson.
They probably loved Edward as much as she did.
And that made their support all the more meaningful.
It’s as if they were saying, we know you’ll care for him as our own daughter would have done.
Michael extended his arm. "Shall we?"
She hesitated—just a fraction too long. Then, with a sigh of resignation, she placed her hand on his sleeve and let him lead her inside.
The courtroom was heavy with the scent of ink and old parchment. The judge, a severe-looking man with keen eyes, peered down from his high seat. Josephine swallowed hard as the proceedings began.
Her cousin’s barrister rose with a dramatic flourish. "My Lord, while Lady Josephine Everleigh presents herself as a suitable guardian, one must consider whether she possesses the moral fortitude required to raise a young heir."
A hush fell over the courtroom. Josephine’s breath caught in her throat.
"Although she’s now mysteriously betrothed to His Grace, the Duke of Aycliffe, does anyone know where she’s been for the last decade?
Rumors abound that she eloped with some man.
Yet she dares to return. Still unmarried, independent, and claiming the guardianship of a small, innocent child and, with it, the control of his inheritance.
Her character has been the subject of whispers since her return," the barrister continued, his voice slick with insinuation. “One wonders—”
He did not finish the sentence.
Because Michael had risen.
His movements were not hurried, not rash. But his very presence commanded the room, silencing even the judge.
"Be very careful, sir," Michael said, his voice cold as steel. "You are speaking of my future duchess."
The barrister blanched. A murmur swept through the gallery.
Michael did not sit. His gaze, sharp and unwavering, bore into the other man. "If you mean to impugn her reputation, then you will do so at your peril."
Josephine’s pulse thundered in her ears. She had seen Michael in many shades—amused, irritated, passionate, tender. But she had never seen him like this.
Dangerous.
Every inch the duke. Every bit a commanding officer.
The barrister stammered, fumbling with his notes, clearly reconsidering his words.
The judge rapped his gavel once, silencing the brewing argument.
Josephine’s own barrister, Mr. Whitmore, took the opening.
"My Lord," Whitmore said smoothly, stepping forward. "While the opposing counsel casts aspersions upon Lady Josephine, I ask that we turn our attention to the man so desperate to wrest the child from her care."
He turned to the judge.
"Titus Everleigh is no steward of fortunes. Indeed, he has squandered his own inheritance at the gaming tables. And it must be noted, should something happen to the young earl, Titus himself would inherit his title and vast estate."
A ripple of shock ran through the courtroom.
The judge raised a brow. "Is this true?"
The barrister for Titus fumbled. "My lord—"
"I have seen the ledgers," Whitmore pressed.
"And I have testimony from those to whom he owes debts.
" He let the silence hang. Then, with a final measured tone, he added, "If we are speaking of character, I would ask the court which is more damning—an unmarried woman devoted to her nephew, or a man who sees him as a means to wealth? "
Josephine held her breath.
The judge leaned back, his fingers steepled.
“Lady Josephine,” he said, his tone measured but firm. “Your barrister makes a compelling argument, and the law favors a father’s will. But the court must be convinced that you are capable of fulfilling the role of guardian. What say you?”
Josephine rose, her hands trembling only slightly as she faced the judge. This was her chance. Perhaps the only opportunity to convince the judge that she was the best choice for Edward.
“My Lord,” she said, her voice steady despite the weight of the moment.
“I love my nephew as if he were my own child. Since my return, I have cared for him, ensured his well-being, and I will dedicate my life to his happiness and security. He is not a burden to me—he is my family. I ask only that the court honor his father’s wishes and allow me to continue protecting him. ”
“But are you capable of protecting his inheritance? Do you know how to manage his estates? Advise him and educate him as befits a peer of the realm?” the judge continued, implacable. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Titus’ superior smirk.
A long, unbearable silence stretched through the room.
“I will, of course, assist my fiancée and future wife with all the duties of managing her nephew’s inheritance,” Michael spoke, his voice calm and confident. “Surely you don’t doubt my competence in that regard, Your Honor?”
The judge flustered. “No, of course not, Your Grace! But you have many responsibilities already, managing your own vast estates.”
“These responsibilities I assume gladly, in the service of my beloved,” Michael said, looking at her.
“Lady Josephine counts with my help as well,” Lord Rutledge declared from the back of the room.
“Who might you be, and what is your interest in this case, sir?” demanded the judge.
“I am Lord Rutledge. The child’s maternal grandfather, Your Honor.”
The judge’s eyes widened at this. His gaze darted between the formidable duke and imposing lord who had pledged their help and allegiance to her.
"Very well. The court finds that Lady Josephine Everleigh shall retain full guardianship of the minor child, with all the legal authority therein."
Josephine exhaled, the relief so profound it nearly stole her balance.
“I will also appoint,” the judge continued, “His Grace, the Duke of Aycliffe and Lord Rutledge as overseers and trustees, together with Lady Josephine, of Lord Dunhaven’s estate until he reaches his majority.”
Michael inclined his head in acknowledgment, and so did Lord Rutledge. The world tilted around her, and she reached out for Michael.
In an instant, he was already beside her, steadying her with the barest touch.
"You did it," he murmured. “You won. Edward is yours. Ours.”
It was that word.
Ours.
As if Edward was their child. As if their future was settled. Together.
When nothing was farther from the truth. When she knew that honor demanded that she let him go now.
The moment they exited the courtroom, Lord and Lady Rutledge came to talk to them and celebrate their victory. Michael greeted them but then turned to Josephine, noting the signs of stress in her tight mouth and rigid posture. He placed a gentle hand on her back.
“Could you go home with Lord and Lady Rutledge?” he murmured. “I’ll be along shortly.”
Her eyes searched his, dark with worry. But she nodded.
He watched her enter their carriage before turning and sweeping through the court's arched doorway, his expression hardening with every step. Titus Everleigh had been quick to slither out after the ruling, but Michael caught him just as he reached the edge of the steps.
“Mr. Everleigh,” Michael said coolly. “A word, if you please.”
Titus turned, the tightness in his jaw betraying the irritation he tried to hide behind a thin smile. “Of course,” he said, too smoothly. “If you wish.”
Michael gestured toward his waiting coach. “Inside. This won’t take long.”
There was no mistaking the steel in his voice. Titus hesitated, then obeyed.
Once inside, Michael shut the door with deliberate calm and rapped twice on the roof. “We stay put,” he told the coachman through the window. “I’ve business to conclude.”
Then he turned to face the man who had nearly destroyed Josephine’s life.
“I’ll get straight to the point, Mr. Everleigh,” Michael said, voice low and even. “I know the fire at Dunn Towers was no accident. There were signs of forced entry. Multiple ignition points. Paraffin residue. The constable concurred—it was arson, masked to look like an accident.”
Titus stiffened. “That’s… that’s ridiculous. You can’t possibly believe—”
“I do believe,” Michael cut in. “And even more relevant, you were in the area that night. You knew the layout of the house. You had motive—Josephine stood in the way of your ambitions. Perhaps you meant to frighten her. Or perhaps…” His voice grew colder, quieter. “You meant to harm her. Or the boy.”
Titus paled, then scowled. “You have no proof. Nothing that will hold in court.”
Michael inclined his head slightly. “Perhaps not enough to prosecute. But more than enough to take precautions. I’ve already done so.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch. Enjoying letting the worm squirm before he went in for the kill.
“I’ve acquired your debts,” he said smoothly.
Titus blinked. “What?”
“Every note, every scrap of paper you signed in desperation. I now hold them all. You likely assumed you’d be Edward’s guardian and soon control his estate. That fantasy is over. And you have no means to repay what you owe.”
“That’s extortion,” Titus spat.
“That’s consequence,” Michael replied. “You’ve spent years gambling with other people’s lives and fortunes. Now the game’s done.”
He leaned in. “I could call in those debts today. Have you arrested. Hauled before a magistrate. Sent to debtor’s prison. What would become of your wife then? Of your children?”
Titus blanched.
“But I’m not without mercy,” Michael said, the ice in his voice masking his fury.
“For their sake—not yours—I’ll grant you this: you have one month.
Sell your remaining property. Pack up your family and leave England.
I don’t care where you go—America, India, the bloody moon if you like.
But you are not to set foot on English soil again. ”
“You can’t—”
“I can,” Michael said. “And I will. If I hear so much as a whisper of your presence in this country again, I’ll call in every farthing and make certain you rot behind iron bars.”
Titus’s breath was shallow now, his face ashen. “This is madness.”
“This is justice,” Michael said quietly. “You will not threaten Josephine or Edward again. They are under my protection now. And I protect what’s mine. Now get out of my coach.”
Titus didn’t need to be told twice, he almost fell in his haste to exit the carriage. The man was no fool, he must have felt Michael’s barely contained rage and knew he meant every word.
Michael reached up and rapped twice on the roof. The coachman stirred the horses into motion.
Now that he had routed this enemy, it was time to go to his beloved.