Chapter 10 #2
"She was in excellent health, aside from the usual discomforts of the first trimester," he said.
Then Charles leaned back and folded his hands. "And during her visits, was there anything else you observed? Anything unusual?"
Dr. Franklin hesitated. "Not particularly. Though my secretary once mentioned something to me — offhandedly, I admit — that she occasionally noticed a young man loitering near the building on days Lady Sarah had her appointments."
Elizabeth's head snapped up.
"A young man?" she asked. "Mid-twenties, brown hair, average height?"
The physician tilted his head. "You have just described half of London, Miss Whitaker. But yes — something like that."
Elizabeth's pulse quickened. Her pen hovered over the page. "Did she ever mention him? Did you ever see them speak? Was he waiting for her after appointments?"
But Dr. Franklin barely glanced at her. He turned his attention back to Charles, lifting his chin slightly. "Mr. Whitaker, I agreed to speak with you. Not with your secretary."
Elizabeth stiffened. Her hand curled around the edge of her notebook. "I am not—"
Charles cut in, his voice calm but cold. "She is assisting in the case. She has my full confidence."
Franklin gave a tight smile. "Then perhaps it would be wise to keep the leash tighter. I am certain your firm values decorum."
The room went still.
Elizabeth's cheeks flushed — not from shame, but from fury simmering just beneath the surface.
She clenched her jaw and looked down, saying nothing.
Charles inhaled through his nose, a familiar vein ticking at his temple.
He could say nothing either — not in a society that still expected women to hold their tongues.
But Damon rose.
Slowly. Deliberately.
His presence shifted the air, commanding without aggression. Still bound by his circumstances, still technically a prisoner — but every inch the Duke of Ravenshire.
"Doctor Franklin," Damon began, his voice smooth, low, with just enough steel to demand attention. "How many years have you known me?"
The older man blinked, surprised. "Since you were a boy. I tended to your father and your tutors, and once stitched your shoulder after that duel behind Oxford."
"Then you will recall," Damon said, stepping closer, "that I am not in the habit of tolerating disrespect — especially when it is aimed at someone who has been instrumental in my defense."
Franklin bristled. "Your Grace, you know as well as I do that it is improper for a young woman to speak to a man of my position as if we are equals. It sets a poor precedent."
Damon's voice dropped further. "How would you feel," he asked quietly, "if someone dismissed your daughter in such a manner? Or your wife? How would you react, Doctor?"
Franklin's brow furrowed. "I would, naturally, defend them."
"Then I shall defend her," Damon said, his gaze not leaving Franklin's face.
"Because she is not merely helping. She is carrying this case.
While the rest of society whispered, while my so-called friends scattered, she stood her ground.
She is not here for praise, or out of charity. She is trying to save my life."
The silence in the room grew thick.
"You may see her as improper," Damon added. "I see her as brilliant. So I suggest you answer her questions. Because I assure you, this young woman is not beneath men. She is far above most of the men I know."
Franklin's expression shifted — not quite apologetic, but wary. The unspoken reminder lingered: even disgraced, Damon was still nobility. Still dangerous. Still someone who could ruin reputations with a word.
After a moment, the physician gave a stiff nod and turned — this time, to Elizabeth.
"My apologies, Miss Whitaker," he said, not warmly, but respectfully. "You had further questions?"
Elizabeth blinked once, then raised her chin. Her voice, when it came, was cool and professional.
"Yes, Doctor Franklin. Let us return to the young man you mentioned."
She questioned him steadily — names, timings, the secretary's account of how many times the figure had appeared, whether he had ever entered the building or only waited outside, whether Lady Sarah had seemed aware of his presence.
Franklin answered each question in turn, precisely and without further resistance.
When she had exhausted her list, Charles leaned forward once more.
"One final question, Doctor," he said. "Given what you observed — this young man's consistent presence during Lady Sarah's appointments — would you consider it probable that he was the father of her child?"
Franklin was quiet for a moment. His fingers pressed together.
"I cannot be certain," he said at last. "I have no clinical evidence to support it. But given the frequency of his appearances, the apparent secrecy surrounding them, and the nature of Lady Sarah's circumstances at the time — yes. I would consider it highly probable."
Charles nodded once. "Thank you, Doctor. That will be all."
◆◆◆
Dr. Franklin departed a few minutes later, his polished boots clicking down the front steps until the sound faded into the afternoon.
The door closed.
Silence settled over the parlor.
Elizabeth exhaled sharply, setting her notebook on the table. She stood, pacing a slow arc around the hearth before turning back to Damon and Charles.
Charles rubbed a hand across his jaw. "We were lucky," he said quietly. "Franklin remembered a minor detail — an offhand comment from his secretary. It was a long shot. But it worked."
Elizabeth and Damon exchanged a glance.