Page 86 of The Botanist’s Improper Bride

Of course. No doubt he’d rather be doing anything else.

With a brisk goodbye, she strode out to the carriage and asked the driver to take her to Bow Street, even though she was sure he must have already heard what was happening.

When they reached their destination, she regretted the tiny portion of egg she’d managed to choke down. There was every possibility she’d vomit before she had the opportunity to speak.

Breathing slowly, attempting to maintain her calm façade, she entered the cramped room. The footman remained close at her side, ensuring she wasn’t bothered as she slipped into a seat in the back row.

The stench of unwashed bodies wafted up to her, and she wrinkled her nose, opting to breathe through her mouth because she was already in danger of casting up her accounts without adding that atrocious smell.

On the other side of the room, the magistrate sat at a raised wooden desk on the right. A powdered wig weighed his head down, and he wore a sneer that implied he found the aroma as distasteful as she did.

People were crammed into every row, gawking at the prisoner who stood inside the dock, a wooden cage-like structure fortified with sharp iron spikes. A few turned to stare at her, obviously intrigued by the well-dressed woman in their midst, and she instinctively shrank in on herself, trying to seem as small and uninteresting as possible.

Below, the magistrate ordered the prisoner to be taken away, his charges progressing to a hearing. Looking almost bored, he checked the paper in front of him and called, “Miss Seraphina Dalton.”

A shard of ice speared through her, and she rose on unsteady legs as a hum of murmurs tore through the assembly. Even though she was screaming inside, she kept her chin high as a bailiff came to escort her to the dock. Just as she stepped inside, the door opened, and Trevor and Mr. Vane entered.

They were here. Thank God.

The murmurs grew louder.

“Silence in the court!”

They stopped.

The magistrate cleared his throat and met Seraphina’s eyes over the top of his spectacles. “Miss Seraphina Dalton, you are charged with a common-law misdemeanor for gross negligence.”

Someone tittered to her right, and she glanced over and stopped cold at the sight of Mr. Emerson’s smirking face. Fury seared her gut. Wasn’t it enough that he’d caused this? He had to come and watch her humiliation too? And if he knew she’d married, why use her maiden name? Was it some sort of attempt to put her in her place?

“I have here a letter from a Mr. James Smith, claiming that his nephew broke out in hives and swelled up after being dosed with quinine you allegedly produced. According to Mr. Smith, the boy almost died.”

Even though she wanted to close her eyes and deny the accusation immediately, that wouldn’t help. She surveyed the room, her chin still raised, spotting the court artist and knowing deep inside that standing here, as she was, would be a social death sentence. There would be no recovering from it, but she didn’t have to let Mr. Emerson win completely.

“Your Worship, I must first clarify my identity.” Her voice rang through the crowded space, clear and strong, despite how terrified she was inside. “Yesterday, I married Lord Fitzgerald, so I am no longer Miss Seraphina Dalton, but instead Lady Fitzgerald.”

The magistrate drew back, startled, and his gaze darted to Trevor, who lingered at the rear of the room.

“Secondly, I would like to ask if I might produce my own evidence.”

“You may.”

At that, Mr. Vane glided down the stairs, stopping when he was level with the dock. The solicitor was a tall man with shiny black hair, dark brown eyes, and features that hinted at Asian ancestry.

Mr. Vane bowed. “Your Worship, I appreciate you giving Lady Fitzgerald an opportunity to refute the slanderous accusation against her.” He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a letter. “I have here a written declaration from the aforementioned Mr. James Smith. In this declaration, Mr. Smith states that his employer, Mr. Chester Emerson, paid him to lie to the court. May I approach your desk to hand you the papers?”

The magistrate nodded, a furrow between his brows. Mr. Vane passed him the letter, and Seraphina held her breath as he read it, lingering at the bottom of the page—where the signature was, no doubt.

Eventually, he looked up. “How do I know this isn’t a forgery, Mr. Vane?”

Mr. Vane smiled like a shark, all teeth and no humor. “Because I have brought Mr. Smith to testify. He’s waiting outside, if you’d like me to bring him in.”

Across the room, Mr. Emerson made a sound of protest and launched to his feet. “Sir, he cannot possibly be telling the truth.”

Waving his hand, the magistrate said, “Bring him in.”

Seraphina craned her neck to watch as Trevor opened the door and beckoned to someone. A young man barely older than she was came in, dressed neatly. He was naturally pale, but his complexion was unhealthily waxy as he descended the stairs to join Mr. Vane.

“James!” Mr. Emerson hissed. “What the hell are you doing?”