“And within a city block of this courthouse there are hungry kids without shoes.” He bellowed the charge so loudly that it echoed down the marble corridors of the courthouse. “You think you’re above criticism because you’re a woman? My mother has burns on her hands from working in a glass factory. The girls in my town drop out of school at twelve to work in the mills. What have you ever done? In your entire life, what have you ever accomplished to earn that rock on your finger?”

Anger gathered and grew brighter. She didn’t deserve this narrow-minded man’s insults and impulsively tugged the ring off and thrust it at him. “Here! It’s yours. Do what you like with it.”

He blinked, staring at her without making any move to take the ring. Onlookers had gathered, and it felt hot and airless in here, but she couldn’t back down. Reporters watched with curious eyes as Liam continued to glare at her without moving.

“Go ahead, take it,” she prompted. “Sell it and give the money to an orphanage. And while you’re at it, sell that union pin on your lapel. You don’t get to issue challenges like that without giving up something of your own.”

He kept his eyes locked on hers as emotions flashed across his face. He opened and closed his mouth as though uncertain how to answer her, but he soon found his voice.

“You probably like masquerading as Lady Bountiful, especially since there are a bunch of reporters here to witness it,” he said. “One can always expect the Blackstones to paint themselves with a saintly brush. I’m surprised you weren’t wearing a halo in the courtroom.”

He grabbed the ring and shoved it in his pocket, then smirked at her before disappearing into the crowd heading out the door.

Every impulse urged her to run after him and get her ring back. What a vile man. She’d hire someone to watch him and see what he did with her ring. She’d let him sell it, but if a penny of the proceeds went into his own pocket instead of helping the poor, she’d trumpet the news and knock him off his self-righteous pedestal.

“He’s not one of us,” Frederick said in a low voice beside her. “He looks like Theodore, but that doesn’t prove anything.”

“Hush,” she whispered, because reporters were still watching, but she and Edwin traded worried glances. It was impossible to know what sort of person Willy would have become if he grew up in the warped, shady custody of the Malones.

“We’ll have to keep an eye on him,” Edwin said, and Gwen nodded, even though in her heart she knew Frederick was probably right. Her father had doted on Willy, and she didn’t want to believe the cheerful boy he described could turn into that hostile, smirking man.