“Dr. Soames never called it a hospital, did he?” Robert replied. “Never had any of his guests certified as insane or incompetent, never had to comply with the legal requirement to have an independent physician evaluate the people forced to bide in his house. I gather he was solving embarrassing problems for well-to-do families, and my epilepsy—my very existence—was exactly such a problem for my father. What would you call Soames’s establishment?”

Sir Leviticus had said that Weatherby polished his glasses when he needed time to think, and he was polishing his spectacles to a high shine now.

“I will ask the questions, Your Grace, and ancient history isn’t what concerns me or the jury. Why buy a madhouse, for surely we can agree Soames was running a madhouse.”

“I do not agree, Mr. Weatherby. He was operating a profitable venture of some sort, but entirely outside the laws pertaining to care of the mentally enfeebled. I bought the place to ensure that my friends there were freed to pursue more meaningful lives, and to that end, I aided them in their ambitions. I also met my duchess at Soames’s establishment. Until she and I were reunited by recent circumstances, that property was my sole connection to her. She became dear to me years ago, and I thank benevolent Providence that we are reunited.”

Elspeth Weatherby leaned over to whisper something in Lady Phoebe’s ear, and her ladyship looked ready to smack Mrs. Weatherby with her reticule.

Constance, however, was smiling sweetly.

“So you are an epileptic?” Weatherby said. “You admit to that terrible infirmity?”

“I have epilepsy, much as Caesar, Napoleon, various European monarchs, Leonardo da Vinci, and Michelangelo were rumored to have epilepsy. As my own father certainly did.”

A murmur coursed through the gallery, and looks were exchanged among the three men on the commission of lunacy.

“Is it your sworn testimony,” Weatherby said, “that your own father, the previous duke, was an epileptic? On what do you base that claim?”

Thank heavens Sir Leviticus had demanded that Robert rehearse this as well as dozens of other lines of questioning.

“The times were less enlightened years ago,” Robert said. “My father was made to feel ashamed of his condition, and feared that he would be exploited by unscrupulous parties if his seizures became public knowledge. He nonetheless managed his ducal responsibilities adequately, as we heard Mr. Cranmouth himself testify earlier.”

Cranmouth was examining his pocket watch as if the secret to eternal life were written on its face. A few people in the gallery got up to leave, others took their seats, while Robert remained focused on Sir Leviticus. Robert’s sense was that the tide had turned, and the case was going against Weatherby. But legal proceedings were the province of the devious, among whom Robert had never sought to number.

A clerk passed Sir Leviticus a note.