Drossman dropped a pencil onto a sheet of foolscap. “I regard it as a serious matter, but that needn’t mean it must become a lengthy matter. I’m sure the jury would agree. Get on with it, Weatherby. Sir Leviticus must have his turn to call witnesses, and he has ever been one for thorough prosecution of his cases.”

“How did you arrive here today?” Weatherby asked, swinging his gaze on Robert as if the question was somehow of great import.

“I rode my horse. Revanche is a lovely fellow. Stands about seventeen hands, has a fondness for apples.”

Lord Stephen smiled and saluted with two fingers, though his gaze remained watchful, as it had for the duration of the proceedings.

“You didn’t take a closed carriage, one with all the shades drawn even on so fine a day?”

Robert sat forward and spoke slowly and loudly. “I rode my horse.” Never had four words given a man more satisfaction, and yet, Robert had the sense he was being drawn into a trap.

“And isn’t it true,” Weatherby went on, “that you eschew strong spirits, abhor cheroots, and seldom eat sweets?”

“Quite true. I limit my tea and avoid coffee too. Those measures appear to reduce the frequency of my seizures, and my duchess cannot abide the stink of cheroots.”

His duchess nodded graciously at the jury.

And at that precise moment, the vague dread swimming around in Robert’s mind coalesced into certainty. He made it down the steps from the witness box and halfway to the counsel table before his knees gave out, and he commenced shaking on the hard, cold floor.

The moment Rothhaven’s knees buckled, Constance bolted from the gallery, weaving past gawkers, bailiffs, and Quinn’s outstretched hand.

“There, you see!” Weatherby said, pointing at Rothhaven on the floor as the last of the convulsions ceased. “The disease lays the poor man low before our very eyes. The infirmity in all its ruthless horror on display before this august commission and the good gentlemen of the jury. Can Rothhaven speak? Can he even sit up? Ask him who graces the throne of England now, and—”

Constance marched past Weatherby and crouched beside Rothhaven. “What I see in all its horrid ruthlessness is a greedy, swinish lawyer. You long to take up where Soames left off, reaping an enormous profit while cloaking yourself in the virtue of false compassion. You are a parasite and a disgrace.”

Weatherby looked gratifyingly startled by those passing observations. The jury looked positively delighted.

Quinn joined Constance at Rothhaven’s side, as did Nathaniel.

“Rothhaven,” she said, “we’ll help you to your seat.”

Rothhaven met her gaze, and though she could read little in his expression, he did not seem afraid.

“Ready?” Constance asked, as Quinn and Nathaniel each took an arm.

Rothhaven nodded, and they soon had him in the chair next to Sir Leviticus.