Campbell’s scowl deepened.
“What are they talking about in there?” she asked.
“You, of course, and Isabella,” he said smugly.
“Don’t be a fool, Mr. Campbell. Tell me what goes on!” she insisted.
“Legal maneuvering.” The man crossed his legs and pursed his lips. “The solicitors lay endless procedural points on the table. The count’s representatives—juris consultus they call them, ‘legal consultants,’ and clergy both, I must say—shake it aside and point out over and over that a woman separated from her husband is not fit.”
Campbell’s cold eyes made her shiver when he spat out the words “separated from her husband.” He did not take her rejection well.
“Did you tell them Isabella needs me?” she asked desperately.
“You know I support you, darling Nora,” he soothed unctuously, “but I wasn’t given a voice. You must see your situation for what it is.”
“I will not let that animal get his hands on her no matter what this court thinks,” she said.
“We cannot antagonize the House of Savoy!” he exclaimed, every inch the petty bureaucrat.
Nora thought he would throw Isabella in front of a carriage if he thought it would advance his career. She took breath to tell him what she thought of him, but the sight of movement at the end of the gleaming marble corridor stopped her.
A small veiled figure moved smoothly toward Nora, Mother Margarita. Two of her sisters floated discreetly at a distance behind. A soberly dressed man walked at her side, adjusting his stride to hers. The familiar grace of movement rocked her. She forgot to breathe.
Jamie had come.
Campbell rose abruptly to bow to the nun. She ignored him, gave Nora a brief smile without stopping, and walked purposefully to the door.
“Reverend Mother! You can’t go in there,” Campbell shouted, moving to stop her.
Mother Margarita shot him a scornful look, her hand on the door.
“This man,” she said, “is central to the case.”
Campbell paled. He gasped. “Lord Ross.”
Nora’s eyes devoured her husband.
“Jamie…when?” she stammered, flooded with questions.
Tender brown eyes met Nora’s. “There is no time to talk now, little bird. I have to deal with this court.”
Nora nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
Mother Margarita pushed the door firmly, causing a soft whoosh. A tall guard in renaissance livery put out an arm to stop her. Mother pinned him with a glance that brought color to the young man’s cheeks.
Nora saw several gentlemen grouped around tables at the end of the room rise and frown in unison at the intrusion.
Mother Margarita stood in the doorway and announced in her commanding voice, “Forgive the interruption gentlemen, but Baron Ross is newly arrived from London. I was certain you would want his testimony today.”
Victor Filiberto, who hadn’t risen, turned toward his representatives who merely wrung their hands. Salvia smiled, and Wentworth leaned to speak to him. The chief officer of the court gestured Jamie forward.
Mother Margarita smiled up at Jamie and stepped back into the corridor.
Jamie entered the chamber, and the door swung silently shut behind him.
Nora stared after him. “What,” she whispered, “do I do now?”
“Now, my dear, you wait.” Nora felt a comforting hand on her shoulder.
