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“This is indeed your footman, Mr. James Smith?” the magistrate demanded.

Caught out, all Mr. Emerson could do was nod, although his lips thinned and his eyes looked ready to shoot fire.

“Mr. Smith, do you know that it’s illegal to lie to an officer of the court?”

The young man grabbed Mr. Vane’s arm to steady himself. “Yes, sir, Your Worship. I didn’t want to, but Mr. Emerson, he…” He stole a glance at his employer and stopped talking.

“He what, boy?” The magistrate gestured impatiently. “We haven’t got all day.”

“He threatened to cast me out and blacken my name in other households if I didn’t agree,” he burst out, looking sideways again and becoming impossibly paler.

“So, the medicine from Lady Fitzgerald did not harm your nephew?”

“No,” he whispered, his eyes shining as he stared at the floor in front of him. “It saved him.”

Seraphina raised a trembling hand to her mouth, a knot of tension unwinding within her, finally allowing her to breathe properly. Oh lord, he had no idea how grateful she was to hear that.

Mr. Vane opened his briefcase and withdrew another set of papers. “These are letters from several respected members of the church with records of how many people have benefited from Lady Fitzgerald’s medicine—they are numerous—as well as the number of adverse reactions they’ve witnessed—of which there are none.”

The magistrate held his hand out. “Bring them here.”

Mr. Vane did, and the magistrate flicked through them, not reading all the details but clearly getting a feel for the content.

The magistrate addressed Mr. Emerson. “As the plaintiff, do you have any further evidence?”

“I do not,” Mr. Emerson ground out, the cords of his neck bulging as he struggled to control his temper. “But regardless of whether the medicine works, she isn’t a licensed apothecary. She’s a woman of quality who has no business dabbling in medicine.”

The magistrate inclined his head. “On that, I agree with you. But one doesn’t have to be an apothecary to sell home remedies.”

“It isn’t proper!”

“Again, I must agree.” The magistrate turned to her. “In my opinion, you ought to behave appropriately for your position in society and leave medical work to medical professionals. That said, I don’t believe there’s sufficient evidence to go to trial for gross negligence.”

She blinked rapidly, afraid to believe him.

Raising his voice, the magistrate continued, “Lord Fitzgerald, might I suggest you keep a firmer rein on your wife?”

Trevor opened his mouth, a stubborn set to his jaw, but Mr. Vane elbowed him and he clapped it shut and nodded.

“Then take her and begone. Mr. Emerson, are you aware that bribing a person to commit perjury is a common-law misdemeanor?”

“But sir, I⁠—”

“I’ll have your case brought before me on the morrow. Don’t leave London.” He glanced down at a piece of paper on his desk. “Next to stand before me is Aldous Cotton.”

The bailiff ushered Seraphina out of the dock, and she took Trevor’s arm. He leaned close and said something, but she couldn’t make out the words over the pounding in her head. Mr. Vane followed close on their heels, and the young man—James Smith—bumped into her from the other side, while the footman who’d accompanied her carved a path through the onlookers.

She didn’t draw in a proper breath until the doors opened and she spilled out of the wretched building and onto the street. Abruptly, the thump-thump-thump echoing in her skull receded, and every sound rang as clear as crystal.

She was free.

She wasn’t going to prison, and more importantly, her medicine hadn’t hurt anyone. She’d saved lives, just as she intended.

A breeze cooled the wetness on her cheeks, and she realized she was crying. Turning to Trevor, she rose onto her toes to kiss him, right there in public where anyone could see. “Thank you for saving me.”

He kissed her back, his expression bemused. “I didn’t save you. You’re good at what you do, and we just proved it.”

A giggle worked its way up her throat and emerged as a faint huff. “I adore you.”