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Livie shook her head. “Certainly not!”

“For all his power, his past is distinctly checkered,” her aunt remarked. “You may marry as high as you wish, my dear. I should like to see the person who would dare to question your birth. Your father has no knowledge of female anatomy, and moreover, he could never count, even in the nursery, and so I reminded him. Trust me, he will never raise that subject again!” She frowned. “If not Lord Devin, have you a fondness for Lord Frederick FitzRoy-Paget? I know he was instrumental in solving the puzzle of my brother’s letters.”

“No, I have not.”

“Thank goodness,” her aunt said, taking a fan out of her reticule. She dropped her voice. “The man’s an inebriate. The only eligible bachelor in that family is the younger brother.”

Livie couldn’t stop a smile. “Major FitzRoy?”

“Major FitzRoy-Paget,” Lady Wharton corrected. “So you’ve met him? I understand he’s quite handsome, and he certainly has a sterling reputation. He would be an excellent match, considering he has an estate of his own and may inherit the earldom, but I heard last night that Lady Regina has snatched him up.”

If Livie had paled earlier, now she felt herself turn fully white with shock. “No!”

People were beginning to filter into the room, so her aunt lowered her voice. “Lady Regina is taking a risk, in my opinion. She had an earl in hand—Winchester—and she’s thrown him over for someone who may or may not reach the same rank.” She glanced over her shoulder and then hissed, “Some people are saying that she contrived to compromise him, but I trust that is a salacious rumor.”

Livie felt as if she’d been plunged into icy water. Grief lanced through her, and her breath caught in a sob that she suppressed. She had known that Regina wanted Joshua, and yet she had sent him into the lion’s den.

She felt utterly wretched. She had freed him, and then handed him to Regina on a platter. Remembering the avarice in Regina’s eyes when she talked of him … Undoubtedly, the woman had compromised him.

Even worse, Joshua’s “honor” would demand he marry her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

THE PLOT THICKENS

“There’s my brother,” Lady Wharton hissed, elbowing Livie. “The two men with him are our solicitors.”

Livie couldn’t summon a response. She sat, stricken, as the chamber filled with people. The captain glowed in his superb new coat and seemed to be in the best of spirits, though his mouth tightened when he caught glimpse of Livie.

Mr. Cassio was brought in a few minutes later. He was wearing handcuffs and didn’t reply to her father’s greeting. Frederick walked into the room accompanied by Lord Devin, his bloodshot eyes suggesting he was feeling the effects of drink, but was perhaps not wholly drunk. There was no sign of Bernadette, so Joshua’s inquiries must have been ineffectual.

There was no reason for Joshua to attend, of course.

In fact, she may never see him again. Or perhaps she would, but only with Lady Regina on his arm. Pain stabbed through Livie’s heart. Joshua would loathe being married to Regina. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise her if he went to war, and … and sacrificed himself. Her stomach squeezed into a sickening ball.

She couldn’t stop picturing the anguished love in his eyes, replaced by smoldering anger. She might have sent him to his death. Not that he—

Livie broke off that miserable train of thought as the heavy doors to the room closed behind the final member of the committee: Earl Paget, the Lord High Steward, had arrived. He seated himself before the group, twitching his velvet robes, and said without preamble, “This meeting has been called to allow Lord Devin to present evidence that implicates another defendant in the deplorable case of the attempt on His Majesty’s life. This hearing will not determine Captain Sir Tyron’s innocence, though he is present. His innocence or guilt will be addressed before a full meeting of the House of Lords; on that occasion, His Majesty’s prosecutor will present his witnesses.”

With a wrench, Livie pulled herself out of a black caldron of despair and tried to pay attention.

She glanced toward the other side of the chamber and found the captain smiling broadly. He assumed his innocence was a given—that’s why he felt confident that he could save Cassio as well. Livie suspected that her father simply couldn’t imagine a situation in which he was found guilty. He—or anyone else of his birth and rank.

Their eyes met, and the captain promptly looked away. Livie swallowed hard, her eyes smarting with stinging tears. She had to stop thinking of him as her father, given his contemptuous rejection.

Lord Devin described the discovery of coded letters, and the likelihood that Cassio had first transcribed and thereafter added coded ink blots as well as an incriminating sentence, reading it aloud: “The dark shore of the heart may engender fornications, murders and thefts.”

The Crown’s prosecutor, a Mr. Metrie, raised his eyebrows, taking possession of the letters and scanning them.

“That sentence sounds just like my brother,” Lady Wharton admitted in an undertone.

After some discussion between Lord Devin and Mr. Metrie, Captain Sir Tyron was directly asked if he’d coded the letters, to which he answered a resounding “No.” When asked whether Cassio had done so, her father said with raw conviction that he would trust his first mate unto death.

At that point, Cassio was brought forward and questioned. As expected, he denied all knowledge of coded language: “The captain reviews every letter after I transcribe it. He signs them and gives them to the quartermaster. I could add neither ink blots nor an extra sentence without his express knowledge.”

Livie had to admit that it was a convincing point.

“What of the seal?” Lord Paget asked, leaning forward. “My understanding is that the witnesses for the prosecution maintain that instructions sent to French conspirators were affixed with Captain Sir Tyron’s seal—his personal coat of arms—a seal that has been found in your possession.”