Wednesday, 13th August 1718 – Pall Mall
Two days later, the drawing room had been purged of every sign of the long legal ordeal and now lay bathed in the warm flicker of beeswax candles. The smell of the inventory clerks' pipes had been scrubbed away, replaced by the clean scent of polished mahogany and fresh-cut August roses brought in from the market.
There were no crowds of fashionable society, no elaborate feast and no prying eyes. With Jenson and Judith beside us as witnesses, we stood before a curate of St James's, Gillian in a simple gown of pale Eastern silk, her expression calm and unyielding. Higgins stood to the side with the household staff, his posture straight once more, while Camelia held a small basket of roses, her eyes bright with tears.
The curate recited the words of the liturgy, his voice echoing softly through the high-ceilinged room. David held out a royal blue velvet cushion, with a ring that would protect the succession in law. But as I slipped it upon Gillian's finger, it meant far more: a promise of lifelong devotion.
The curate nodded and concluded, "I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost." Then he entered the marriage in the parish register before turning it towards us.
As I signed Jarvis Overton beside her Julian Cavendish, and Jenson and Judith followed as witnesses, the false reports, the petitions and the slow-moving machinery of Chancery seemed very far away.
Camelia dabbed her eyes. "I am moved to tears for you, My Lady, even without the crowd of people, the harpsichord and the choir."
Gillian sighed. "Plans are sometimes foiled by circumstance. We shall still hold a grand celebration in Berkshire – one at which to announce that we were married in London and to share our happiness with our people."
"Might Michael and I be married during the celebration?"
"Oh, my. Then we must sit together and revise our plans."
David glanced towards the windows. "May we fire the guns? We always do after weddings at our New York estate."
"A fine notion, Boy. We shall mount a swivel upon the walls of the Berkshire fortress."
Friday, 15th August 1718 – Chancery Lane
Two days later, Vance summoned us to his chambers.
The rooms were stifling despite the open windows. Papers covered the long table: sworn statements from Jenson and Judith, Viscount Rothwell's deposition, examples of Gillian's hand from childhood letters and later household accounts, and affidavits from Higgins and three other servants.
Vance removed his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"The Master of the Rolls accepts that Baroness Cavendish lives," he said. "The escheat remains stayed, and the Crown will take no further possession while the identity proceedings continue."
"Then it is settled," I said.
"It is arrested, Sir Jarvis. That is not the same thing."
Gillian remained composed as she asked, "What has Richard done?"
"His solicitors have entered an objection. It does not accuse you openly of imposture; instead, it argues that the Court must examine every instrument executed since your father's death before recognising your possession."
"Delay," I said.
"Precisely. Richard's claim weakens with every day that you remain visible in London, but the delay leaves his agents in practical possession of the Berkshire estate."
YOU ARE READING
Noble Duty
ActionHaving escaped the pirates and evaded them, Jarvis must now decide whether his damaged ship can safely cross the Atlantic to England. Is it too much for the limited rig and the small crew? Should he put into a port up the coast? Or will his haste to...
