The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(121)

A glint of sympathy flickered in Mr. Finchley’s gaze. “You may ask me whatever you like, of course. I’ll advise you if I can.”

“Very well.” She cleared her throat. “Could you please tell me . . . If a person—a man—married someone under a false name, would that marriage be legal?”

Mr. Finchley didn’t bat an eye. “That depends. Were the banns published?”

“Does it matter?”

“Very much so. The object of publication is publicity. If a false name is used when calling the banns, it defeats the entire purpose of the exercise. A marriage in those circumstances would be invalid.” He paused. “Now, if it were a marriage by license . . .”

“Yes?” She leaned forward in her seat.

“A license isn’t a matter of public notoriety. If one of the parties used a false name to obtain it, the marriage might still be held valid, providing certain criteria are met.”

“What criteria?”

“That depends,” he said again. “Did the man’s wife know it was a false name at the time they wed?”

“She did not.”

“And did the vicar? Or any of the witnesses?”

“No, indeed.”

“Then yes, the marriage would be legal.”

Julia’s brows knit. It was too convenient. Almost too good to be true. She didn’t dare trust it. “How can it be? Surely, it’s fraud or some other crime?”

“On the husband’s part? Probably. But the husband’s crime does nothing to invalidate the marriage. When you wed, you marry a person, not a name.”

A person, not a name.

She wanted desperately to believe it. “You’re certain of this?”

“I am,” he said. “Providing the license and all the other preliminaries were in order, the woman would be the man’s wife.”

Her hands tightened in her lap. “And any children arising from their marriage?”

“They would be legitimate.”

Relief coursed through her. But her conscience wasn’t satisfied. Not yet. “What if . . . What if the name the husband used wasn’t only false? What if it belonged to another?”

“Many people share the same name, Mrs. Blunt,” Mr. Finchley said gently. “A name isn’t unique.”

“Yes, but . . . what if, in taking the name, he’d also taken the other man’s property?”

“And deprived the man of it?”

“No. That is . . . the man whose name he took is dead.”

“So, he’s deprived the man’s heirs?”

“Quite the opposite.” Julia thought of Charlie, Alfred, and Daisy. Of what might have happened to them if James Marshland hadn’t assumed the identity of Jasper Blunt. “In taking the man’s name, he’s made right a great wrong. Even so, if something is against the law—”

“The law is a strange beast,” Mr. Finchley said. “We must respect it and abide by it. Our society couldn’t function if we didn’t. But laws aren’t synonymous with justice.”

“You believe there’s a distinction?”

“I know there is.” His expression was solemn. “Laws are made by men and, therefore, fallible. Justice is something greater. Most of us—the poorest and the weakest—won’t see it on this side of the grave. But sometimes, on rare occasions, someone manages to balance the scales. It can be difficult to reconcile it with the law. That doesn’t negate the rightness of it.”

She frowned. “You don’t oppose it, then? Someone taking matters into their own hands?”

“In the scenario you’ve proposed? I can see no harm in it. That doesn’t mean there aren’t circumstances that would alter my opinion.” He smiled. “For that, however, I’d have to know the whole of the facts.”

Julia had no intention of sharing the facts with anyone. She was too protective of Jasper and the children to risk exposing them.

She stood. “You’ve been very helpful, sir.”

Mr. Finchley rose from his chair. “I trust I’ve managed to set your mind at ease.”

“You have.” She fumbled with her reticule. “Please allow me to—”

He stayed her hand. “That won’t be necessary. I don’t charge for consultations. Certainly not hypothetical ones.”

Julia smiled in gratitude. Her heart felt lighter after speaking with him. He was so kind and competent. So very knowledgeable. She resisted the urge to lay even more of her troubles at his door.

Or tried to resist.

He’d no sooner inquired if there was anything else he might assist her with, than she found herself blurting out the difficulty she was having with obtaining her funds from Hoares.

“It’s my parents, you see,” she explained. “My father’s exerted pressure on the bank. He’s even hired a firm of solicitors to argue the issue.”

“Do you know who he’s retained?” Mr. Finchley asked.

“Birchall, Crawley, and Micklethwait,” she said. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of them?”

Mr. Finchley’s gaze sharpened. “Indeed.” He gestured to the chair. “Perhaps you should sit back down?”