‘I don’t believe we have anything to discuss.’ Charles’s tone would have chilled every bottle of wine White’s had.
Stockton turned an unbecoming shade of red. ‘I am not here to discuss anything with you.’
‘Good,’ Charles drawled. ‘Go away.’
‘Gentlemen,’ George interjected, ‘it is time my brother and I left.’ He stood. ‘Good to see you, Stockton.’
Stockton turned his attention to the man who had all but jilted his oldest sister. ‘I can’t say the same, Hawthorne.’ He turned back to Charles. ‘As for you. Leave my sister alone.’
Charles stood. His height and lean physique gave him the advantage over the other man. ‘And what if I don’t?’ He insolently took another sip of port.
‘Then we will meet on the field of honour.’
Charles nearly spewed the wine at Stockton’s absurdity. ‘You jest. From what I hear, you can’t fence and you can’t fire a pistol from ten feet and hit the target, let alone fight with your fists. What field of honour do you propose we meet on?’
Every word had been meant to insult, and the mottled red on Stockton’s face gave Charles a modicum of satisfaction. When George put his hand on Charles’s shoulder and squeezed hard, Charles didn’t need the reminder that his behaviour was irrational, not to mention rude to the point of being inexcusable. He already knew that. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
On one level, Charles sensed the attention of every man within sight. Still, he focused on the man in front of him as time seemed to stand still while he waited for Stockton’s response.
Stockton was tall and thin, with a dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He looked like a youth even though Charles knew him to be at least George’s age. His clothes were of the latest style. His Hessians gleamed in the watery sunlight coming through the nearby window. A quizzing glass hung from his waistcoat pocket and his gloves were pristine. His shirt points were high enough to make it impossible for him to turn his head. A dandy.
Stockton took one of those immaculate gloves from his hand, the gesture not as smooth as Charles knew the man would have liked. The fine kid-leather stuck as though Stockton’s palm sweated.
A tiny cruel smile formed on Charles’s perfect mouth. Anticipation tightened his gut. He refused to think about the emotion or wonder why he felt it. He just waited.
A quick swipe and Stockton’s white glove slapped Charles’s jaw. The impact made a sound like that of a shot, and though it wasn’t loud, Charles was sure every man in the room heard it.
‘That is for introducing my sisters to Harriette Wilson. The entire town is talking about them.’
Fury leached the colour from Charles’s face. Stockton was right, he shouldn’t have introduced the women to the courtesan and particularly not in Rotten Row. Still, a challenge was a challenge.
‘Pistols,’ Charles stated without hesitation.
As the one challenged, it was his right to choose the weapon. He would have preferred fists for the sheer pleasure of the physical exertion, but that was more ungentlemanly than even he was prepared to go. Nor was it considered a duel, and this was a duel.
‘Send your second ’round.’ Stockton’s voice was flat, his face so pale the freckles stood out like splotches. ‘Do not see my sister from this point on.’
Charles’s smile widened, showing white, predatory teeth in a slash. ‘I shall do as I please, when I please, Stockton. Best you learn that now.’
Stockton pivoted on the heel of his boot and strode off, not sparing a glance for anyone else. Charles wondered that the man left what appeared to be a game of chance, a pastime Stockton preferred before all others.
‘The fox is in with the hens now,’ George said dryly. ‘I’ve seen you do some harebrained things before, but this takes the wager. Whatever got into you?’
Charles shrugged and swallowed down the remainder of the port in one long gulp that made his Adam’s apple move above the perfect crease of his cravat. ‘The man irritates me. Always has.’
George frowned. ‘You don’t even know the man above a passing acquaintance.’
Charles looked sideways at his brother as he carefully set the empty glass on the table. ‘I know about the man. That is enough.’
George shook his head. ‘Don’t you mean, you know his sister?’
Charles glanced around, saw all the attention still on them and motioned with his hand. ‘White’s isn’t the place to discuss this.’
George moved to the door. ‘This wasn’t the place for any of this.’
They collected their beaver hats, canes and top coats from the servant and exited onto St. James Street. Charles set his hat at an angle and swung his ebony cane with its silver tip. Now that it was done, he felt a fierce gladness. There was no going back from a duel of honour.
‘It isn’t your place.’ George’s sober voice intruded on Charles’s thoughts. ‘Stockton had the right of it. You have been paying a too marked attention toward Amy Stockton. She’s barely out of the schoolroom. It isn’t like you to pursue someone of her innocence. Nor is it proper. And that is just for starters. I won’t mention the introduction which is indeed the latest crim con.’
Heat rose in Charles’s cheeks. ‘Was it right for you to pursue Rose when you were engaged to Miss Stockton?’
‘No.’
‘Then leave off, George. Stockton is a cad who has wagered his family fortune until there is nothing left. Emma Stockton became engaged to you in hopes you’d bail her family out of debt. When you put her in the untenable position of having to call off the engagement because of your far from respectable behaviour, you put paid to that plan. Now she is considered the spinster on the shelf and Miss Amy is the fatted calf set on the Marriage Mart as the sacrifice for her father and brother’s vices.’
George’s voice cut sarcastically through Charles’s tirade. ‘And you have appointed yourself seducer and knight in shining armour all in one package? You’re overdoing it.’
Some of the jauntiness left Charles’s walk. He knew George was right. What George had done had been wrong, but that didn’t make what Charles had just done right.
George continued. ‘Not to mention what this duel will do to Miss Amy and Miss Stockton’s reputations when it gets about. As you say, Miss Stockton is on the shelf, but Miss Amy had the opportunity to make an advantageous marriage.’
‘Had being the key word?’
Disgust at George’s honesty and his own stupidity made Charles as sarcastic as his brother. He had botched things up, but there was no going back. If he retracted his acceptance of the duel, he’d be branded a coward and his standing in the ton ruined. All the social pleasures he enjoyed would be denied him. His way of life would be over. He was not ready to give that up merely to keep from meeting Bertram Stockton at dawn.
They were halfway to George’s town house when the rain started. ‘Bloody nasty ending to a bloody nasty day,’ Charles groused.
George looked at his younger brother, who had never been known for his patience and often known for his impassioned impetuosity. ‘You can still back down.’
‘No. I can’t.’ Charles stared at the rain-slicked cobbles, feeling the water drip from the brim of his beaver hat. He slapped his thigh with the ebony cane and cursed his own stupidity. ‘It would ruin me.’
‘I see.’
Charles stopped and rounded on his brother. ‘No, you don’t. You have everything. I have to make my own way in the world. I am doing that through trade. Already I am on the fringes of acceptable society. If I were branded a coward, not even my male friends would acknowledge me. Bertram Stockton isn’t worth the sacrifice.’
George’s eyes widened and he stepped back. ‘I didn’t realise you felt that way. I can arrange a larger settlement for you.’
Charles sighed and ran a hand down his face, wiping away the water that dripped from the brim of his hat. ‘No. No. I don’t envy you the inheritance. Never have. But I never want to repeat my stay in the Fleet.
And my business investments will ensure that.’ He paused. ‘If I back down, I will be a laughing stock. It is bad enough already being a criminal.’
His mouth twisted. He turned away and stepped forward, trying to ignore the fact that things were getting too complicated.
A carriage pulled up alongside them and one of the windows opened. Adam Glenfinning leaned out.
‘Care for a ride?’
George grinned. ‘You are in the nick of time. I can feel the wet sinking through my coat, and I know it has ruined my boots.’
Charles scowled at the man who had recently married his sister. ‘I’ll walk, thank you.’
Adam looked at him as though he wanted to say something very scathing. ‘Suit yourself, old man.’
George glanced at Charles. ‘I’ll walk with you then.’
‘No,’ Charles said. ‘Go with Adam. Just because I am deranged enough to stay in this downpour doesn’t mean you should.’
George studied his brother for a long moment. ‘I’ll see you at the house then.’
Charles nodded and waved them on, continuing to trudge through the wet. The last thing he should have done was to provoke Bertram Stockton into challenging him. He had honestly not thought the man had the stomach to do so. He had misjudged him and now he had to face the man and delope for he could not in good conscience shoot the man when he was right. And he had to consider what to do about the reputations of the two Stockton sisters. He was the worst thing that could have happened to them.
He groaned. This was complicated.
Inside the carriage, George sat opposite Adam and took off his wet beaver. ‘Ruined.’
‘I wasn’t in the nick of time?’ Adam said with a sardonic twist of very fine lips.
His brown eyes held a glint of amusement that went very well with the deep creases bracketing them. He was a large man with not an ounce of fat on him. Unlike his wife’s brothers, he was not a style setter, but his clothes were wellmade and well-fitted.
George scowled. ‘Might as well tell you. It will soon be all over Town, just so Juliet doesn’t find out until it’s over.’
‘Juliet?’ An ominous note crept into Adam’s usually mellow baritone.
‘Yes, Juliet. She will go to great lengths to stop it.’ He scraped back a lock of hair that had fallen over his high forehead. ‘Bertram Stockton challenged Charles to a duel and Charles has chosen pistols.’
Adam’s brows rose. ‘I should have thought you would be the object of Stockton’s wrath, not Charles.’
A hint of colour darkened George’s cheeks. ‘Yes, one would. But no, it is Charles because of his marked pursuit of Miss Amy Stockton. It seems he has been treading a fine line of respectability and Stockton is here to put a stop before it goes too far. Not to mention the latest gossip about Charles introducing both Stockton chits to Harriette Wilson.’
Adam whistled softly. ‘I hadn’t heard that one, having just come up from the country. Wait until Juliet finds out. She will box Charles’s ears.’
‘If he lets her get close enough,’ George said ruefully.
‘And now a duel.’
‘Unfortunately for Stockton,’ George said, ‘Charles is a crack shot.’
Adam leaned back into the well-cushioned seat. ‘Then there is no problem. Stockton will miss and Charles will aim for a target other than his opponent.’
‘That would be the best course of action.’ George shook his head. ‘But for some reason, Charles has it in his head that Stockton deserves to be taught a lesson. He provoked the confrontation, as I’m sure you’ll hear when the story spreads.’
‘Then we had best set this duel up quickly.’ Adam’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. ‘Your sister has a very efficient network of gossip gatherers.’
‘Are you volunteering to be one of Charles’s seconds?’
‘Who else? Whether he wants to acknowledge me or not, we are related and nothing will change the fact.’
‘He does have plenty of cronies who would stand by him.’
‘I know, but the least said the best. And not just because of Juliet. It seems your family has twisted ties with the Stocktons, and instead of getting better, they become more complicated.’
‘So true,’ George said as the carriage pulled up in front of his town house. ‘Thanks for the ride, Adam. I shall be in touch shortly.’ He stepped out and turned back. ‘And give my love to Juliet.’
Adam smiled, his entire face warming. ‘Gladly.’
Emma smiled at Gordon, who held a tray with a single heavy, embossed envelope. She took what was obviously an invitation. ‘Thank you.’
The butler left the room, and she broke the seal and read the contents. Mr Stephen Kennilworth and his widowed mother were inviting Amy and her to the opera. Tonight.
Exhaustion ate at Emma. After getting home from Princess Lieven’s last night, she had been unable to sleep. Her mind had refused to stop replaying what had happened between her and Charles Hawthorne. Around dawn she had fallen into a restless sleep only to be awakened at nine by Amy demanding to go to the lending library.
She had hoped they would stay home this evening, but this was something she could not refuse. Mr Kennilworth was very well off. And he was young. Amy could do much worse.
They must go.
Chapter Six
Emma, with a barely civil Amy behind her, entered the door of the opera box Mr Kennilworth had reserved. Amy had been dismissive of the invitation, but Emma had accepted for them both. Mr Stephen Kennilworth was a wealthy man in search of a wife.
The Dowager Mrs Kennilworth already occupied one of the front seats, her impressive bosom swathed in mauve silk, her neck circled by chains of pearls. Three ostrich feathers, attached to grey curls by a diamond and pearl clasp, fanned forward from the back of her head. The scent of money seemed to waft from her.
Emma smiled as she dipped a curtsey. ‘Mrs Kennilworth, thank you for inviting us.’
The Dowager inclined her head. ‘My pleasure, Miss Stockton.’ She turned her piercing blue eyes on Amy. ‘And Miss Amy.’
Amy made a shallow curtsey, her lips turning up stiffly. ‘Ma’am.’
‘Sit beside me, child,’ Mrs Kennilworth said to Amy. ‘I wish to know you better.’
The smile on Amy’s mouth froze as she took the seat. Mr Kennilworth sat behind his mother and Emma behind Amy. Emma hoped Amy would mind her tongue. The girl might not be interested in the man, but it wouldn’t do to alienate his mother who was a powerful hostess in the ton. Gossip about them was already rampant.
Emma wished her sister did return Mr Kennilworth’s regard. Things would be so much easier. Bertram’s gambling debts would be paid, and Mrs Kennilworth could do much to stop the wagging tongues. Emma would hope for the best.
Unwilling to eavesdrop on the conversation between the women for fear of hearing Amy say things she shouldn’t and knowing she could do nothing to stop her sister, Emma looked around.
Nearly all the boxes were filled. Everyone seemed to be here. Most of Society came to the opera to see and be seen, not to watch the stage. The gentlemen also came to see the actresses and singers. While it wasn’t spoken of, Emma was very aware of what went on. Just as she had known about HarrietteWilson.
A full, unchecked laugh filled a moment of silence. Emma turned her head to see Miss Wilson holding court in an overflowing box. The courtesan sat like a jewel in the midst of a bevy of the most powerful and influential men in the ton. Charles Hawthorne sat beside her.
A knot formed in Emma’s throat.
He turned his head and saw her looking at him. Heat mounted her face, starting at the low cut of her lavender gown and rising to her hair. She jerked around.
‘Mr Kennilworth,’ she said, ‘I am remiss in not complimenting you on the fine pair of horses you have. They made the ride here everything one could hope.’
She knew her voice was brittle and feared her eyes glittered, but there was nothing she could do. The hard knot remained in her throat and made speak
ing difficult.
He beamed at her. ‘Thank you, Miss Stockton. I am very pleased with them.’
‘And well you might be,’ she murmured, determined to not let his presence interfere with the evening.
She stretched her mouth wider in a forced smile, and refused to give into the urge to glance back at Harriette Wilson’s box. She should not be surprised that Charles Hawthorne was amongst the men buzzing around the courtesan.
Thankfully, the gas lamps dimmed and the first act began. Emma focused her attention on the stage, ignoring the part of her that wanted to take surreptitious glances at the courtesan’s box. What should have been enjoyable because she loved music, was torture.
Drat that man.
After an eternity, the intermission came.
Amy twisted in her seat to say something to Emma only to stop, her eyes widening. ‘Isn’t that— ‘
Emma cut across Amy. ‘Wasn’t that wonderful, Amy. We are so fortunate Mrs Kennilworth invited us.’ When Amy continued to stare, she said pointedly, ‘Aren’t we?’ She nudged Amy’s chair with her foot.
The younger girl looked down, then up at Emma. The anger Amy had felt all day flared in her blue eyes but her voice was honey sweet. ‘Yes, aren’t we? I vow we might have had to stay home tonight.’ She batted her lashes at Mr Kennilworth.
Emma swallowed a reprimand at her sister’s provocative exaggeration. Amy was not a child, even if at times she acted like one. Still, the urge to box her ears was strong. She was grateful when Mr Kennilworth smiled as though he took every word at face value.
‘Might I escort you to get refreshment, Miss Amy?’ The look on Mr Kennilworth’s face was that of a man smitten.
Amy’s gaze bored into Emma. Emma knew Amy wanted her to tell the man no, but it was perfectly acceptable to do so in a public place so she said nothing. While Amy wasn’t infatuated with the man, he would make a good husband. He obviously adored Amy, and in many ways, her sister could make a much worse match.
Georgina Devon Page 7
