Page 41 of Winterset
I’d never been opposed to brawling. Thanks to Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon, I could defend myself well enough, but this was my first visit to town, and I had no wish to make enemies. “I have no quarrel with you,” I said, stepping back.
His response was a quick jab to my shoulder.
I raised my fists to defend myself.
The toothless man moved to strike again, but another man, a gentleman by the look of his dress and manner, stepped between us.
“Come now, Mr. Fletcher,” he said to my assailant. “Is that any way to treat a gentleman?”
The man cowered. “No, mi’lord.”
“I thought not. Be on your way.” He gestured with his head for the man to leave.
The toothless man shot me a scathing glare, then slunk back into the crowd.
I looked to my rescuer and took his measure. He appeared to be about my age. He possessed a confident bearing and sharp gaze. A peer of the realm, likely, although I did not recognize him.
“Follow me,” the gentleman said to me before I could inquire, and he led the way to a private table tucked into a nook in the corner, ducking under a low-hanging beam.
“Lord Markham,” he introduced himself upon sitting. “Baron of Blackhurst Abbey.”
“Oliver Jennings,” I said, taking the seat opposite him. “Second son of the late Earl of Winfield.”
“Ah. The Winterset heir.” He relaxed back into his chair. “We’ve all been wondering when you would take up residence.”
“Not soon enough,” I muttered to myself, then to him, “I took a tour of the Continent.”
“Ah,” he said. “And what brings you in here tonight? Not the nicest weather for a tour of the town.”
Water dripped from the ends of my hair onto the table, validating his statement.“Thatis a long story,” I said.
He shrugged. “I have time.”
I gave him a mirthless chuckle. “I think I’ll need some drink in me before sharing that story.”
“Fair enough.” Lord Markham laughed and beckoned a serving maid to our table. “What will you have, Mr. Jennings?”
“Something strong.”
He grinned knowingly at me before turning his attention to the serving maid who’d arrived beside him. “Brandy for the Winterset heir. And port for me.”
“Right away, my lord,” she said and departed with a curtsy.
Markham stared after her retreating form until she was swallowed up in the crush. “So,” he said, turning back to me. “Where did you go on your tour?”
“The usual places: France, Italy.”
“I’m surprised we never crossed paths. I toured the same places the year before last. My favorite was Italy.”
“Italy was remarkable,” I agreed. “But France was my favorite.”
“Ah. Yes. French women are quite ...” Lord Markham’s sentence stalled with a wolfish grin, “beautiful.”
They had been beautiful, but this line of conversation made me uncomfortable. It reminded me too much of the man I used to be. “I’msure the young ladies here in town are just as lovely,” I said, steering the conversation.
He shrugged. “They are sufficient, I suppose.”
“That does not sound promising.”
