Page 108 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
“To your good health, Radham,” Foxton said, raising his glass after the footman disappeared once more.
“I say, Foxton!” a voice cried. “I never thought to see you here.”
Foxton narrowed his eyes and set his glass aside, and Andrew turned to the owner of the voice—a portly man with thinning gray hair and the kind of complexion that, though ruddy, signified sickness born of overindulgence.
“I thought you’d been exiled to the country,” Foxton said.
“Something of an exaggeration, dear boy.” The man paused by their table and raised an eyebrow as he cast his rancid gaze on Andrew.
An odor of stale liquor reached Andrew’s nostrils, and he lifted his glass to his lips to smother the stench. The newcomer’s jacket might have been fashionable some ten years before, but such an excess of frills was beyond even Mr. Weston’s style of tailoring. Most likely the jacket itself was several years old, given the fraying ends of the cuffs.
“Retirement, then,” Foxton said. “But out of necessity.”
“Bychoice, dear boy,” came the reply.
“And…the duchess?” Foxton asked.
The man grimaced. “My wife is in poor sprits.”
The duchess? Good heavens—surely this fellow wasn’t aduke?
The man resumed his attention on Andrew. “Who’s this fellow, then? A new member?”
Not if Andrew could help it—there seemed little merit in wasting funds merely to be granted the right to spend one’s time in the company of dandies.Respite from women,Foxton had said—a haven of peace where a gentleman could indulge in the company of his peers without the incessant chatter and demands of the fairer sex. Assuming, of course, he could afford the membership dues.
Which the porcine newcomer couldn’t, judging by his appearance.
“Lord Radham is my guest,” Foxton said.
“Radham, eh? So you must be the brother. Damned foolish business that was, if you ask me.”
“What business?” Andrew asked.
“Radham making such an arse of himself in the park—and taking the delicious Danielle with him.”
“Danielle?”
“Mrs. Delacroix. I mean, if a man is foolish enough to risk his neck racing carriages in London, that’s his lookout, but to risk the neck of the finest doxy in Mayfair—well, that’s just plain selfish.”
“Selfish?” Andrew asked.
“Danielle was the best fuck in town.”
A ripple of coughs threaded through the dining room.
“Though she was a little grasping,” the man continued. “Cost me a bloody fortune, she did.”
“I say, Dunton,” Foxton said, “that’s not the done thing to—”
Andrew pushed his chair back and rose. “Whatdid you say, Foxton?”
“I said it was not the done thing—”
“No, I mean this…manhere. Is he…”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Foxton said in a tone that meant he was anything but. “I quite forgot. Radham, this is the Duke of Dunton.”
Dunton inclined his head in a bow. “At your service, I—”
