Page 145 of Doxy for the Ton
Thorpe placed a hand on Alexander’s shoulder.
“Come away, friend,” he said quietly. “Mayhew isn’t worth risking your standing in the club.”
“I couldn’t give a farrier’s fuck about my standing in the club,” Alexander said.
“That much is apparent,” Mayhew sneered, “given that you were content to associate yourself with that whore whom you tried to pass off as a lady.”
“She’s more of a lady than you are a gentleman,” Alexander said. He raised his hand, and Mayhew flinched. “What is it?” Alexander said, gesturing toward the bruise on Mayhew’s face. “Afraid I’ll finish the job now you’ve not got a paid subordinate to fight your duels for you?”
Mayhew touched his bruised face. “Do you see what sort of savage you’re sponsoring, Thorpe? And you, Westbury—given the circumstance of your son’s birth, I’d have thought you the last man who’d want to associate himself with this savage.”
“Savage?” Alexander snarled. “Tell me, Mayhew, what kind of gentleman would toss an innocent woman out onto the street—the woman his father loved?”
“She was his whore,” Mayhew said. “I’m sure you’ve tossed out many a whore onto the streets when you’ve grown tired of rutting her.”
“She was pregnant, you bastard!” Alexander cried, and a volley of tuts rippled through the clubroom. “She lost the child because of you.”
“I say, old chap,” Thorpe said, “there’s no need to—”
“There’s every need!” Alexander replied. “She was carrying Sir Walter Mayhew’s child. Don’t you see, Mayhew? Your own flesh and blood—your sibling. In throwing her out, you murdered that child.”
“You’ve no right to lecturemeon murder, Sawbridge,” Mayhew said. “You killed Radham’s brother.”
“What happened to Radham’s brother was an accident,” Alexander said. “And I’ve regretted it every day since. Whatyoudid to her was motivated by greed and envy.”
“I was only claiming what was rightfully mine,” Mayhew said. “I’ve no cause to regret that. And if she lost the brat, so much the better. One less bastard to litter the world with.”
Drayton gave a little cry, and Westbury stepped forward, his eyes darkening with fury.
“Ibegyour pardon?”
“W-Westbury, I-I didn’t mean—”
Westbury blinked slowly, then reached toward his son and patted his arm, twisting his body around. Then, with a blur of movement, he swung his free arm forward and slammed his fist into Mayhew’s face. Mayhew let out a sigh, then crumpled to the floor.
Two footmen rushed over.
“Your Grace, I hardly think it proper—”
“It was a matter of honor, gentlemen,” Westbury said. “Besides, I barely touched him.”
He poked the prone form with his foot, and Mayhew stirred with a groan. Thorpe stooped, hooked his arms under Mayhew’s shoulders, and helped him into a seat.
“You tripped and fell, didn’t you, Mayhew?” he said. “Just as you were apologizing for insulting Mr. Drayton here and offering to make amends.”
Mayhew glanced from Westbury to Thorpe, his eyes shimmering with fear. At length, he nodded.
“Say it,” Westbury said, his voice quiet and even. “Say that you intend to make amends.”
Mayhew nodded. “I-I intend to make amends.”
“In any manner that my friend here chooses,” Westbury said, gesturing toward Alexander.
“ThatIchoose?” Alexander asked.
“Naturally,” Westbury said. “My son and I no longer care for the taunts of the likes of Mayhew here, but I suspect he may have caused you greater injury. Mayhew, say it.”
Mayhew nodded again. “In any manner that Sawbridge chooses.”
