Page 147 of Doxy for the Ton
“I confronted the pater about it, and he admitted it—quite shamelessly. We quarreled, and he collapsed. And then…”
“He died, giving you free rein to renege on the contract and act against his wishes,” Westbury said.
“I acted within the authority of the law,” Mayhew said.
“What about the higher authority?” Alexander asked.
“I acted within the law of the Church also,” came the reply. “Even if the contract would have been signed, I doubt any man with morals would approve of my father gifting his property to a slut.”
“Why you…” Alexander rose, but Thorpe grasped his wrist.
“Sawbridge, what good would it do to engage in a brawl?”
“It’d make me feel a damn sight better.”
“What about Miss King?” Thorpe said. “Surely you can think of a better punishment that also atones for the wrong done to her?”
Alexander glanced at Mayhew, then the idea slid into his mind.
Of course…
“Mayhew,” he said, “I promise that I, and my friend, shall never lay a finger on you again if you grant me one thing—which will absolve you of all your sins toward…toward Miss King.”
“Which is?”
“Your late mother’s ring you may keep, as a trinket for the unfortunate woman who becomes your wife. But as to your father’s other gift, I ask that you honor it.”
Mayhew shook his head. “I-I don’t understand.”
“I ask—no, demand—that you settle the property on Miss King that your father originally intended. That is, if you’ve not frittered it away to settle your gaming debts.”
“Of course not!” Mayhew scoffed. “Whatever you think I am, I’m no gamester.”
“That’s not what I heard,” Thorpe said. “I heard you’ve been searching for a rich wife to fund your habit, but nobody is forthcoming. In fact, not even the infamous Mrs. Dove-Lyon, who facilitates matches between desperate titled men and wealthy women of doubtful virtue, wishes to inflictyouon her clientele.”
Mayhew’s cheeks reddened and he lowered his gaze.
“Then that’s settled,” Westbury said. “I suggest we visit your solicitor forthwith.”
Mayhew’s eyes widened. “N-no, I have another appointment.”
“Come, come, Mayhew,” Alexander said. “As a gesture of faith, you must come with us now. You wouldn’t want us to think that you intend to renege on your promise and bolt as soon as we leave the building?”
“Oh, Sawbridge, how unjust,” Westbury said, amusement in his voice. “I’m sure the thought didn’t evenbeginto enter Mayhew’s mind.”
“I’ll wager his mind has limited capacity for thought,” Drayton added, grinning.
Westbury patted his son on the back. “Quite right, my boy. Who is your solicitor, Mayhew?”
“John Allardice.”
“Of Allardice, Allardice, and Stockton?” Alexander said. “Mr. Stockton looks after my affairs. We can have the contract drawn up and witnessed this afternoon—is that not fortunate, Mayhew?”
The look on Mayhew’s face conveyed that it was anything but.
Westbury held out the brandy. “I think our friend has now earned his reward.”
Mayhew grasped the glass, tipped it back, and drained the contents.
