Page 134 of The Duelist for the Ton
“You should get that seen to,” Sir Heath said. “Dr. Lucas would oblige—or at least, hewouldhave had he not been struck down by the pox. But, of course, you’re partial to that charlatan McIver, are you not?”
“Leave me be,” Stephen growled.
“Or what?” Sir Heath laughed. “You’ll give me a facer? From where I’m standing, you’ve come off worse than Foxton, seeing as you’re sprawled on the street. You took quite a tumble just now—most entertaining.”
“Go to hell.”
“With pleasure.” Sir Heath chuckled. “But let me give you some advice. I’d stay on the right side of Foxton if I were you.”
“Foxon cares for nobody but himself,” Stephen said. “Find another duke to ingratiate yourself with.”
“No need, old boy,” Sir Heath said. “All you need do with Foxton is seduce an innocent and he’ll buy your silence.” He chuckled again. “Is that why he tossed you out on the street? Tired of paying for your sister’s indiscretion?”
“What?”
“Didn’t you know?” Sir Heath gestured toward Foxton’s house with his cane. “Our very generous duke paid me asubstantialsum for my silence in the matter regarding your sister. He didn’t look too pleased about it, and threatened to shoot me if I reneged. But five hundred’s a respectable enough sum, enough to cover the expenses I incurred in paying the Farthing.”
“Why you…” Stephen began to rise, but Sir Heath sidestepped him.
“Aren’t you going to thank me for maintaining my silence?”
“I’d rather shoot you dead.”
“Yes, I gathered that,” Sir Heath said, grinning. “Though you managed to dispatch my proxy well enough. Well, I must be off.” He tipped his hat once more. “Ladies to see, you know how it is.” He winked, then twirled his cane before continuing along the path.
“Bastard,” Stephen spat as he struggled to his feet. He caught his foot on paving slab and fell back. “Shit!”
“Sir! Are you hurt?”
Swallowing his embarrassment, Stephen looked up to see a young woman—barely out of girlhood—in a maid’s uniform standing before him.
“Oh, Colonel Reid!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t recognize you at first.” She limped toward him, hand outstretched. “Let me help you up.”
Ignoring the proffered hand—for surely a girl that slight couldn’t support his weight—Stephen struggled to his feet and brushed the dust from his breeches.
“F-forgive me, colonel,” the girl said. “I didn’t mean to be so forward in offering my hand. Mrs. Platt’s always saying to mind how I act toward folk that’s better than I. I mean…”
“You acted out of kindness,” Stephen said. “It’s not every day you find a colonel sprawled at your feet on the street.” He let his gaze wander about her form. “Do I know you, Miss…?”
“Not really,” she said. “I mean, we’ve not been introduced. But I saw you once at St. Agnes’s, when you visited the captain just before he went home.”
“Captain…?”
“Captain Broom,” she said, her face flushing. “Ever so kind he was—that is, when I spoke to him. We weren’t supposedto talk to the gentleman patients, of course, but he brought me some wildflowers and grasses after I”—she frowned, and a flicker of pain shone in her eyes—“after Dr. McIver treated me. He said that he and I were the same. Imagine that! A captain in the army saying that I was the same as him! So kind.”
“In what way were you and he the same?”
She blushed. “Forgive me, colonel, I must get back. Mr. Reeve is ever so particular about promptness.”
“Reeve?” Stephen asked, glancing at the door from which he’d just been evicted. “You’re a maid at the Foxton residence?”
“I’m employed at Forthridge Park—that’s their country estate, you know. Mrs. Platt’s the housekeeper there, but I was sent here to help tend to the house while His Grace visits London.”
“And your name is…?”
“Tilly, sir,” she said, dipping into a curtsey. She lost her balance and pitched sideways, but Stephen caught her in his arms and set her back on her feet. “Forgive me, sir, I’m still not used to…” She looked away.
“Of course!” Stephen said. “You’re the young woman Dr. McIver spoke of, are you not, who hurt your foot in an accident, and he had to…”
