Page 24 of The Duelist for the Ton
“In falling in love. The rules of our Society prevent men and women from discovering enough about each other to make an informed decision as to whether they will be happy partnered for life. And men, as the weaker sex”—she shot a look at her brother—“will always value a woman based on her appearance. Juliette Howard is an exceptionally beautiful creature, but she is happy with Lord Staines. The two of them are a perfect match, therefore she could never have made you truly happy, colonel.”
“What nonsense you utter,” the duke said.
“So speaks a man who cares little for a woman’s happiness.”
“A woman’s happiness!” he scoffed. “Your needs are simple—a secure home, a strong husband, and a position in Society. I daresay Lady Staines is happy, given that she’s been elevated from a commoner’s daughter to an earl’s wife.” He glanced at the door. “Perhaps we should return to the ballroom before we’re missed—to preserve my sister’s reputation.”
Stephen nodded. “Of course.”
The duke offered his arm to Lady Portia. She hesitated and his expression hardened, then she sighed and linked her arm with his and they exited the library.
“Colonel, I trust you’ll say nothing of what transpired in here tonight,” Foxton said.
“Of course,” Stephen replied. “Nothing untoward happened. Besides, I have more to lose than she.”
Lady Portia glanced at him, and Stephen’s heart ached at the compassion in her eyes.
The duke chuckled. “Hardly,” he said. “You’re a man and should have nothing to fear from a little scandal, at least not compared to a woman. With that attitude, how the devil did you survive Waterloo?”
“Adam!” Lady Portia snapped. “It’s not the done thing for a man who languishes in the comfort of his townhouse to question the character of those who risk their lives for their country.”
“But—” he began, but she interrupted.
“Colonel, I sympathize on your having endured the rejection of someone you loved—or at least believed yourself to be in love with.”
“Rejection!” the duke scoffed. “I wouldn’t stand for such treatment.”
“That’s because you’re a rake, brother.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment—shouldn’t I, colonel?”
Lady Portia saved Stephen the need to respond. “Yes,youwould, Adam,” she said. “But rakes only amuse in fiction. I prefer to live in reality. Residing in fiction will only result in ruination and despair.”
“Aye,” Stephen said. “I loathe any form of deceit. Anyone who is not who they seem is deceiving the rest of the world.”
“A little subterfuge can be forgiven if the objective is honorable,” Lady Portia said. “Don’t you recall the Phoenix?”
“The Phoenix?” Stephen asked.
“An infamous thief,” the duke said. “How he escaped the gallows, I’ll never know.”
“Rumor has it that he was ashe,” Lady Portia said.
“I trust you’re mistaken,” Stephen said. “No woman in possession of her wits would undertake such a dangerous venture.”
Her eyes flared with indignation, then she looked away.
“Well, whoever he—or she—was,” the duke said, “they stole a number of precious heirlooms a year or so ago, and evaded justice.”
“Only it wasn’t theft,” Lady Portia said. “It was redemption. Those heirlooms belonged to another, and the Phoenix returned them to their rightful owner.”
Surely she wasn’t defending the perpetrator of a crime? Or perhaps she knew more about the identity of the Phoenix than she cared to admit. After all, no man knew precisely whatwomen talked about when they indulged in their tea parties and afternoons of gossip promenading in the park.
“Very well, then,” the duke said. “What about this masked duelist—the Farthing, or whatever he calls himself. Surely you cannot leap tohisdefense.”
Lady Portia stiffened, a flicker of apprehension in her eyes.
“The Farthing?” Stephen asked.
