Page 29 of The Duelist for the Ton
“Please don’t trouble yourself, Lady Portia. I…” Mrs. Stowe colored. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn.”
“Very well,” Portia said. “It’s no great loss to you. My brother disapproves of the notion of an independent woman.”
“As do all men.”
“But not your husband, Mrs. Stowe?” Portia said.
“I’m a widow, Lady Portia.”
“I’m sorry. Do forgive me.”
A slight smile curved Mrs. Stowe’s lips. “My late husband would not have approved of my earning a living. Widowhood brings with it the kind of freedom that may be socially acceptable, but it elicits an excess of pity.”
“And there’s nothing worse than beingpitied,” Portia said.
“Quite so, Lady Portia. I—” Mrs. Stowe broke off and lowered her gaze. At that moment, Portia’s brother appeared, together with Lord Maybury—the very man whom Heath Moss had engaged the Farthing to shoot at, as soon as dawn broke tomorrow.
“Thereyou are, sister.” Adam gave a cursory glance at Mrs. Stowe, then resumed his attention on Portia. “Do you have a partner for the next dance?”
“No.”
“Then you should circulate,” he said. “You’ll never find a partner if you loiter about at the edge of the ballroom.”
“Particularly if it’s thedowdyedge,” Lord Maybury said, eyeing Mrs. Stowe.
Portia’s brother let out a laugh and clapped Maybury on the back.
“Please excuse me,” Mrs. Stowe said, her voice tight. “I must attend to Miss Turton. It’s rather cold and she needs her shawl.” She approached a young woman at the center of the ballroom.
“I say, Maybury, there’s no call for that,” Colonel Reid said.
“Oh, don’t be so stuffy!” Maybury chuckled. “A man attends a ball to look at pretty girls, not down-at-heel maiden aunts.” He gestured to Mrs. Stowe’s retreating back. “Women likethatmake the place look deuced untidy.”
“Women like Mrs. Stowe protect young ladies from rakes, Maybury,” Colonel Reid said. “She’s no maiden aunt, she’s a hired chaperone, and has as much right to be here tonight as you or I.”
“A paid subordinate?” Maybury said. “I trust she’ll be eating her supper downstairs tonight.”
Portia glanced toward Mrs. Stowe, who was draping the shawl over a young woman’s shoulders, her eyes bright with moisture.
A gong sounded, and Henrietta clapped her hands. “Time for supper,mes amis!”
Colonel Reid offered his arm, and Portia took it. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Henrietta and her husband approach Mrs. Stowe and her charge. Earl Thorpe offered Mrs. Stowe his arm and escorted her to the dinner table, Lord Maybury watching with a scowl.
“Bravo, Thorpe,” Colonel Reid said.
Bravo indeed. Few men possessed enough kindness to defy social convention.
Perhaps Colonel Reid was one such man. As her brother and Lord Maybury were not.
But tomorrow, at dawn, the Farthing would take much pleasure from aiming his pistol at Maybury’s head.
Chapter Nine
“Eight…nine…”
As Portia raised her arm, a shot rang out, and a puff of smoke exploded in the air. She heard a faint whistling, then caught sight of something moving fast toward her. She flinched, anticipating the hit.
Her opponent had shot wide.
