Page 122 of The Duelist for the Ton
They opened even before they reached the threshold, to reveal a black-clad butler with the same cadaverous appearance as Foxton’s butler in London.
“Yes?” he said sharply.
“Is the family at home?” Stephen asked.
“Are you expected?”
“I’m acquainted with the family.”
“So that’s a ‘no,’ then.”
“Please say that Colonel Stephen Reid begs an audience.”
“And…?” The butler turned his disapproving gaze to Stephen’s companion.
“And Mrs. Stowe.”
“Very well, Colonel Reid and…Mrs. Stowe. Wait here.”
“Perhaps we should leave,” Mrs. Stowe said as the butler shut the door. “Or at least let me wait in the carriage with Angela. I fear my presence will do no good.”
She glanced about the building, fear growing in her eyes. Then footsteps approached and the door opened once more.
Mrs. Stowe let out a little gasp and tightened her hold on Stephen’s arm as Foxton regarded them both with disdain.
“To what do I owe the…pleasureof this visit?” he said.
“We’re come to see Lady Portia,” Stephen replied.
Foxton curled his lip in a sneer. “Are you come to tell my sister that your tastes now run to dowdy widows?” He let out a cold laugh.
“Foxton, if you’d permit me to say—”
“No, I donotpermit.”
Foxton took a step forward. Stephen held his ground, but Mrs. Stowe moved back.
“How dare you?” Stephen said. “Of course, I’dexpecta man of your rank to bully your fellow men—it is, after all, how dukes assert their superiority. But no man has the right to bully a woman.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you shot my sister and left her for dead,” Foxton snarled. Then he turned his gaze to Mrs. Stowe. “Do I shock you, madam, with the revelation that your protector has a penchant for shooting the women he beds?”
Mrs. Stowe inhaled sharply, then glanced at Stephen.
“At least let me see her,” Stephen said.
“I’m delighted to say that’s impossible,” came the reply. “She’s not at home.”
“You lie.”
“For what purpose would I lie?” Foxton said. “To keep the knowledge of your presence from my sister? She wishes to see you even less than I do. You don’t matter enough to lie to, Reid. Whereas I have nothing to hide.” He stepped forward again. “My sister’s not in the county. She’s taking a vacation—a rest cure.”
A pulse of fear swelled in Stephen’s gut. “Is she unwell? Has her wound festered?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Foxton said. “My sister ismyconcern.”
“It’s about time.”
Foxton’s eyes—the same shape and color as his sister’s—darkened with dislike.
