Page 2 of The Duelist for the Ton
“Naturally. It is, after all, what you pay me for. Gerard, would you see to business?”
The Farthing’s companion stepped forward, palm outstretched. “Payment, if you please, sir.”
Cholmondeley-Walker frowned. “It’s not gentlemanly to discuss commerce.”
“Neither is it gentlemanly to refuse to pay one’s dues, Mr. Cholmondeley-Walker,” came the reply. “The terms are clear—you signed the contract willingly and were of sound mind.”
Manby-Bresswell let out a snort that turned into a cough.
“Payment is to be made on the day of the duel,” the Farthing said. “Beforethe first shot is fired. I’m a man who keeps his word. Can you say the same of yourself?”
Cholmondeley-Walker cocked his head to one side and narrowed his eyes. “You’re no man,” he said. “I can tell, even though you and your servant wear masks.”
Sweet Lord! Am I discovered?
“You have the voice and frame of a boy,” Cholmondeley-Walker continued, “a weakling boy.”
“I have a bigger pair of bollocks than the man who’d rather pay another to face his opponent than risk his own skin.”
Manby-Bresswell chuckled. “That’s toldyou, Ambrose.”
“Perhaps even a bigger pair than the two of you combined,” the Farthing continued, “or else you’d have settled your differences in the drawing room rather than at the end of a pistol. Your wives are to be pitied.”
“I should shoot you dead for that, Mr. Farthing,” Manby-Bresswell said.
“I’m giving you that very opportunity this morning. That is, assuming you both wish to continue?”
The combatants nodded.
“In which case, pay my man, if you please, Mr. Cholmondeley-Walker, then we can conclude the matter and be on our way before London wakes.”
Grumbling, Cholmondeley-Walker pulled out a sheaf of notes from his inside jacket pocket and handed them to Gerard, who counted each one, then gave a sharp nod and folded them.
“Excellent,” the Farthing said. “Now we may proceed with our business.”
“Dueling is not abusiness,” Manby-Bresswell grumbled. “It’s an act of a gentleman to settle a matter of honor.”
“And what was the matter of honor that brought the two of you here this morning?” the Farthing asked.
“This bounder seduced my wife. Under my very nose—in the library, if you please, while I was entertaining our guests.”
Cholmondeley-Walker rolled his eyes. “How many times must I tell you, Sir Baldwin—your wife holds no appeal for me. I prefer sturdier women—makes for a more vigorous ride, particularly if she whinnies like a mare when I take her.”
Ugh.
Men spoke with little sense when in the company of women—but among their own kind with not a woman in sight, or at least when they believed that were the case, they reverted to the words of the savage.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Farthing—is our gentlemanly talk not to your taste?”
“Nothing of the sort, I assure you. I’m merely wondering whether either of you have paused to consider if the woman in question has an opinion on the matter and, if so, whether either of you place any value upon it.”
“The opinion of awoman?” Cholmondeley-Walker laughed. “You’re a bigger fool than Sir Baldwin here.”
“I doubt that, if Sir Baldwin’s wife is straying behind his back.”
“Lady Manby-Bresswell is not straying behind her husband’s back,” Cholmondeley-Walker said. “She’s notoriously faithful—despite ample provocation to be otherwise—as I’ve tried to explain to this witless fool.”
“Then how would you account for my coming upon the two of you in the library that night?”
