Page 41 of The Duelist for the Ton
“Your son’s a delightful boy,” he said, “though I suspect he’s a handful.”
“Most children are at that age. He’s old enough to move about of his own accord—poor Flora is kept on her toes tryingto keep up with him, but still young enough that his enthusiasm for everything and everyone about him has not yet waned. That enthusiasm will soon be tempered by a better understanding of the world, but for now, it is something to be celebrated.”
At that moment a shot rang out, and Stephen froze in fear. He closed his eyes as the distant screams of his fallen comrades filled the air, together with the stench of smoke, dirt, and pain. The image thrust into his mind—the landscape stretching toward the horizon, the colors fading in the dying light, the blurred shapes of men littering the ground, mortal enemies united at last in death…
“Witless fools!”
A sharp voice cut through the fog, and Stephen opened his eyes to see Lord Staines standing by the edge of the Serpentine gesturing to two young men across the water.
“What the devil do you think you’redoing?” he cried. “Ignorant pups, firing a pistol in the middle of a park filled with people? Save that sort of behavior for dawn or dusk, when, with luck, you’ll rid the world of each other.”
“But sir, we—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Staines said. “Now go, or I’ll tell your papa.”
The young man who’d spoken paled and sheathed his pistol. “Come on, Dudders, best get going.”
They turned and fled, and Staines returned.
“That Gillingham fellow will find himself on the wrong end of a pistol one day, mark my words,” he said.
“The one who spoke?” Stephen asked.
“Earl Gillingham’s eldest. His father’s notoriously strict, but it seems to have made the boy more determined. Duddington, the boy with him, is, I suspect, being led stray. But if Gillingham finds out, they’ll both have sore hides. Gillingham’s not above using the strap for the slightest infraction.”
“Are you an advocate of corporal punishment?”
“I’d never take a hand to either of my boys,” Staines said. “There are other ways to teach them to understand the consequences of their actions. For example, when Gabriel let the chickens out at Radham Hall, he was tasked with helping our under-gardener retrieve them, then cleaning out the chicken run afterward.”
“And did he?”
Staines smiled. “He needed a little help, but he did it uncomplainingly when I explained to him that the under-gardener had had to spend his afternoon off retrieving the chickens, and it was therefore only fair that Gabriel undertake some of his duties the following day.”
He tilted his head to one side and fixed his gaze on Stephen. “Are you ailing, my friend?”
Stephen glanced across the Serpentine where the two young men had now disappeared. “It’s nothing. I’m merely beset by the occasional memory of the battlefield, that’s all.”
“Waterloo?”
Stephen nodded.
Staines placed his hand on his arm. “Though it would be fatuous of me to say that I understand, because I don’t, I know how some events can impact a man’s soul. But it wasn’t that to which I was referring.”
He nodded toward Lady Portia, who still had Gabriel in her arms.
“I recognize the signs,” he said. “A man may not be able to acknowledge such an ailment when he suffers it himself, but once he’s experienced it, he can recognize it in others. Though, of course, I’d hesitate to use the term ‘suffering,’ lest my Juliette admonish me.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you,” Stephen said.
Staines gestured toward Lady Portia, then lowered his voice. “There’s nothing that captures one’s heart more than the sight of a woman showing love to a child, especially when that child is not her own, and when that child is…” He made a random gesture, then smiled. “Lady Portia seems fond of Gabriel, though I’m not certain her brother approves.”
“Foxton’s a stickler for propriety,” Stephen said. “He’s not the sort of fellow to embrace anyone who does not fit into his idea of the perfect Society gentleman—or lady. Personally, I think perfection is overrated. Society, in its desire for perfection, can often be unbelievably cruel.” He nodded toward the boy. “Is Gabriel aware that he’s”—he hesitated as Staines frowned—“not like his younger brother?”
“He’s beginning to suspect,” came the reply. “A look here, a casually dropped word there…” Staines let out a sigh. “It’s not necessarily what anyone says, buthowthey say it. But, for the moment, we can shield him from the worst.”
“Then he’s fortunate to have you as his father.”
“As am I, to have him as my son,” Staines said, his eyes glistening with love. “My Juliette taught me that we can build a little society of our own—of ourtruefriends. Society will always be filled with men, and women, who stand by a desire to observe their superiority of rank by exhibiting cruelty to those they consider beneath them. But I measure a person’s worth by their behavior, particularly their behavior toward Gabriel.”
