CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Rupert, his father, and Robert Beaumont sat in the main room at White’s, waiting for the large dining room to thin of company. Robert had gone to look at the wagering book when Nick and Hawksworth entered.
“We thought we’d join you.”
“Even if the man’s here, I don’t expect fisticuffs.” Rupert was beginning to think all this was for naught. “I’m surprised your bride let you out of the house.”
“She practically pushed me through the door. Lady Telford’s information about Tewkesbury may not have worried Vivian, but Silvia is determined to protect her.”
Robert reclaimed his seat. “Rupert, you’re in the book. The wager was running in your favor to marry Lady Beresford. This evening it changed to Tewkesbury.”
“Now we know he is making the match known.” Nick glanced around. “Is he here?”
“I’d say there is a good chance of it.” Papa stopped a waiter, and whispered something. “There are too many guests in the dining room to see if he’s present.”
Nick and Hawksworth pulled chairs up, and a few moments later, a bottle of claret was set in their midst.
Rupert checked his pocket watch. This was becoming ridiculous. “I am not going to hunt him down. I have nothing to say to the man. The only reason I came was to ascertain if there was any talk. Which there appears to be. If we don’t leave soon, we’ll be late escorting the ladies.”
Two gentlemen Rupert knew only by name sauntered, brandies in hand, to the book. “Too bad for Stanstead, looks like Tewkesbury is going to have the lady.”
Rupert’s hands clenched. He was not going to react. He reached for his glass.
“Stanstead, didn’t see you there.” The words were slurred, as if the man had already imbibed a great deal. “Sorry about your luck.”
He raised his glass. “Things will turn out as they should.”
“Always maintain your countenance. Good man. Young yet. Plenty of time to get a leg-shackle.”
The drunk and his friend wandered off. Several minutes later, a stocky man, not much above medium height, who reminded Rupert of his local squire, strolled in. “Stanstead?”
“I’m afraid you have the advantage, sir.”
“Should’ve known it was nothing but a hum.”
“I beg your pardon?” He set his drink back down.
“Damn me if you don’t look like old Lord Beaumont when you look like that. Don’t see much of Stanstead in you though.”
Next to Rupert his father stiffened.
“I’m said to favor my mother.”
“That happens. Some of mine look like their mothers as well.” The man tucked his thumbs into the top of his breeches, leaning back like a strutting rooster.
“And you are?” This could only be Lord Tewkesbury. Still, the question had to be asked.
“Viscount Tewkesbury. Thought you might remember me. Then again, you were just a pup at the time.”
Rupert reclaimed his glass and took a healthy draw. “You must excuse me, I do not remember. Have you just returned to Town?”
“No returned about it, my lad. Don’t like the place. I’m only here to collect a new bitch.”
The room had become quiet, and Tewkesbury’s voice seemed to echo through it.
“Indeed.” Rupert held up his goblet as if admiring the color of the wine. “I seem to remember you are famous for your dogs. I wasn’t aware anyone was keeping them in Town.”
“Not a hunting dog. Got all of them I need right now. I’m talking about Lord Brackford’s daughter, Lady Beresford.”
Something in Rupert shifted and he was closer to calling a man out than he’d ever been before. That, though, would not help Vivian.
“Here, here, man. Shouldn’t be referring to a lady as a female dog,” a gentleman said.
“No insult meant.” Tewkesbury swayed back, and Rupert wondered if the man was in his altitudes. “All females serve the same purpose, breeding and companionship.”
Rupert started forward, but Hawksworth placed a hand on Rupert’s shoulder. “You are insulting, sir.” Hawksworth’s tone was deadly calm. “I do not yet have a wife, but I assure you I would not stand by and listen to anyone call her a bitch. I think you might wish to leave before someone takes offense.”
At that point, the porter, followed by two footmen, approached Tewkesbury. “My lord, unless you apologize, I must ask you to depart the club. One of our board members has complained.”
For a moment, Rupert thought the cur would resist, but after some coaxing from one of the other gentlemen, Tewkesbury left.
“Thank you.”
Hawksworth shrugged. “Someday you might do the same for me. If you need help in a fight though, Beresford’s your man.” He tossed off his brandy. “I’ll see you at the ball.”
“You shall.”