And who was the spirited old chap downstairs? What had Flavion done to draw a challenge of a duel from such an unlikely looking gentleman?
Stephen’s valet, Hamilton, was already awake and pulling out clothing for Stephen to don. “I didn’t think people came visiting this early in London,” Hamilton commented stoically as Stephen began washing up. “I thought they all slept into the noon hours.”
Stephen spit into the washbasin, and then a thought occurred to him.
Not a single person had witnessed Stephen going, sleeping in, or leaving Lady Kensington’s room. And his own valet, who was the only servant likely to have realized Stephen hadn’t slept in his own bed that night, was the soul of discretion.
Blast and thunderation! Was anything going to go as planned?
He shoved this problem to the back of his mind and refocused on the more immediate problem awaiting him downstairs. Who had Flavion insulted this time?
Considering the possible offenses his cousin could have dealt, Stephen hastily threw on the jacket Hamilton held out for him and then touched the skin on his face. He needed a shave, but that would have to wait until later.
Best not to let the gentleman downstairs stew in his anger for too long. Who knew what might transpire if Flavion were to come sauntering in this morning?
With Hamilton’s assistance, Stephen swiftly pulled on his boots and then made haste to return downstairs.
Mr. Sherman had provided tea and pastries for the guest, who was partaking of the generosity heartily when Stephen found him waiting in the salon.
The man stood up when Stephen entered, brushed the sides of his breeches, and then reached out a hand. “I am Philbert Cunnington, the Baron of Griffin. You might be acquainted with my daughter, Miss Daphne Cunnington.”
“Ah, yes,” Stephen said, not allowing any expression to cross his face. He ought to have seen this coming. Miss Daphne Cunnington was a lady, after all. “What can I do for you?” he asked respectfully.
The baron sat back down and suddenly looked lost. All of the wind and bluster he’d come charging over with had deserted him, and he seemed not to know where to begin.
Stephen waited.
“Your cousin,” the baron finally said, “has compromised my daughter. He, being a married man now, can do nothing about it. And by God, I’m going to make him pay.”
There it was. He’d found that bluster again.
Stephen leaned forward, poured himself a cup of the hot tea, and took a long, fortifying sip. He normally preferred coffee but would make do this morning with tea. Nothing like starting the day with yet another of Flavion’s messes to clean up. Stephen pondered. If a married man compromised a woman, did honor demand that said married man’scousinmarry the little twit in order to protect her from scandal? A scandal that she’d happily jumped into? God, he hoped not, but his own guilt had compelled the thought. He’d nearly swived Flave’s wife last night, after all!
“Was this a public compromising?” Stephen asked calmly, as though for all the world they were discussing the weather. He supposed he ought to be more alarmed for Flavion’s sake, but he just couldn’t seem to summon any up — alarm, that was. His normal sense of responsibility was beginning to flag somewhat, it seemed.
“No, but my daughter has informed me. She said he took her virtue. What’s a father to do about that I ask you? She’s ruined now. Pretty little thing, but without much of a dowry, I’ll never get her married off.”
Remembering the blushing lady he’d met two nights ago, Stephen wondered at how some men could treat their daughters as though they were prize stock to be auctioned off.
“When did your daughter come to you?”
“Early this morning,” the man said, turning his attention to one of the pastries that remained on the tea tray, setting it on a smaller plate. “She told me she waited up for Lord Kensington all night. He had said he would come and take her away, but he never appeared.”
At this information, Stephen frowned. He’d assumed that Flavion was with Miss Cunnington when he’d neglected to return last night. But why would he tell Miss Cunnington he was going to run away with her? Earls did not run away. They travelled. They toured. They kept mistresses in houses just outside of Mayfair.
They did not run away with chits who were not their wife.
“When he failed to arrive, she came and woke me and my baroness up. She was nearly hysterical, saying, ‘He promised’and‘How could he?’She was all pink and puffy from crying and, well, I ask you again, what’s a father to do?”
“Are there any, er, consequences from the affair?” Stephen asked politely.
“Consequences?” the baron asked with a glower.
“Yes, consequences, Griffin. Is she in a family way, expecting,enceinte— knocked up?” Stephen was already losing patience with this new glitch. Suddenly Flavion had too many problems for even Stephen to resolve… even if he did feel guilty for lusting after Lady Kensington.
But the baron shook his head. “Not that she has said, but these things take a while to er… become apparent, you know?” The blushing man obviously wasn’t used to discussing such female matters.
At this, Stephen stood up. “Well, then, as my cousin is conveniently away from home this morning, I’m afraid you shall have to wait until a later date to obtain that satisfaction you are seeking. If there is a babe on the way, simply apply to my cousin, and I’m certain he will allocate a portion of my money for your daughter. A small cottage in the country always seems to be appropriate for these types of situations. Perhaps in time she can even return to Society. That is, if she hasn’t shared the nature of her indiscretions with any well-meaning gossips.”
