Stone paused, located a towel, and scrubbed it down his face and then over his chest and abdomen. The apparel, or lack thereof, that fighters wore for a bout was only one of the reasons his mother disapproved of bare-knuckled boxing—the other reason being that he occasionally sported bruises and blackened eyes.
Stone enjoyed that it was the one place where nothing mattered but the man himself; his strength, agility, and ability to predict the other fighter’s next move.
“Blackheart’s sources found records proving that Culpepper’s wife died in childbirth, along with the babe.” Greystone crossed his legs, holding his sword like a cane. “So at least the man isn’t a murderer.”
Westerley tipped his head to the side, eliciting a cracking sound that had Greys visibly flinching. “My sister deserves better than some lout who only wants her for her dowry.”
“Records can be forged,” Stone noted to no one in particular. He had no intention of letting up. Trouble was, he doubted Lady Tabetha did either. He met Westerley’s gaze meaningfully. “I‘m not standing down, but keep a close eye on her at home.”
“You don’t think she’d do something stupid, do you?”
Mindful she was the man’s sister, Stone stopped short of rolling his eyes.Of course, she is going to do something stupid. It was only a matter of time. “She’s title hungry.”
Her brother winced. “I’ll speak with my mother. She could set Crabtree on her.” Mrs. Crabtree would likely frustrate Lady Tabetha to no end. The dragon of a woman had been employed by the dowager countess for as long as Stone could remember, and if she couldn’t keep the girl in check, then nobody could. “I guess I’ll have to pass on cards at White’s this afternoon.”
Mantis was rubbing himself down as well. “There’s a thoroughbred at Tattersalls I’d like to check out.” He turned to Chase.
The newly married baron nodded. “I’ve been wanting to purchase a gentle mount for Bethany.”
Stone met Peter’s eyes and grinned at that but didn’t go so far as to make the comment that danced on his tongue. Chaswick, himself, was not known for being agentle mount.
“Have I mentioned how delighted I am that Bethany is your responsibility now?” Westerley smirked in Chaswick’s direction. “Not in a thousand years could I have imagined she was capable of such mayhem.” Then he frowned. “Tabetha’s looking to keep me busy enough.”
A gleam appeared in Chase’s eyes. “Worth it though, by God.” He shook his head. “And for the record, never tell Bethany she’s my responsibility. She’s mywife, mybaroness, she’ll insist, never my responsibility.” He smiled. “I’m happy to allow her to go on thinking that. Because when she’s happy, I am happy.”
Stone tossed the towel over his shoulder. “I’ll leave the horseflesh to you gents then.” He needed to clean up, change, and then arrange for Westerley’s baby to be readied for an appearance in the park. And later, he’d drop in at Well’s Place, arrive early for his driving appointment. He wouldn’t put it past her to “accidentally” forget.
Peter followed him into the dressing area. “I’ve been offered an apprenticeship with Sir William Bickford-Crowden down in Brighton.”
Stone raised his brows at the announcement. From what he had gathered, apprenticing with the master musician was a considerable honor.
“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Stone dabbed the towel beneath his arms and down his sides. Personally, Stone didn’t think Peter needed it. In his eyes, his brother was already one of England’s most talented cellists. “When do you leave? We’ll plan a night on the town to send you off.”
His brother waved a hand in the air. “Not necessary.” Then he grimaced. “I’ll head down next week. The terms have me working under him until just before Christmas. And if he deems me capable, I could be asked to tour with him.”
“Is that something you want?” Stone drew his linen shirt over his head. When his arm got stuck, Peter adjusted the fabric.
“I’d be a fool not to, but I’d be absent from England for close to two years.”
Stone paused and met his brother’s gaze. “Just be certain it’s what you really want.”
“It is,” Peter asserted with more confidence. “Of course, it is.”
Stone finished dressing and then headed outside, enjoying his brother’s company, conscious that he wouldn’t have it much longer. Because, of course, Peter would be asked to tour.
Unless, that was, he realized he wanted something more in his life than his music.
If only Lady Tabetha showed similar doubts as to her aspirations. It would make his life a good deal easier.
Two hours later,Stone handed the reins of Westerley’s curricle over to Creighton, his outrider, who would drive it around back and wait for him in the mews.
Wearing charcoal trousers, a gray jacket over a newly pressed linen shirt, and a white waistcoat, Stone was feeling a tad overdressed for a spring afternoon as he sounded the knocker at Well’s Place. The appointment was a worthy concession on his part, he reasoned, considering he would be effectively preventing Lady Tabetha from meeting with her duke.
“Mr. Spencer,” Mr. Bradley, Westerley’s butler, greeted him and stepped back to allow Stone to enter. “How are you this fine afternoon? Been to Gentleman Jackson’s, I see.”
Stone dabbed his fingers along his jaw, appreciating the familiar pain elicited from the one decent punch Mantis had landed, and grinned. “Indeed, I have. And excellent, Bradley old man. I couldn’t be better. You?”
“Very well, Sir, very well. His Lord and Ladyships are in the drawing room, with quite a few other guests.”
