“To stand there and openly discuss a woman so anyone can overhear is beyond contempt,” Toby snapped. The words had the immediate effect of quieting every other noise around them. All eyes turned to him.
“L-Lord Corbyn!” The color drained out of the face of one of the men. “I was just—”
“You were speaking about Lady Liberty, weren’t you?” No one answered him. “Weren’t you?” Toby thundered.
“Problem?” Jamie appeared.
“I-we did not mean—”
“I heard every word,” Toby growled advancing.
Anthony stepped into his path.
“Were I you, Lockwood, I would run, because that particular look in my friend’s eyes does not bode well for anyone.”
“I am not finished,” Toby snapped trying to step around Anthony, but as Jamie was suddenly there he couldn’t. “Move.”
“We meant no insult to Lady Liberty,” Lockwood called.
“Every word you spoke was an insult!” Toby roared as the three men fled. “Look in the mirror! None of you are a catch any woman would willingly want!”
“Stuff him into his jacket, and let’s go,” Anthony said.
Minutes later, Toby found himself on the street, rage still gripping his body. He searched for the three men who had insulted Liberty andcouldn’t find them.
“I wanted to punch them,” he muttered.
“They are silly young men, but harmless,” Anthony said.
“They were rude and insulting, and not just to Liberty. It is uncalled for.”
“As we have been before,” Jamie said.
“We were never insulting,” Toby gritted out. “Women have it hard enough. They should not be subjected to such behavior.”
He felt his friends’ eyes on him, and looked the other way.
“So, I think we can cross two names off that list,” Anthony said. “She will be excellent with Florence as will her younger brother.”
“What are you talking about?” he snapped.
Anthony looked at him with a raised brow.
“I will not be marrying her,” Toby said, but the words held little strength, and he told himself that was because he’d just had a rigorous fencing match, even if it was a lie.
Chapter Twenty
“Miss Battlemore, thisis my daughter Lady Liberty.”
She was reading in her room… well, actually Liberty was once again thinking about the perfidious Lord Corbyn and wishing she wasn’t, when the door was thrown open. In walked her mother and a woman she’d heard about but never met. Short, round, and with an expression that would curdle custard. Miss Battlemore wore a beautiful peacock-blue dress, and she styled her blonde hair perfectly atop her head.
“She needs an entirely new wardrobe,” her mother added.
“I don’t need an entirely new wardrobe,” Liberty protested, rising. Her peace was over, it seemed.
“It is time,” Miss Battlemore said.
Seeing as they’d never met, and she’d not seen any of the clothes Liberty wore, she wasn’t sure how the woman had come to that conclusion.
