Race was the first to answer. “I wouldn’t think so. He certainly never made an indication he wanted to marry anyone. You both know that he’s always maintained that the only woman he has ever loved or wanted to marry was our grandmother.”
“I agree,” Blake said. “What exactly did he have to say for himself?”
Race sighed. “He didn’t say anything other than he had been on the portico with Prattle’s sister.”
“I bet Prattle loved hearing that.”
“You can’t even imagine the rage the man was in,” Race said. “I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head and his buttons burst off his waistcoat. If two bystanders hadn’t grabbed Prattle and held him back, he would have attacked Gibby right then and there.”
“All right, one thing he can do is marry the woman,” Blake offered, “but we all agree he probably doesn’t want to do that, especially if he didn’t compromise her.”
All three men nodded.
“He can go through with the fight, and we can hope he won’t get hurt,” Morgan offered.
“No,” Race and Blake said in unison.
“We have to do something,” Morgan reasoned. “I don’t want to see Gibby boxing a man either, even if they are close to the same age, but bare-knuckle fighting probably wouldn’t kill him the way a sword or pistol could if Prattle decided to do something stupid.”
“I agree, but that seems as distasteful as getting caught in parson’s mousetrap,” Blake said.
“We all know that Miss Prattle could have made this whole thing up in hopes Gibby would be forced to marry her.”
Race nodded. “That’s very possible.”
“All right, I suggest we offer them a reasonable sum of money,” Morgan said. “The brother and his sister. It’s the quickest, safest, and easiest way to settle the matter.”
“I agree,” Race said. “None of us believe Gibby would have intentionally compromised the woman, but if for some reason she felt he crossed the line while he was on the portico with her, then she will at least be compensated for whatever injury she feels he caused.”
“It’s a good idea only if Gibby, Prattle, and his sister go for it,” Blake injected. “Do either of you know the man well enough to approach him?”
Morgan and Race shook their heads.
“I thought as much,” Blake said. “The plan sounds good to me. And, Race, I believe it’s your turn to take care of Gib.”
“Oh no, not me,” Race complained.
“Yes, you. I just finished getting him out of that ridiculous balloon venture he was tangled up in a few weeks ago, and Morgan recently got his money back for him from that blasted time machine invention he was so crazy about a few months ago.”
Race had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Somehow he had known they would leave it up to him to handle this.
“All right, I’ll see if I can get Gibby to agree to us talking to Prattle.”
“If he agrees, and they take the offer, we need say no more about this,” Blake offered.
“There might be a few disgruntled people who wanted to see a fight, but soon a new scandal will come along and everyone will forget about this one.”
Morgan finished off his drink. “There are always new scandals on the horizon.”
“Now tell me more about the duchess,” Blake said.
Race tensed. He didn’t want to talk about her. He wanted to keep her all to himself. He couldn’t ever remember feeling that way about any other woman. He didn’t know why she was different; he knew only that she was and he didn’t want to discuss Susannah with them.
“It’s a fascinating story,” Morgan began when Race didn’t speak up immediately. He rose and walked over to the sideboard. “She arrived unannounced at Race’s card party, which you missed by the way.”
“Sorry about missing that, Race. We had good intentions of coming. It would have been Henrietta’s first card party, but we, ah—she—I mean…”
“You’re forgiven,” Race said with a laugh, getting Blake out of the corner into which he’d backed himself.
