third cousin. The present Merton.
Miss Margaret Huxtable's brother, in fact.
Now, why should Con care about Margaret Huxtable?
He apparently did, though.
He spoke again after they had stripped down to the waist and were in the ring, circling each other warily and taking preliminary jabs, testing the land, watching for weaknesses, looking for openings. 'I cannot believe, Sherry,' he said, 'that you can be serious in your intention to marry Margaret. Why did you allow that story to spread last evening?' Duncan saw a clear path to his opponent's chin and headed through it with a right jab. But Con neatly deflected the blow and buried one of his own in Duncan's unprotected stomach.
It hurt like the devil, and for a moment Duncan was winded. He would not show it, though. He was a little ashamed at finding himself so out of practice, if the truth were told. He hooked his left arm wide and dealt Con a blow to the side of his head.
Con winced. 'One does not either permit a story to spread or stop it from doing so once it has started,' Duncan said. 'Stories quickly develop a life of their own when there are people to begin them and people to believe them. This particular story did not even start up until after I had left the ball.' They concentrated upon throwing punches at each other for several minutes. It became quickly obvious to Duncan that it was no friendly bout. 'You are saying, then, that the story is untrue?' Con asked somewhat later, when the ferocity of their attack had abated and they were catching their breath before going back at it. 'That I am betrothed to Miss Huxtable?' Duncan said. 'Yes, it is. That she introduced me to a popinjay in a scarlet coat as her betrothed? No, it is not. That I offered her marriage? No, it is not. I was not there to hear the details of the story myself and so am not sure what it is exactly I am being called upon to confirm or deny.' He spotted that same path to Con's chin again – there was a definite weakness in his defenses there – and this time he successfully planted a right upper cut, snapping Con's head back. But, as before, he had left his own defenses weak, and Con buried a fist in his midriff again.
Duncan received it with a woof of expelled air and stepped in closer with both fists flying. Two fists flew back at him with equal ferocity.
They pummeled each other for several more minutes without talking, until they were both sore and breathless and sweating and the strength was going from their arms. Eventually they backed off by unspoken assent, neither of them having succeeded in putting the other down. 'I like you, Sherry,' Con said, reaching for his towel. 'I always did.
It did not bother me that you ran off with Mrs. Turner instead of marrying /Miss/ Turner. A fellow's business is his own, and I assumed that you had your reasons for doing what you did. But this time your business is mine too.' Duncan flexed his knuckles, though not with any intention of renewing their fight. They were looking red and even raw. 'Miss Huxtable is your business?' he asked. 'She is when someone is about to hurt her,' Con said, 'even if only her reputation. She has had a raw deal of a life, Sherry, as women all too often do. She was not quite eighteen when she promised her father on his deathbed that she would make a home for her brother and sisters until they were all grown up and settled in life. That was long before my own father and then Jon died and her brother inherited the title. They were poor. But she kept her promise anyway. Merton reached his majority and the youngest sister married just two years ago. She is free of the obligation, but she is no longer young. She has probably realized that if she does not marry soon she will have the unenviable life of a spinster for the rest of her days, and be rewarded for all she has done for her family by being eternally dependent upon them. I can see that she would be an easy prey to such as you.' He spoke heatedly despite the fact that he was still half out of breath. 'Such as me?' Duncan raised his eyebrows. 'Mrs. Turner is dead,' Con said. 'So is your father, Sherry, and your grandfather is an old man. You have come to town, I presume, in order to choose a bride.' 'And if I have chosen Miss Huxtable,' Duncan said, wrapping his towel about his shoulders and wiping his face with it, 'it must be because I intend to /hurt/ her?' 'Your notoriety itself will hurt her,' Con said. 'Leave her alone, Sherry. Choose someone less vulnerable.' 'But if the story of how she presented me to Frost – or was it Fog or Dew? /Dew/! That was it. If the story has spread, Con, and obviously it has,' Duncan said, 'will I not hurt her quite irreparably by withdrawing my offer now?' Con gazed stormily at him. 'Damn you, Sherry.' He scrubbed at his face and arms and chest with his towel and stalked off to retrieve his clothes. 'Why did you have to choose Margaret of all people? If you marry her and hurt so much as a hair on her head, you will have me to answer to. /This/ was nothing.' He jerked his head back in the direction of the ring. 'This was mere sparring.' 'Are you going to White's by any chance?' Duncan asked. 'If you are, I will walk with you.' But going to White's brought him face-to-face with the Duke of Moreland, who had still been just Viscount Lyngate when Duncan had last frequented town. 'Moreland.' Duncan nodded affably to him and the blond young man who was with him, and would have proceeded on his way to the reading room to look at the morning papers if the duke had not stood quite deliberately in his way. 'Sheringford,' he said, frowning ferociously 'I will have a word with you. My wife, if you did not know it, was the former Mrs. Hedley Dew and before that Miss Vanessa Huxtable. This is the Earl of Merton.' Ah. So Moreland had a connection with both the Dews and the Huxtables, did he? Duncan sighed inwardly. He had not realized that.
Merton inclined his head and looked grim. He was a handsome lad and a slender one, but Duncan's practiced eye registered the fact that it would be a mistake to assume that he was therefore a weakling. That youthful physique looked very well honed indeed, and the face had character. 'Ah, Merton, well met,' Duncan said. 'You are just the man I would have been seeking out later today.' He had not thought of doing so until this very moment actually. It was a while since he had made any formal marriage offer. But though Margaret Huxtable must be several years older than this brother she had brought up almost single-handed, it was surely the decent thing to do to meet formally with him to discuss marriage settlements and all the other business surrounding an impending marriage offer. 'Later today is a little /too/ late, is it not,' Merton asked him curtly, 'when the question has already been asked and answered and word spread among half the /ton/? And announced in the morning paper?' 'Announced in the paper?' Duncan asked in astonishment. 'More or less,' Merton said. 'On the gossip page, anyway.' Extraordinary. And it /must/ have been the military officer with the weak chin. No one else could have seen him and Miss Huxtable talking with each other and thought of spreading the rumor that they were /betrothed/. Duncan would not mind having a word or two with Major Dew.
How was Miss Huxtable holding up this morning? he wondered. Were circumstances playing into his hands and almost forcing her into accepting him? If the /ton/ believed that she was betrothed to him – and clearly it did, or /would/ once it had read the papers this morning – she would cause herself some embarrassment if she cried off. On the other hand, marrying him was going to bring her scandal. He was not the /ton/'s favorite son.
Miss Margaret Huxtable, it seemed, had trapped herself somewhere between the devil and the deep blue sea. 'I would have said no a thousand times over,' Merton said while Moreland loomed, silent and menacing, 'if you had done all this properly and spoken with me privately first. I would /still/ say no if the answer were mine to give. Unfortunately, Meg is not subject to my will. She is her own person and can answer for herself. I do not like you, Sheringford.' Duncan raised his eyebrows. 'As far as I remember,' he said, 'we met for the first time a few moments ago, Merton. You form impressions with great haste.' 'I do not like men,' Merton said, 'who abandon their brides to private heartache and public scorn and run off with lawfully married ladies instead. I do not like such men at all especially when they are contemplating marriage to one of my sisters. And I do not need any prolonged acquaintance to form such an opinion.' Duncan inclined his head. 'We are beginning to attract attention,' Moreland said.
The hall was large enough and wide enough that they were in no danger of blocking the progress of other gentlemen as they arrived or left. But heads were indeed turning their way – and no wonder if the Tindell ballroom had been as abuzz with gossip as Duncan imagined it must have been – and if the gossip writer had made as juicy a morsel of the story as gossip writers usually did. And now here was he, the notorious Lord Sheringford, in company with Miss Huxtable's brother and brother-in-law, all of them looking as solemn as if they were attending a funeral. Yes, of course they were attracting attention. 'I promised Miss Huxtable last evening,' Duncan said, 'that I would call upon her at Merton House this afternoon. If I may, Merton, I will speak with you there first.' Merton nodded stiffly, and Duncan bowed to the two gentlemen and went on his way.
He would have left White's without having gone farther than the reception hall, but sheer pride prevented him from crawling away now.
Besides, he wanted to read what had been written about him in the papers. He proceeded upstairs, where he was greeted by a number of gentlemen. Indeed some of the greetings were jovial and even raucous and
