“Give me all of your money,” the man ordered.
Oliver sighed. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, debating whether to retrieve his muff pistol from his right boot.
The man gave him a questioning look. “Why have you not emptied your pockets?”
“Here is the thing,” Oliver started, “I am not going to give you any of my money.”
“Then I will kill you.” The man took a commanding step towards him and brought up his dagger.
Methodically, Oliver removed his jacket and laid it on the ground. “I could have already killed you where you stand, but I find I am curious about something.”
“Which is?” the man asked as he glanced down at the jacket on the pavement.
“How good of a fighter are you?” Oliver asked, bringing his fists up.
The man’s eyes flickered in surprise. “It is a shame that I will have to kill you.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, because I don’t want to kill you,” he explained. “I am just attempting to rob you.”
“We shall see,” Oliver said.
In the next moment, the man lunged at him with his dagger, but Oliver easily stepped to the side. He grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted it, causing the dagger to drop to the pavement.
“What are you going to do now that you don’t have a dagger?” Oliver taunted.
Rearing back his fist, the man punched him in the jaw. Oliver staggered back and brought his hand up to his face. He smiled as he spat out some blood onto the pavement.
“That was a lucky shot,” Oliver admitted.
He ran forward and plowed his right shoulder into the man’s stomach, then stepped back and jabbed him in the nose. The man fell to the ground and stared up at him in amazement.
“Who are you?” the man asked as he kept his hand on his bloody nose.
Oliver extended his hand towards the man. “That is not important.”
The man accepted his assistance and rose. “I’m sorry I attempted to rob you of your coins,” he said as he moved to retrieve his dagger.
“Don’t be,” Oliver said. “I haven’t had a good fight in a while.”
“I’m happy to be of assistance then,” the man remarked as he wiped blood onto the sleeve of his once-white shirt.
Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, Oliver removed a few coins and extended them towards the man. “I have no doubt that you need these more than I.”
The man clutched them in his hand. “Thank you, sir.”
Oliver retrieved his jacket and shrugged it back on. “You may want to sharpen your dagger,” he advised. “It appears rather dull.”
Looking down at the dagger, the man shrugged. “It does its job.”
“Good evening,” Oliver said as he turned to leave.
Some might consider him foolish to turn his back on a man that he had just fought with, but he knew the man was not a threat to him. Not anymore.
As he walked along the pavement, Oliver clenched and unclenched his right fist. It was sore from hitting the man in the face, but it felt good to hit someone. It had been far too long since he had engaged in a bout of fisticuffs.
“Would you care for an overcoat pistol this evening, milord?” his silver-haired valet asked as he brushed down his black jacket with a clothing brush.
“Not tonight,” Oliver replied.
Jarvis grinned. “It might keep the matchmakers away from you this evening at the ball,” he joked.
Oliver chuckled. “You do make a valid point.”
Taking a step back, Jarvis perused the length of him, then asked, “Will there be anything else?”
“No,” Oliver replied as he adjusted his gold cuff links. “It is best that I get this over with.”
“You don’t seem pleased.”
“Don’t I?”
“I must wonder why you attend these social events if you detest them so,” Jarvis said with a shake of his head.
“Sometimes I wonder the same thing,” Oliver admitted, “but we must put our duty ahead of our own wants.”
“Your father used to say that.”
“That he did,” Oliver said as he walked to the door, “and it still resonates with me.”
“Your father was a good man,” Jarvis declared.
Oliver bobbed his head in agreement. “That he was.”
After Oliver departed from his room, he walked down the long hall and descended the stairs. He saw the heavy-set butler standing in the marbled entry hall. His blond hair was brushed to the side, and the lines around his eyes crinkled when he saw Oliver.
“Good evening, Pratt,” Oliver greeted. “How are you?”
Pratt gave him a knowing smile. “I am well, but I must assume that you are dreading the ball this evening.”
“You know me well, my good man,” Oliver said as he came to stand next to him. “Are my mother and Lady Jane ready?”
Pratt shook his head. “They have not come down yet, but your brother is in his study.”
“Then I shall go speak to him.”
Oliver walked across the entry hall and headed towards the rear of the townhouse where his brother’s study was situated.
The door was open, and he stepped in to find his brother reviewing ledgers at his desk.
“Good evening,” Oliver greeted.
Baldwin glanced up at him as he closed the ledger. “Good evening,” he muttered. “I can’t imagine you want to go to this blasted ball any more than I do.”
“You are married now,” Oliver reminded him. “You must attend these social events to keep Madalene happy.”
At the mention of his wife’s name, Baldwin’s face softened. “It is true. I would do anything to bring a smile to Madalene’s face.”
“You have been married for a month now,” Oliver commented. “Any regrets?”
“None.”
Oliver walked over to the drink cart and picked up the decanter. “You sound like a fool blinded by love.”
“One day, you will understand,” Baldwin said, leaning back in his chair.
“As I have stated previously, I have no desire to wed.” Oliver removed the stopper and poured himself a drink. “A wife brings a whole host of problems.”
“Madalene brought joy back into my life,” Baldwin shared. “She is the reason I wake up with a smile on my face every morning.”
Oliver took a sip of
