"But it's the ladies we have to impress with Miss Carville's respectability."
They looked around the crowded, flower-bedecked ballroom, the young women like so many more blossoms in their frilly pastels. They were all fluttering lashes and fans, while their mothers gossiped, relating to each other every bachelor's interests and income. A great many-too many for Rex's comfort-calculating glances were directed at the cousins.
"Oh Lord," he said, "we'd do better back at the front. The French have a whole army to aim at. We're standing targets here."
"It's your red coat and all that gold braid."
"It's your great size. No one can miss you."
Without further consultation, they retreated to the refreshments room.
"Lobster patties, my favorite." Daniel forgot about the matrimonial-minded mamas and took half the platter onto his plate, itch also forgotten. Rex was too on edge to eat, but poured himself a glass of punch, which turned out to be sweet and insipid. They stood to the side, watching the crowds, noticing everyone noticing them.
A few older women, not wearing the white and pastels of the debutantes, smiled in their direction. The females did not have to say a word to make their intentions, and invitations, as clear as day. A few gentlemen came by on their way to the food table and nodded, more out of respect for Rex's uniform, he thought, than for the cousins. They frowned at Daniel's plate on their way back, sans lobster patties. One man asked after Rex's father, after looking over his shoulder to make sure no one heard him. He scurried away as quickly as he could, without the glass of punch he'd supposedly come for.
"We'd do better at cards," Rex decided out loud. "No one will speak to us here."
Daniel was off refilling his plate and did not answer, but someone else did.
"Can you blame them for not speaking? I am astounded you had the gall to show your face at a respectable gathering."
Rex looked over, to find himself the subject of a sneering scrutiny, through Sir Nigel Turlowe's quizzing glass. Sir Nigel was the knighted barrister who had ruined his father's career, who had rushed Miss Carville into jail, who appeared to have a grudge against the entire Royce family. He was a man of middle years, with his brown hair parted in the middle to make it look fuller. He had thin lips, too, a sharp, pointed nose and pale eyebrows and lashes. He reminded Rex of a lizard.
Rex did not bow. He curled his lip in return and said, "I myself am surprised at the indiscriminate quality of Lady Arbuthnot's guests."
Sir Nigel's watery eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared. Rex expected a forked tongue to come out of his lips. Instead the man said, "I do not appreciate your interference in my court case. Miss Carville's guilt is a foregone conclusion and an easy conviction. Stay away from it."
"I do not see the case that way." Rex saw the man's own yellow belief in his words, with a tinge of orange doubt, likely because of Rex's involvement. So Sir Nigel believed Rex's actions could change the outcome, which was encouraging.
Sir Nigel sneered again. "I do not care what you think, or what outlandish notions you have. Sympathy, chivalry toward Lady Royce's connection, or your deviltry, nothing affects the facts. The woman is guilty and belongs in jail. If she does not appear for trial then it is on your head and on your honor, what there is left of it."
Rex put his hand down, to where his sword would have been. Then he raised his other hand, the one with the cup in it, ready to throw punch in the dastard's face along with his challenge. No man who considered himself a gentleman could accept such an insult. "Name your sec-Agh."
Daniel's elbow had landed in Rex's ribs. The punch sloshed over onto Rex's hand. Sir Nigel snickered.
"Don't do it," cousin Daniel whispered, cutting his eyes toward the gathering crowd. "He's wanting you to make a fool of yourself, can't you see? Besides, it won't help Miss Carville's cause to be defended by a hothead. And if you kill him, you'll have to leave the country. Then what will she do?"
Rex raised his eyebrow as if to comment on Daniel's sudden wisdom, which he accepted, given the moment to think. He dabbed at his hand with a handkerchief, then turned his head toward the barrister knight. "Perhaps you might wish to discuss my honor at Jackson's Boxing Parlor. You'll appreciate the odds, I am sure, fighting a cripple. No? Then Antoine's Fencing Academy? Manton's Shooting Gallery?"
"Everyone knows you are a crack shot."
"And now everyone knows that your mouth is bigger than your manhood." Rex spotted Lady Arbuthnot hurrying over, attracted by the circle around the two men. "That is," he added for the lady's sake, "your manners. It cannot be quite convenable, can it, insulting a fellow guest in our charming hostess's home?" He bowed to that lady. "Especially since she was kind enough to accept myself and my cousin instead of Lady Royce, her original invitee. My dear Lady Arbuthnot, please accept my apologies." He bent over her hand, but kissed the inside of her wrist, above her glove, instead of the air above her fingers as was customary. Then he winked at her.
"Dear boy. Of course I accept your apology." She turned to Sir Nigel expectantly.
The knight pursed his thin lips. "I have done nothing for which I need apologize."
Rex pointedly refused to look at the reptile, or address him. "No, my lady, he merely throws insults rather than punches. Luckily for him dueling is illegal."
"Since when does the law matter to you?" Sir Nigel sneered again, turning to the crowd for their approval.
The gentleman who had asked after Lord Royce shook his head and said, "But it should stop you, sir, an officer of the court."
An older man laughed out loud. "Seems more than Sir Nigel's position keeps him from answering a challenge, eh?"
Sir Nigel turned apoplectic, with high color and heavy breathing. Rex wondered if he would save them all the cost of a bullet. Regrettably, Sir Nigel recovered enough to turn on the older gent. "I am no brute, proving my worth with my fists. Or bullying my way through life as if a title and wealth gave me the right." He pointed back toward Rex and spit out, "Hear this, Rexford. That murderess's parole is on your head. I will see you behind bars if she gets away-see if I don't. And I'll have that Dimm-wit Runner's job, too. The old fool should have retired years ago."
"Instead of catching scores of felons to make London safer for all of us? Perhaps you ought to inquire at the magistrate's office how many crimes he has solved this week alone, how many true miscreants he has seen sentenced, with facts and confessions to prove his cases, not smoke and mirrors and personal vendettas."
Sir Nigel ignored the interruption. "And that shady character connected to Whitehall who pulled strings for you. I'll see him brought down, too. Why should anyone trust a fellow who always stands in darkness?"
"Strange, I would trust him with my life, and have. As has General Wellesley, along with the lives of half the army. Any foul attempt to discredit the Aide might very well sacrifice our own soldiers."
Sir Nigel waved his fist in the air. "Justice, I say! Justice will be done."
"Justice? Is it justice to abuse a gently bred young lady of two and twenty years by tossing her to ignorant guards and common thieves without a conviction? She could have been placed under house arrest, or remanded to a family friend."
"Everyone knows she is guilty."
"Now you are judge as well as jury? I thought the lowest cutpurse or pickpocket got a fair trial."
The onlookers were shaking their heads in disapproval.
Like the experienced barrister he was, Sir Nigel sensed he had lost the goodwill of the listeners. "Bah!"
"Bah, indeed, traducing the justice system you say you hold dear. But let us ask our charming hostess."
Lady Arbuthnot was looking anxious, with her ball turning into a political debate, if not a duel.
Rex asked her how old her lovely daughter was.