in each one, he and his opponent deloped. I’ve heard the stories too, Fred. It isn’t the same at all.”
Fred glowered. “What do you know of affairs of honor? You’re a woman.”
Maggie answered him in a voice of perilous calm. “And women don’t have honor?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth, Margaret. Naturally a woman has honor. But a woman’s honor is as different from that of a gentleman’s as the sun is to the moon. You can’t begin to compare them.”
“On that I agree. You and I have exceedingly different notions of honor.”
In the past, her words would have prompted an out-and-out row with Fred. But this time he didn’t take the bait. Instead, with a visible effort, he regained his composure. He resumed sipping his tea, a mulish set to his jaw. “As I said before, this isn’t at all a suitable subject for us to be discussing.”
“No doubt,” Maggie replied. “But we must talk about it, and we shall talk about. For if you’re killed in the morning, what will happen to Beasley Park? What will happen to me?”
Fred’s large fingers tightened reflexively on the handle of his teacup. “Having not spent a great deal of time contemplating my own death, I can’t say with any certainty. I’d have to review your father’s will. And as it’s at the solicitor’s, and I won’t be at liberty to go into his office until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, it’s rather a moot point, don’t you think?”
Maggie stared at him blankly. “What do you imagine happens, then? My money and property won’t simply go up into a puff of smoke, will they? Who is to be in control of my inheritance if you’re unable? Did Papa name someone?”
“No. I don’t believe he did.”
“Then…?”
“I expect if, for any reason I wasn’t able to fulfill my duties, the office would go to your distant uncle. That elderly fellow in Yorkshire. I can’t recall his name.”
“Mr. Arkham?” she said in tones of disbelief.
“Yes. That’s the chap.”
“Good lord, he isn’t even a blood relation! He was married to some distant aunt, or half-sister of somebody or other, so far removed that Papa didn’t even recognize them in our family Bible!”
Fred returned his teacup to the tea tray. He leaned forward in his seat. “Your cheeks are flushed. Shall I ring for Bessie?”
“No!”
Ignoring her protest, he rose and went to the bell pull by the fireplace. After giving it a sharp tug, he came to stand beside her chair.
Maggie fairly trembled with suppressed rage. The bloody nerve of Fred. Using her ill health as a means to win an argument. “I don’t need Bessie,” she said stiffly. “I am not unwell. I’m merely angry that you—”
“Enough of this now. I shouldn’t have indulged you so. There’s reason such topics are kept from women. I’ve told you there’s no need for you to worry. That should be more than sufficient. I wouldn’t have given permission for you come to London if—” He broke off his lecture as the doors to the drawing room opened and Jane entered. His eyes narrowed. “Miss Trumble.”
“Mr. Burton-Smythe.” Jane crossed the room to Maggie, seeming to register her overwrought state in one comprehensive glance.
Fred moved to intercept her. “A word, if you please. I am informed that—”
“Yes, yes, I daresay.” Jane brushed past him to the tea tray. She swiftly poured out a cup, stirring in a generous helping of sugar. “Here you are, dear.” She handed it to Maggie. “A few sips of this.”
“I’m fine, Jane. Truly.”
“Drink,” Jane commanded. At that, she turned on Fred, drawing herself up to her full, and not inconsiderable, height. “This is my house, and Miss Honeywell is my guest. I’ll not allow you to browbeat her into a faint or a fever. You know she’s not been well since—”
“I’m perfectly aware,” Fred said through gritted teeth. “I can only wonder that you, being so solicitous of Miss Honeywell’s health, should have thought it a wise idea to burden her with a lot of baseless town gossip.”
“It is not baseless!” Jane snapped back. “Everyone knows you challenged Lord St. Clare. And as Miss Honeywell’s closest friend, I consider it my duty to give her fair warning when the man who controls her fortune is embarking on a course of action that will end with him getting his head blown off his shoulders.”
Fred gave Jane a look of withering scorn before turning his attention back to Maggie. “Put it out of your head, Margaret. And from