protect our honour.’
‘My wife needs no controlling.’
‘In my opinion...’ his father began to speak, brandishing his cane.
‘No one has asked for it, you lick-fingered old fool.’ Stephen reached out and snatched the stick from the old man’s hand.
There was a moment of absolute silence. And then his father staggered from the loss of the stick. ‘How dare you.’
Stephen sneered back at him. ‘Do not think to feign weakness where none bloody well exists.’
‘I have the gout,’ his father shouted back at him.
‘Damn your gouty leg to hell and back. You can stand well enough when you are using this to strike people and break things, you miserable bugger.’
The older man watched the stick in his hands as though waiting for the blow that had been years in the making. When it did not come, he smiled again, still thinking he could regain control of the situation. ‘I am strong enough to deal with that fishwife you married. And you. You are a full-grown man and still quail before me.’
‘Do not confuse silence with fear,’ Stephen said.
For a moment, Larchmont himself was silent, as if he had finally recognised the threat right in front of him. Then he said, ‘What I did was necessary, for the good of the family—’
‘Not my family,’ Stephen interrupted.
‘Something had to be done,’ Larchmont argued. ‘The future Duchess of Larchmont cannot be allowed to associate with half the people that come into that place, much less wait upon them like a menial.’
‘The only one she cannot associate with is you,’ Stephen said, looking at the stick in his hands.
Larchmont watched it as well and smiled. ‘Since you do not have the nerve to strike me, I fail to see how you will stop me.’
Stephen twirled the stick in his hand. ‘I will damned well tell Bellston that you are as mad as King George. When he hears that you threatened a member of his family...’
‘A distant link, at best,’ Larchmont argued.
‘He is closer to her than to you,’ Stephen replied.
‘We sit together in Parliament.’
‘Because he is forced to,’ Stephen said. ‘There is not a man in England who would sit with you by choice, you miserable cod.’
Larchmont scoffed. ‘I do not need friends.’
‘It is better to have them than enemies,’ Stephen said. ‘And you have one of those, right here in the damned room.’
‘You are not allowed to say such things. You are my son.’
‘D-D-Did I not speak clearly, you old tyrant?’ For once, Stephen enjoyed his stutter. ‘I am your enemy. What in bloody hell did you think I would become when you raised a hand against the woman I love?’
‘Her useless shop, only,’ his father corrected. And for the first time in his life, Stephen felt the man give ground in an argument.
‘Her shop is as much a part of her as her head or her heart. Threaten it again and I will walk the streets of Bath in a coronet, selling snuff boxes.’
‘It is a blot on the family.’
‘Not as sodding big as the mess I will make, if you annoy me,’ Stephen said, smiling his father’s smile back at him. ‘I will introduce Margot to the Regent. Have you seen her? One look, and he won’t give a tinker’s curse who her father was. She will tell the story of your irrational violence...’ Stephen smiled, imagining the scene. ‘Prinny’s had experience with difficult fathers. He’ll bleeding sympathise.’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Should I go to the tattle sheets instead?’ The thought made him grin. He spread his hands in the air to picture the words, ‘Mad Larchmont runs amuck in Bath!’
‘I am not mad!’
‘You cannot prove it by your behaviour, you bum-legged Bedlamite.’
‘If you try such a thing, I will...I will...’ Without even realising it, Larchmont was searching for the cane Stephen still held.
He held it out towards his father, giving him the barest moment of hope before snatching it back and snapping it over his knee. Then he tossed the pieces in the fireplace. ‘Now what will you do? I think you are too old to hit me with your bare hands. But if you wish to try, I will defend myself.’ The words were sweet, like honey, and he had no trouble speaking them.
‘You would strike an old man?’ Suddenly his father was doing his best to look feeble.
‘If the only way to get through your thick skull is to crack it,’ Stephen said. What he felt was not exactly pity. But it was different from the anger he’d felt so long when thinking of Larchmont. ‘Or I will humiliate you, just as you always said I would. You fear for the family reputation? I will happily destroy it, if you force me to.’
‘You have done that already, by marrying that...that woman with her infernal shop.’
‘If that is all it takes to ruin us, then I fault you for creating such a fragile honour.’
Perhaps he did not have to strike the man. Showing him his faults had caused an expression as shocked as a slap.
It was enough. For now, at least. He bowed. ‘And now, your Grace, I must go. Back to Milsom Street. I suspect they still need help with the cleaning up.’
‘Must we be here?’ Margot stared out over the crowd in the assembly room, who all seemed to be enjoying the last ball of the season more than she was.
Stephen shook his head, smiling. ‘What sort of woman are you, to turn up your nose at balls and dancing? It is positively unfeminine. Next you will be telling me you do not like jewellery.’
‘You know I will not. I am simply tired. I swear, I have worked harder in the last month than I have all year.’
‘Because, as always, you take too much on yourself,’ her husband scolded. ‘You must trust Mr Suggins to do more. And you may always ask me for help. I will put on an apron and work for you.’
She smiled, remembering Stephen’s ineffectual attempts at sweeping the floor on the day that the shop had been destroyed. Until that day, she had not thought a broom a particularly complicated tool. But it was clear that he had never used one in his life. Or perhaps he had only been trying to make her laugh. She kissed him on the cheek. ‘It is enough that you paid for the new glass and the curtains.’
‘And the painters and woodworkers,’ he reminded her.
She shrugged. ‘Since so much work needed to be
