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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 carefor 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.”
