Page 81 of How to Wed a Courtesan

Lord Huffsby cleared his throat. ‘Is it true that you have soiled the sanctity of marriage and your own good name?’

It was Evander’s turn to narrow his eyes as his stomach clenched with suspicion. ‘I cannot say I know what you mean,’ he said slowly. ‘Perhaps you ought to be blunt in what you ask to ensure nothing can be misconstrued.’

Lord Huffsby’s jowls quivered. ‘Have you married a whore, Lord Westix?’

Evander was in front of the shorter man in only two short strides, one hand reaching out to grasp his lapel and his other cocked back as the leather folder of papers plopped unceremoniously to the ground.

‘I beg your pardon?’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll ask you to repeat yourself while reminding you to be respectful.’

‘That woman earns no respect from any man here,’ Lord Huffsby spat. ‘And nor does any man who would deign to marry her.’ He curled his lips around those last words, his disgust clear.

‘“That woman”, as you so crassly refer to her, is more worthy of her new title than any of you who were born to yours,’ Evander said. ‘I believe it would be best for this partnership to come to an end.’

‘That is precisely what we meant to tell you, once you’d confirmed you’d tied yourself to that lightskirt.’ Lord Huffsby gave an arrogant sniff.

Without bothering to think of the consequences, or caring for anything other than Lottie’s defence, Evander released his cocked fist and let it slam into Lord Huffsby’s piggish face.

The man reeled back, his arms spinning wildly for control, before falling to the floor and rolling back like a flailing tortoise in its shell.

Immediately several arms gripped Evander, pulling him back and away. Someone shoved his leather folder into his hands—a wealthy merchant named Mr Weatherby, who blinked at Evander with owlish eyes behind his round spectacles.

‘Please just go, Lord Westix. Your staying here will do no good.’

Evander jerked his folder into the crook of his arm and regarded the men he had once referred to as his associates. Many of whom he had called friend. Their regard was cold and unwelcome.

‘I see,’ Evander said, with as much pride as he could muster. ‘If you run out of funds do not seek my aid, for I will not be there to offer any.’

With that, he turned from the room and departed, with the blades of a thousand stares stabbing into his back.

He climbed into his carriage moments later, his heart thumping with rage and horror. While he had understood there would be retaliation against his union with Lottie, he had not been prepared for it to be so swift or so harsh.

Not that it mattered—truly. Evander had funds enough. He would ensure he received what was owed from the hefty sum he had invested in the silver mine venture. And there would be other ways to gain profit, with partners who didn’t care what Lottie’s past was.

Shipping would be an ideal place to start...

Yes, shipping would be a lucrative alternative. After all, he’d had his own experience of sailing foreign seas, not to mention his own ships. And there would be more friends to be had. Ones who were true.

When he returned home, he found his mother sitting in the library by the fire, with her head bent over a book of poetry.

‘Mother, I thought you had plans to call upon Lady Stetton. Is she ill?’

‘She is a woman of poor judgement.’ The Dowager turned the page and focused her attention on her book.

‘I beg your pardon?’ He approached her and took the seat opposite her.

The Dowager Countess sighed and lifted her head from the book. ‘Lady Stetton is an ignorant woman whose judgments are loftier than I realised.’

Evander’s heart squeezed into his stomach. ‘What do you mean?’

His mother cocked her head at an arrogant angle, appearing every bit the austere Dowager Countess she was. ‘Lady Stetton has refused to see me and has cast aside years of friendship on the basis of prejudice.’

Evander exhaled a pained breath. ‘Because of Lottie.’

His mother narrowed her green eyes. ‘Had I known Lady Stetton to be such a viper, I would have broken our association years ago.’

‘Mother—’

She shook her head. ‘Seeing you happy after all these years matters more to me than a false friend.’ She reached for him and squeezed his hand.