“I had rather see you safe in France.”
“I won’t go.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, do you turn stubborn?”
“As a mule. We go down to Richmond with my lady tomorrow, and the Markham may think that I’ve gone into retirement on account of my mauling. He should be satisfied. I await the old gentleman, for I’ve a curiosity to see what his game is.” She got up, and stretched her long limbs, wincing at the pain of her bruised shoulder. “Get you to bed, Robin.” She went out, yawning.
They were gone on the morrow down to my lady’s house at Richmond. My lady was loud in her exclamations of horror at what had befallen Prudence, but Prudence could chuckle now that all was over, the while Robin sat in frowning silence. His petticoats began to irk him.
Mr Markham heard of the affair at White’s, from the lips of Mr Belfort. He professed himself all concern, but his friend Lord Barham, drawing him aside, said with a snigger: “So that’s a score settled, eh, my buck?”
“It’s not,” said Mr Markham curtly, and scowled.
“Gad, I’d give something to know what you have against the young sprig!” said his Lordship. “It’s a conceited puppy, ecod! I’ve a mind to give it a trouncing myself.”
Mr Markham saw Sir Anthony Fanshawe, idly twirling his quizzing-glass, and rather testily requested his noble friend to guard his tongue. Sir Anthony continued blandly to survey the pair. Mr Markham strode off, rather red about the gills.
Sir Anthony turned to Mr Belfort, standing in a circle of his acquaintances. “Well, Charles, have you been fighting with the devil’s emissaries?” he said genially. “What’s this I hear of Mohocks?”