Lot followed the dowager and Richard towards the door.
“You’ll hear from me, cousin,” he said.
“I am at your service, sir,” quoth Richard.
Lot, his red face still aflame, turned back to meet his father. The baronet was taking snuff with great asperity. He glared at his son, and spoke to him in an angry whisper.
“What devil’s mess have you been brewing here, sir?”
Mr. Lancelot’s blue eyes flashed.
“Dick Wilson, the painter fellow, was here,” he said.
“Dick Wilson!”
“That old beldam brought him with her from Rodenham. Jill fainted when she saw the fellow. Damme, sir, I will have it out with Cousin Richard. I can’t fight the old she-dog or the oilman, but I can fight Richard.”
Sir Peter whistled softly, puffing out his fat, red cheeks.