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There was no obvious indication, but the gambler in Edward thought he caught a suggestion of the nonplussed in Hedge’s face. “I have a passing familiarity with the circumstances, my Lord.” 

Of course he did. He clearly knew every bloody thing about the entire Valance family. He probably had it written down in leather bound annals somewhere.

“Well, something you perhaps do notknow is that every time the pater and I quarrelled, about politics, money, or - to speak frankly with you, Hedge - my somewhat debauched youth, the late Sir Charles would cut off my allowance and tell me I was his son no longer. By shuffling the apostles, I would be able to keep myself afloat for a handful of months, and, when both our tempers had cooled, I would beg forgiveness. Thereupon, we would reconcile, he would pay my arrears, and all would be well. I speak bluntly, Hedge, because I need you to understand how my household has managed itself for the past few years.”

“I respect the confidence you place in me, my Lord.”

Edward nodded, and cursed the blighter for a pompous ass. “Then, of course, the old man cashed his chips,” whoops. “Forgive the vulgarism, Hedge, I know I should speak with more respect. However, it transpired that his threats had been far from idle and that, at some point or another, he had changed his Will in my brother’s favour. From what his solicitor felt able to tell me at the funeral, I doubt he intended to cut me off as entirely as transpired, having altered his Will in that particular several times. He had expected to live another decade at least, and no doubt assumed that if mortality were to overtake him, it would be the result of a lingering illness, giving him every to embrace the prodigal once again.” 

He drew a breath, as though he were suffering from an excess of emotion, manfully contained. In truth, he was enjoying himself immensely. He just hoped Peaches was eavesdropping on the melodrama. 

“The loss of my inheritance injures me far less than the angry terms upon which he and I parted. That those unfilial emotions remain between us is...” He dismissed the thoughts with the wave of his hand. “If I could only tell him so. My brother Charles, of course, cannot help me. As the legitimate heir, he is bound to honour our father’s last wishes.”

Hedge bowed, as though he did not quite see the point of all this.

“However, that filial devotion has left me penniless, and at the mercy of my creditors. I believe you encountered some of those, Hedge, when you called yesterday.” It was important, at this stage, to maintain a stiff-spined dignity, to speak of it with a disinterestedness that would communicate noble spirit. 

Edward pretended that he could not smell, or see the blood soaked into his coat, that he did not feel the smarting of the cut upon his ear or any of the attendant bruises. 

“You were indeed misled as to the seriousness of my privations. I believe even now, you do not have the measure of them. Far worse than the loss of honour, the loss of comfort and reputation, was the loss of fitting company. Those upon whom I had counted as friends closed their doors to me. Almost all the appropriate companions of a young gentleman’s life were content to turn their backs upon me in my need.” 

Good God, you are not actually Dickie Thornton, Edward told himself, stop lecturing.

“A sad testament to the inconstant nature of so many, my Lord,” said Hedge.

Got him. 

“True. And yet, not all, Hedge. Not all. Throughout every suffering, every pang of want, one man remained at my side. There was one soul in London upon whom I could rely, one bastion of kindness, of decency, who kept me a step above the gutter, and - to speak without reserve, Hedge - one friend who kept me from the very depths of despair.”

Hedge was fool enough to give half a nod.

“And yet you tell me this man is not ‘fitting’ for Forthenby? You would advise me that, in sudden good fortune, I should abandon to fate the sole support I have had in the world ere now?”

Hedge bowed. “Your pardon, my Lord.”

Edward nodded, brusque, and wondered if he’d won.

“But with your forgiveness, my Lord, I must also consider the dignity of the Forthenby estate. Worthy as he has proved himself in your need, your man is not suited to attend you in your affluence. He has not the training, the manner, nor the character. And I again beg your pardon, my Lord, but I must press you to abandon this course.” Again, he bowed. “Perhaps a more fitting reward for such a sterling character would be to free him from the necessity of,” an ominous pause, “servitude. It would not strain Forthenby’s resources to grant a small, independent living. Perhaps some land... a comfortable cottage. Forthenby has many such plots that could be bestowed, and there would be many local maidens willing to make a respectable man of so promising a lad. Especially one so high in the Earl’s favour.”

And that would blow everything.

 Besides, Edward knew how Peaches felt about the fucking countryside. What was more, he got the impression that - for staff - Hedge was just a touch too accustomed to getting his own way. Unless Edward wanted his time there to be as constrained as it had been at Westlehill, or the dear old school with bloody Dickie, he was going to need to win this fight. 

Yet, Peaches was right: he could not afford to turn Hedge against him. 

Not yet. 

The trick was to let his opponent maintain grace in defeat, to get your hit with a clean stroke, not some underhand trick. Teddy knew fencing well enough to know a win like that was always the dirtiest of dealing. It as all about seeing your opponent’s weakest point, the one they guarded. With Hedge, it was propriety, of course, and there was no way Teddy would win there. But, just below that, he caught just the touch of sentiment. No doubt the blighter flattered himself as an honourable paragon of self-sacrifice. He was the kind of bloodless cove who had clearly wasted his prime covering up Uncle Eddy and Cousin Ned’s minor indiscretions. Edward wondered how many mortal sins he’d committed in that line, and whether there was a frustrated spouse and a pack of neglected children somewhere in the undercroft of Forthenby. 

The problem was that Hedge would take it as a given that a man would stand by his master, even in the absence of any prospect of future pay.

Clearly he wasn’t laying it on thick enough.

“A little land? An honest living? Are you suggesting I make such a man as Peach my tenant, Hedge?”

Hedge gave a disapproving look, as though a tenant of Forthenby was indeed the highest goal to which most mortals could aspire, and certainly grubby little bunters like Peaches Waghorn.

Edward shook his head, as though wounded deeply, as though battling with himself, and as he did this last bit of play acting, a very real anger roared up inside him, the way it had done in the days when he cast down his gage and spat out challenges. Because not one word he’d said of Peaches had been a lie, and the whole thing was made worse by the fact that she wasn’t even his servant, she was not his bloody subordinate. And she had stood by him. She had...

“I don’t think you quite understand me on this matter, Hedge.” The cold fury in his voice seemed to sear his throat, and he knew that if he was not careful, he would be shouting it, and his power here would be gone.

“My Lord?”

“I will not, I shall not suffer Peach to be separated from me. I owe that boy more than you can imagine.” He spoke softly, now, knowing that Peaches could not hear this, that she must not hear this. “Not merely in terms of wages unpaid, nor suffering, or want. His devotion to me has gone beyond all reasonable expectation. The proofs that he has given me, the... ” 

But Hedge was the type that could not be swayed by anything other than specifics.

“You judge my man wanting, Hedge? What? Because he wears no boots?”

“Well, my Lord-”

“Did it occur to you to ask why that might be, Hedge? Do you think it pleases me to see my staff go barefoot?”

“My Lord, I-”

“Has it, perhaps, occurred to you that neither Peach nor myself possess anything other than the clothes in which we stand?”

The blighter had the grace to look ashamed.

“Poverty, Hedge. Perhaps it is not familiar at Forthenby, but it has taken everything from me; my pistols, my books, every stick of furniture and every decent lodging. Whatever keepsakes I had clung to through every past privation I have sold, and still, it was not enough to satisfy the demands made upon me. Yet, rather than abandon me when I could no longer pay his wages, rather than leave me as I had urged him to do, Peach provided for me from his own, meagre savings. He has...” Teddy paused and did not say whored. “...taken up labour of the most degrading type. I cannot think how that has affected his dignity. He laboured to support me, me, when there was no hope that I could ever settle his wages, let alone repay him. Yet it seemed that none of these humiliations were to be sufficient. The day came when I realised that the only alternative open to me was to pawn the final, respectable clothing I possessed. Yes, Hedge, this same, ruined suit which I now wear. The final items that permitted me to pass as a gentleman in the society for which I was fitted. No option remained to me.” Edward stared at Hedge, who was bearing up to this verbal battering with dignity. “I had no further assets. It was that or starvation. Yet Peach, rather than accept his former master was degraded beyond hope, rather than abandon me, as any other man of education or sense would have done, this man whom you scorn, whom you believe has neither the manner nor the character to do me credit, sold his own boots to pay my creditors.”

Hedge seemed a little nonplussed and Edward did not doubt that the story would be all over Forthenby before the month was out. 

Good.

Edward was trembling slightly, from anger, from the hushed vehemence of his words. “That is the man’s delicacy, sir, that his character, his devotion. He would not be swayed from his course, although I instructed him to take my suit, and to find himself employment elsewhere. He stood by me when I commanded him to leave, and that is the only recommendation I need.” He gave Hedge a look that dared direct defiance. He did not expect his eyes flashed like Dickie’s, or even like Old Sir Charles’, but perhaps in them, there was steel enough.

“I’m sure a place can be found for him, my Lord,” said Hedge after a long silence.

“At my side,” Edward insisted, not dropping his gaze. 

Another hesitation. 

“After whatever education you deem necessary, of course.”

This was either where it worked, or it fell apart entirely. It was as though he had seen the ‘kercheif drop, had raised his pistol and fired it, and was now standing silent and dry-mouthed, unsure whether it was going to be the other fellow falling or himself. 

But it was usually the other fellow.

Hedge said, “That can be arranged, my Lord.”

Edward bit his tongue to stop himself letting out the long, relived breath. It wasn’t quite a, “yes, my Lord” but it was better than an, “As you say.” 

He’d winged the fellow then, although the wound would not be mortal. True, the sportsman in him was disappointed by that, but he supposed it would have looked a little vulgar to ride up to Forthenby with the antlers of a Hedge nailed to the carriage roof. Besides, Edward did not doubt that someone of Hedge’s stripe could come in quite handy, if he could be kept batting for your side.