Content warnings can be found here

Lucas presented his card at the Tooting’s house and Edward waited in the carriage, half expecting to be told that the family were not at home. It took everything in him not to stuff his hands into his pockets like a shamefaced schoolboy, the kind of casual, disorderly behaviour that Dickie had spent so very long beating out of him. 

Edward did not wince when he thought the name. He had enough practice at that by now. 

He would do this - this final thing.

After a few minutes, Lucas came back and handed him out of the carriage, and Edward was led to the residence to hear the effusive welcome of Mr Tooting.

Yes, Mr Tooting. A man who had spoken so loudly in Edward’s defence that he had risked putting his daughter’s name on the breeze of scandal. 

Edward had met him, of course, but had never given the man much thought - he was the type of fellow one did not much care to remember. His hands were the sort that wrung over each other endlessly and he was always pleased, demonstratively pleased, to have Lord Forthenby calling at his ever-so-humble residence. Most men of that sort could be read as something of a comedy turn, but underneath the obsequiousness, Tooting had the air of a despicable lout. He had probably been the kind of boy whose mother wittered on about curiosity and childish hijinks whilst he had pulled the legs of insects – the sort of schoolboy who had eventually been called up before the headmaster for sticking a knife through some new bug’s hand.

It was not, therefore, difficult to be haughty. 

Being conciliatory was another matter entirely, for all Edward had sworn that he would behave humbly, that he would show Peaches he could at least do that. 

Mrs Tooting, though, was not anything like so much the fool as her husband. She rose and received Edward with frosty courtesy and did not seem to mark the way that where he had once judged and sneered, he was now all shuffling, busy hands and gentleness. Serafina sat at room’s far side. She had not stood, had not even raised her head, when he had entered.

“Serafina,” her father said, sharp, cold, “we have a guest.”

Serafina looked up with eyes rimmed by tears, and Edward felt a horrible beast.

“Miss Tooting,” he said, softly.

She flinched at his voice, and stood with slow, jerky movements, as though she was a marionette, drawn upwards in uncanny motions. Her curtsey was sharp and graceless.

“Say ‘Good Morning’ to Lord Forthenby, Serafina.”
 
“Please,” said Edward, “do not trouble yourself on my account.”

She looked at him with eyes that seemed about to overflow, then turned her face away. “Good morning, my Lord.” 

She sounded just as Peaches had done.

No. No, it was obvious. Peaches was right, and Edward was villain, a swine of the first water. There was no damned way out of the situation, and he had no right to ask for pardon.

Edward sat, and for minutes there was silence. No-one alluded to the duel. After a while, he stood, and walked over to where Serafina was plying her needle with short, furious strokes. “That’s very fine work, Miss Tooting.” 

Her shoulders contracted at his voice. “I did not believe you were a judge of such things, my Lord.” She was stronger now that they were speaking quietly, the words like the flash of steel in a cold morning. 

“You wish me gone,” he said, and felt it like the twist of his own wrist, answering a parry. 

“My Lord, I wish you dead from a lightning bolt, but it seems my wishes are not to be regarded.”

Well, that was him told.

He remembered his mission. “I understand your anger,” he said as kindly as he was able.

She stabbed her needle so hard through the embroidery that she impaled her finger. Miss Tooting flinched, but gave no cry of pain as her blood began to drip, as it stained the soft, white linen on which she had been working. 

Without thought, Edward drew out his handkerchief and offered it to her. She ignored him. 

“Are you quite well, Serafina?”

“Only a scratch, mama.” She was already rising to leave. 

“If it is only a scratch, Serafina,” her father insisted, “Then there’s no need for you to rise. See. Lord Forthenby is offering you his handkerchief.” 

Serafina sat and took it from Edward’s fingers, stopping the flow of blood without looking at him. She was shaking, but held her spine very straight, and she did not glance at him once. 

There was further silence. 

After a few moments, Mr Tooting asked Edward some query about how his estates were faring at Forthenby, and Edward informed him that as he had not returned there for some months now, it was difficult to assess their state. After another handful of minutes, measured by the agonised ticking of the clock upon the mantle, he remembered to inquire after Mr Tooting’s business interests and received an answer that seemed about to swell into a veritable lecture, but instead tailed away into apologies for assuming his Lordship would be interest in the trivial affairs of such moderate folk as the Tootings.  

Edward began to wish for his Forthenby Lady, just to liven things up a little. 

“I do admire the grounds you have here,” he said, for want of something polite to say.

Oh, to be sure, he was informed, they were nothing compared to the parks of great houses such as Forthenby, but Mr Tooting did what he could by way of improvements. Why, there was even a little walk they had managed to fit into the space. Most picturesque, apparently, and ingenious - but here, Mr Tooting stopped, torn between vanity and false modesty.

“It sounds charming,” said Edward, “I should like to see it some day.”

“Oh, that can be arranged, my Lord Forthenby, nothing would give us greater pleasure that if you would condescend to view it. Why, today is very fine and it will have its best aspect.”

“Please, sir,” he said, “do not go to any trouble on my account.”

“It’s no trouble, my Lord, no trouble at all. Serafina. You are well enough to show Lord Forthenby the walk.” 

No-one in the room was under the misapprehension that it was a question.

Serafina stood again with the same jerking motions. “I am afraid I have something of a headache, sir.”

“Nothing like fresh air for a headache.”

Edward tried to interpose something about not wanting to being a bother, but for once due reverence for his station did not win out in the breast of Mr Tooting. “It really is no inconvenience, my Lord. Serafina is quite well.”

Only an idiot would have looked at a girl in Miss Tooting’s state and made that declaration.

“If the lady consents, sir,” Edward said, with great carefulness.

“I am quite well, my Lord,” said Serafina. “My father declares it so.”

From the corner of his eye, Edward saw Mrs Tooting give the smallest shake of her head, but Serafina took no notice of this and instead dropped a chilly curtsey.

“Please excuse me whilst I fetch my muffler. The day has turned rather inclement.”

Edward made a note to be on guard against concealed weapons. It wouldn’t be the first time.