Chapter 200: We are all gathered here today to witness Edmund get his ass beat

The audacity of it was astonishing. There was a difference between indulging in private gossip and openly speaking of the family with such contempt. She was sorely tempted to turn around and give the women a piece of her mind, reminding them exactly whom they were so freely disparaging.

"They have always been accustomed to getting their way," the first woman continued. "And I would be lying if I claimed their impending downfall did not give me a certain degree of satisfaction."

Their audacity left Vivienne seething. They spoke of her as though she were some disgraced woman who had been permitted to attend through the charity of her betters, rather than the wife of a count whose family had occupied its position for generations.

She resumed fanning herself, the movement growing brisker with each passing second.

Across the ballroom, Edmund wasn’t fairing any better.

He took a glass of wine from a passing server and was nursing it as he stood at the sidelines, watching people he knew enjoy themselves while they pretended like he was invisible.

The wine offered little comfort, but it gave him something to occupy his hands. He would need something stronger if he was to survive through the night.

It was an odd thing to feel simultaneously invisible and exposed, as though he were being deliberately overlooked while remaining very much the subject of their attention. He could feel their gazes crawling over him, following his every movement, yet none seemed particularly inclined to acknowledge him directly.

He could have approached an acquaintance and forced a conversation, but the prospect of offering a greeting only to receive a strained reply was intolerable. Nor could he bear to remain in the ballroom much longer, surrounded by people who appeared to find his presence inconvenient.

Edmund promptly left the room and stepped outside, grateful for the cooler air. The terrace offered an escape from the music and the watchful eyes.

Three gentlemen stood nearby. Two smoked cigars, their faces intermittently obscured, while the third leaned against the balustrade. They were engaged in conversation when Edmund emerged, but the man at the balustrade noticed him immediately.

His gaze travelled over Edmund with undisguised interest.

"Well, well," he said. "Would you look at that? The spawn of corruption has decided to grace us with his presence."

The other two men glanced towards Edmund, their interest piqued.

"You have some nerve showing your face here tonight, Ashford."

Edmund’s steps halted. He recognised none of the men, and the speaker’s impertinence and hostility was alarming.

"Do I know you?" Edmund asked, looking the man over with disdain. They had never been properly introduced, he was certain of it, and he would not let such disrespect go unanswered. "I was unaware that invitations to such gatherings were being extended to every low-born cretin who fancied himself entitled to an opinion."

The man’s jaw flexed. He was a gentleman of the gentry, he possessed neither a title nor the reverence Edmund had been taught to associate with one.

His name was Lionel St. Maud, and he had earned a reputation for views that many in the upper ranks of society considered dangerously radical.

He spoke openly of reform, challenged the privileges of the aristocracy, and maintained that a man’s birth ought not to shield him from the consequences of his conduct.

The revelations of Nathaniel’s wrongdoings had only strengthened his convictions. If the allegations were true, Nathaniel was precisely the sort of powerful man Lionel believed ought to be exorcised from society, for he regarded such men as a blight upon the nation.

Edmund’s response confirmed another of Lionel’s prejudices. Even under the weight of a scandal that threatened to bring his family down, the count’s son still believed himself entitled to look down upon those he considered beneath him.

Lionel pushed away from the balustrade and stepped into Edmund’s space, an intentional provocation.

"And I had hoped you might be different from your father," Lionel said. "Perhaps I imagined that, having witnessed the disgrace he has brought upon your family, you might possess enough sense to conduct yourself better. I see I was mistaken."

Edmund’s fingers tightened around his wineglass.

"I would advise you to take care when speaking of my father," he replied. "You know nothing about him."

"Do I not?" Lionel chuckled darkly. "Your father is a criminal, Ashford. A man who has ruined countless lives and used his wealth and influence to evade the consequences of his actions. What else is there to know?"

Edmund felt the eyes of the other gentlemen upon him. He noticed the satisfaction that glinted in Lionel’s eyes, clearly pleased with himself for having succeeded in riling him.

Being ignored at the ball already stung, but Lionel seemed determined to make matters worse, subjecting him to further humiliation. It was as though the man had taken a serrated blade and driven it straight into Edmund’s chest, taking satisfaction in watching him bleed.

"I am eager to see him answer for what he has done. Your father deserves to hang for his crimes. And when that day comes, I shall take pleasure in watching him pay for every life he has ruined. I hope you will be there to witness it." Lionel went on caustically.

"You will regret those words," Edmund said. He was positively livid and would hardly have been surprised if smoke had begun billowing from his ears.

"Will I? How I see it, you have more important things to focus on." Coming to this ball had felt like a waste initially but getting to torment the spawn of satan made it all worthwhile. "No doubt your father is presently attempting to bribe the new magistrate presiding over his case, just as he did his predecessor. But he will find his efforts futile this time. The magistrate would be a fool to accept his money, knowing full well that doing so could land him before the King’s Bench, just as Magistrate Harland is now."

Edmund bared his teeth in a very undignified snarl. "You arrogant little—"

"Go on," Lionel interrupted. "Tell me what you intend to do. Will you threaten me with your family’s influence? Perhaps your father can arrange for a few officials to charge me with some imaginary offence. It seems to have served him well enough in the past."

He was a lunatic, frothing in the mouth for a fight.

Edmund’s wineglass trembled in his hand. He could scarcely distinguish the heat of anger from the humiliation that accompanied it. Lionel had turned the very privileges Edmund relied upon into weapons against him, goading him and the presence of the other gentlemen made every insult feel like a performance before an audience.

"You know nothing of my family," Edmund growled.

"You have your father’s arrogance, Ashford. Perhaps that is why you find it so difficult to understand that the rest of us are tired of bowing to men like him." Then with a vicious smirk, he said, "I long to see your father dangling from a noose."

The wineglass slipped from Edmund’s fingers and shattered. He lurched forward in a blind rage and shoved Lionel hard in the chest.

The movement was sudden enough to catch Lionel off guard. He stumbled backwards, his shoulder striking the balustrade, and for a heartbeat the men stood frozen.

Then Lionel recovered, fury overtaking his surprise, and lunged at Edmund.

His fist connected with Edmund’s face in retaliation.

A sharp burst of pain exploded across his face, sending him staggering backwards. But the blow barely had time to register before Edmund was swinging, his fist catching Lionel squarely on the jaw. And just like that, a full on brawl erupted.

The other gentlemen snapped into action and rushed to put a stop to the fight.

One caught Edmund around the shoulders while the other seized Lionel by the arm, but neither man was prepared to surrender. Edmund twisted against the hands restraining him, attempting to reach Lionel again, while Lionel strained towards him with an angry shout.

Their struggle drew the attention of the guests nearest the terrace doors, pulling curious spectators towards the terrace. Several people moved towards the commotion to discover its cause.

Edmund could feel the hands gripping his coat and hear the voices ordering him to stop, yet all he could see was Lionel’s furious face and the contempt with which he had spoken of his father. The evening he and his mother hoped to endure with their dignity intact had devolve into this.

And now, with half the ballroom turning to look, there was no way to hide it.