The worlds barely left my mouth when the mostly angelic vixen turned on me. "Why delay? The need is now. The duke could fund the entire project."
"Now, Miss Wilcox..." The room felt ten degrees hotter. All eyes were on me. "It's not polite to count what's in a man's pocket."
The silver fork in my grasp spoke to the duke's great wealth. Though he could be over the top in his gifts and parties, Torrance remained levelheaded and—most of the time—without airs. He hadn't changed from the person I knew when we were both struggling students in Inverness.
"Is that a Trinidadian saying that means to delay forever?" Her sharp tone stabbed. "Or is this just another idea you'll start and not finish?"
Scarlett's verbal scalpel went through my rectus abdominis muscle, slashed the oblique, and twisted.
"Carew is smart to delay, young lady." The earl tapped his glass for more champagne. "He wants a wide base of support so that everyone will partake of the hospital. It won't be a Russian thing—"
"Or a Blackamoor thing, or a people-with-natural-tans thing. That is your actual concern, isn't it, Lord Livingston?" She put her hand on her hip. That meant Scarlett was seconds away from another lethal wordy attack. "Mr. Carew is not frightened by backlash, not when he sees the need. He's a man of great principle and doesn't require expensive liquors or brothels to give him false bravery or silly opinions of his self-worth."
The earl shrank back into his chair.
The grinning duke signaled for more champagne to be poured. Livingston finished one glass and waited for a second pour. "A mouth on that one. Almost as bad as the venomous viscountess.
Lady Hampton still ripping into you, Torrance?"
"Da," the duke said, confirming the intense relationship he had with Scarlett's oldest sister. "Some habits are hard to kill."
"Well, Mr. Carew." One boot tapped on the polished mahogany floor. She stared at me, and I felt inflamed and shamed.
"Tell him that it doesn't matter who invests."
It did matter.
It mattered when the hospital hired staff.
It mattered which physicians would want to be associated with it. There were even those in my own area of Cheapside who would be wary of a hospital that exclusively focused on immigrants and people with different backgrounds and skin color. Sometimes Blackamoors only wanted what the ton had.
Knowing I'd let her down, I sighed. "I want everyone to support the hospital. Beginnings are important, Scarlett."
Her mirror-black eyes turned on me, then rolled up. I doubted she admired the ornately molded ceilings, but rather wished for the plaster filigree to fall on my head. "So, more delay. Can you be considered a champion if you never fight?"
"I fight, little girl. It's just typically you. You and I bicker as I answer your medical questions while indulging your lack of decorum and manners."
Her cheeks reddened. "I tried to defend you. Worthless."
The earl scoffed and drank half his glass. "Torrance, please send the little lady back to the library so we can talk about more important things—Seasoned Women."
Shaking his head, Torrance said, "My dear, go check on Lydia. Though the angel is with her personal maid, I like to continually make sure she is happy and well."
"My little sister is very healthy, Your Grace. She's drawing pictures for her official sixth birthday in a month. I know she can't wait to see what you will do."
The duke's countenance brightened. "Elephants. It will be amazing. That is as long as Lady Hampton allows us all to have fun."
For a moment, those fearless dark eyes grew small. Scarlett's chin lowered. "I'll go check, Your Grace."
With poise, she curtsied and left.
"She floats from the room like a descended angel." The duke raised his goblet to her.
"Then, would that make her Lucifer?"
The duke glanced at me. He looked confused, but I thought the metaphor was fitting. Scarlett Wilcox, the young woman I begrudgingly admired, was beautiful...a beautiful devil.
