"Upon thy side against myself I'll fight."
For someone who felt he had done right, Fitzwilliam felt exceptionally low. His mind had been made up the minute he saw the tall, fire-headed man poking out of the sea of brown bodices and colored gowns. Juliette tried to slow and calm him on the way over, and it had worked to a certain degree. After the initial outburst, he had reduced his ire to no greater than the general din of the tent field outside. No violence had erupted from him as he thought it might. Tybalt was dressed-down and warned off, sparing any bloody threats that would roll off that scarred face like water off a duck. He took the lashing with a suspicious calm. That might have warranted Fitzwilliam's consideration if Georgiana's reaction had not dominated his thoughts. Since the time he ignored her insistence that Tybalt had done no wrong, Fitzwilliam had not had a word from his sister.



