“He had excellent references,” George muttered.

Lord Granville swung in her direction. She recoiled, but Mr. Pye moved smoothly with the larger man, keeping his shoulder always between them. His show of protectiveness only enraged Lord Granville further.

“Enough, I say. I demand you dismiss this . . . this scoundrel!” Lord Granville spat the word. “Blood always shows. Like his father before him, he’s the lowest form of criminal.”

George inhaled.

Mr. Pye didn’t speak, but a soft noise came from between his drawn-back lips.

Good Lord, it sounded like a snarl. Hastily, she broke into speech. “Now, Lord Granville, I think you’re being rather rash in your condemnation of Mr. Pye. After all, have you any reason to suppose it is my steward instead of someone else doing the damage?”

“Reason?” Lord Granville hissed the word. “Reason? Aye, I’ve got reason. Twenty years ago this man’s father attacked me. Nearly killed me, he was so insane.”

George lifted her eyebrows. She darted a look at Mr. Pye, but he’d controlled his face into its customary impassivity. “I don’t see why—”

“He assaulted me as well.” Lord Granville speared a finger at the land steward’s chest. “Joined his father in trying to murder a peer of the realm.”

“But”—she looked from one man to the other, the first the very embodiment of rage, the other showing no expression at all—“but he could hardly have been full grown twenty years ago. Wouldn’t he be a boy of . . . of—”

“Twelve.” Mr. Pye spoke for the first time since he’d uttered the other man’s name. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “And it was eighteen years ago. Exactly.”

“Twelve is plenty old enough to murder a man.” Lord Granville batted aside the objection with the flat of his hand. “It’s well known that the common rabble mature early—the better to breed more vermin. At twelve, he was as much a man as he is now.”

George blinked at this outrageous statement, said with a perfectly straight face and apparently believed as fact by Lord Granville. She glanced again at Mr. Pye, but if anything, he appeared bored. Obviously, he’d heard this sentiment or ones very like it before. She wondered briefly how often he’d listened to such drivel in his childhood.

She shook her head. “Be that as it may, my lord, it does not sound as if you have concrete evidence of Mr. Pye’s culpability now. And I really do feel—”

Lord Granville threw something down at her feet. “I have evidence.” His smile was quite odious.