There was a light tap on the drawing room window at six. The footman from Lady Gorham’s carriage had been sent home with a message to Stronbert’s valet to present himself with his dueling pistol case at that hour. Stronbert silently rose to let in the valet, who had a change of clothing for him in addition to the pistol case. The valet eyed Stronbert warily. “And who might you be meeting at this hour?”
he asked with acerbity.
“My dear fellow, it is none of your business. And no one else’s. You are to be there only to prevent any dishonorable attack. Help me into this coat, will you?”
Alicia had spent a disturbed night and heard the movement downstairs when the valet arrived. She quickly donned her clothing and crept to the window in time to see Stronbert leave. There was nothing in his bearing to suggest that he was out for more than an early morning ride; he sat his horse with his usual casual elegance. But there was that ominous case which the valet carried to remind her of his destination. A sound between a sob and a sigh escaped her, and she returned to the bed to see that Felicia was sleeping, before going downstairs. She had the remains of that grotesque meal to remove before the others awoke.
* * * *
Stronbert turned to the valet and asked, “Did you hear if the group that went to Tosley Hall enjoyed themselves?”
“Your lady mother’s dresser said milady was proper annoyed with you that you didn’t attend, and that you drew Lady Gorham off as well. But the young folks seemed pleased. Sounds as though half the county was there. Though I did hear some comments on Lady Wickham’s nip-cheese ways from Mr. Clinton. Not enough to drink, I gather.”
“And was there speculation at the court as to why Lady Gorham and I were absent?”
“Not as much as you’d expect. Lady Gorham said very little, I gather. Just that she must needs go to Lady Coombs. Some thought a death in the widow’s family, others thought an accident to Miss Coombs.”
The valet pressed his lips together disapprovingly.
“Hmm. I shall suggest the latter to Lady Coombs, and you will support me if necessary, will you not?”
“As you wish, sir.”
They continued their ride in silence. Stronbert had chosen to arrive well before seven, as he had no intention of being taken at a disadvantage by the unprincipled Mr. Tackar. The sun was bright but the air was freezing, and the frost on the ground promised slippery footing. Stronbert scouted for a likely spot, deciding on a reasonably flat stretch of ground not far from the shed. When he returned to the oak he could see Tackar and his man driving toward him in a phaeton as garishly colorful as any he had seen.
Tackar’s ordinary air of self-confidence was slightly shattered, but the vindictiveness he felt gave him dutch courage. He had soundly whipped his valet, though the miscarriage of the plan had been through no fault of his. Mavis had indeed arrived at her parents’
home without stopping and had not been allowed to ride back in the dark owing to the concern of her family.
Stronbert watched Tackar’s approach grimly. The man’s insolent air made Stronbert want to strangle the suave popinjay with his own hands. Stronbert’s valet, James, had taken the pistols from the case for the purpose of loading them. He blew gently through the muzzle to carry away any loose dust collected in the barrel and ascertained that the touchhole in each was clear. One at a time he put the hammer at half cock and stopped it; then poured in from a measure the quantity of powder required. The ball he rammed gently in place with a piece of the finest kid glove leather, and he kept his thumb on the touchhole so that no powder might escape. James knew this art to a nicety and informed Lord Stronbert when the pistols were ready.
“You may practice with each of them, Tackar, and choose your weapon,”
he said coldly.
Tackar took sight on a fence post some fifteen yards distant and his shot was successful. He smirked as he raised the other pistol and fired again, another hit.
“Are you satisfied?”
“Yes. They are nicely balanced weapons. I shall use this one,”
Tackar replied, retaining the one with which he had just shot.
When James had reloaded the pistols, Tackar watching him closely, the adversaries stationed themselves fifteen yards apart and positioned themselves right sides forward. Tackar had fought three previous duels: once, in Sir Frederick’s case, having killed his opponent, and in both other cases having wounded his adversaries. Stronbert had never been called upon to settle a matter of honor before, but he stood steadily, easily facing Tackar. James had thoughtfully provided him with a black coat, had even changed the buttons to black during the night. Tackar was darkly dressed as well, as he had been the previous day, but his buttons glittered in the morning sunlight.
James, sick at heart, stood ready to drop a handkerchief. The two men raised their pistols and aimed. As the flutter of white descended, the marquis pulled the trigger, moving only his knuckle joint so that the motion should not disturb the muscles of his hand and arm and shake the pistol. The two shots roared almost simultaneously. Stronbert felt Tackar’s ball graze along his shoulders and pass on. Tackar fell.
James automatically hastened to his employer, but Stronbert waved him to where Tackar had fallen and followed more slowly himself. Tackar had received the ball under his right arm and it had lodged in him. He was alive but very pale.
“We shall have to get him to Dr. Carmichael. Put him in his carriage.”
Tackar’s man and James lifted the insensate man carefully and carried him to the waiting phaeton. Stronbert turned to James to inform him, “I will drive his carriage. Bring the pistols and the horses.”
To Tackar’s man, “Hold him as steady as you can, else the ball could do more damage.”
The slow procession wound its way to a house east of Tetterton where Dr. Carmichael resided. He was breakfasting when Lord Stronbert was announced. “This is a surprise,”
he commented as his friend entered the room.
“I have a severely wounded man for you to attend to, Hamilton.”
Dr. Carmichael pushed back his chair and rose to accompany Stronbert to the carriage. “Take him to the surgery. I shall be with him immediately.”
He threw Stronbert a querying glance.
“There is a ball lodged in him,”
Stronbert said.
Dr. Carmichael raised his eyebrows slightly and hastened after the patient, saying calmly over his shoulder, “Help yourself to breakfast, Nigel. I shall be with you when I can.”
Stronbert had completed a hearty repast when Dr. Carmichael returned. “I have removed the ball. He will live, though he would probably rather not for some time for the pain. Was this necessary?”
“Yes,”
Stronbert replied, “quite necessary.”
“I should not have liked it to have been you lying there on the table. He missed you?”
“No.”
“Then let me have a look at you.”
“It is nothing,”
Stronbert said with finality. “A mere graze.”
Dr. Carmichael had attended Stronbert from his youth and recognized the tone in which these words were spoken, but ignored it. His keen eyes even across the room had noted the slight wince when Stronbert had shrugged. He came to stand behind the younger man and ordered, “Take your coat off.”
Stronbert exasperatedly flung up a hand. “I tell you it is nothing, Hamilton.”
“I shall decide that,”
the doctor rasped, glaring at his friend.
“Very well,”
Stronbert grinned. “If you must.”
He removed the coat and was instructed to remove the shirt as well, which he did.
Dr. Carmichael surveyed the graze with annoyance. “You are right. There is little damage done, but I shall bathe it. Stay here.”
He left to return a few minutes later. “Sit down and hold still.”
Stronbert complied and winced as the astringent was applied. “I might have known you could not let me go without torturing me,”
he grumbled good-naturedly. “Are you finished?”
“Yes.”
“Then I must go.”
Stronbert replaced his shirt and shrugged into his coat. “I hope you will not find it necessary to mention this incident.”
Dr. Carmichael bent bushy-browed eyes on the younger man and replied with asperity, “I shall not feel the least necessity. And I hope it will not happen again.”
“Yes,”
Stronbert agreed thoughtfully, “I found no pleasure in it. I have never shot at a man before, and I found it disconcerting, no matter what the cause. If Tackar does not pay the reckoning, send it to me.”
He shook hands with his friend and strode out of the room and the house to find James awaiting him. “He will live,”
was all he said to the valet before he swung himself onto his horse and headed silently for Lady Coombs’s cottage. James merely grunted.
The three women were seated in the dining parlor partaking of the breakfast which Mavis, having left her home at first light, had prepared for them. The maid announced him and was directed to have him brought to them. Alicia felt her heart lurch at sight of him and her relief was only slightly marred when she noticed the tear across the shoulder of his coat. He was alive, he was walking, he was talking, he was not pale or in any obvious pain. She heard him ask Lady Gorham if he should send James for the carriage for her, and nodded when the older woman regarded her inquiringly. No one else knew that Stronbert had dueled Tackar that morning; she had no intention of telling anyone.
“Lady Coombs, might I request a word with you?”
he asked blandly.
“Certainly, my lord.”
She led him to the drawing room, but first he went to speak with his valet before joining her there.
“Mr. Tackar has been wounded but will survive,”
he informed her bluntly.
“I thank you for sparing him.”
“I had no intention of sparing him,”
he said with annoyance. He took a turn about the room and stopped before her with a comically raised eyebrow. “But I am glad he is alive. I should not like to have to leave the country. I have little fear that word of the duel will spread. It might be wise if we were to explain Lady Gorham’s presence here as having been on account of an indisposition or accident of Felicia’s. Have you any objection to that?”
Alicia did not answer him directly. “And your presence here?”
He shrugged. “It need not be known. If it is, there is the chaperonage of Lady Gorham. I would not think on it. No one is likely to ask me where I spent the night,”
he said with a grin.
Alicia smiled, if faintly, for the first time since the harrowing experience had begun. “I suppose not. How simple it is for men!”
Her face clouded and she said sadly, “Perhaps Felicia had a riding accident which stunned her. I think there is no need for details. She is better now.”
“Precisely.”
He watched her twist her hands in her lap. How could he comfort this frightened woman, who refused to allow him to share her burdens? He could not take her in his arms and hold her, for his very touch would undo her. She would resent any familiarity or help he offered; part of her anxiety now was that she had been in need of his assistance the previous day. He knew that she was upset that he had found her in such a distressing position as she had been when he opened the bedroom door on her and Tackar. For all her gratitude it would be difficult for her to forgive him that—the sight of her naked and being attacked without being able to raise a hand to defend herself. Time. She would need a lot of time.
Alicia raised her eyes to him inquiringly. He had been regarding her, unspeaking, for some minutes. “Is there something further, Lord Stronbert?”
she asked hesitantly.
“No. I hope you and your daughter will still be able to come to dine tomorrow. We have quite a celebration. It is the custom at the Court to feast the servants and tenants on the current lord’s birthday. Felicia would enjoy the fireworks there are in the evening,”
he said gently.
“I should not like her to miss such a treat, but she will have to decide. I thank you again, sir, for everything you have done for us.”
“Let us not speak of it henceforth, Lady Coombs. It was my pleasure to be of service where I could.”
He bowed formally and took his leave. Alicia rejoined her companions in the dining parlor.
Lady Gorham eyed her speculatively but said nothing. Felicia smiled at her mother and said, “Lord Stronbert is kind to come and see how we go on. You will not go to the shop today, will you, Mama?”
“Not if you need me here, love,”
Alicia responded.
“Oh, pooh,”
Felicia said defiantly. “If you wish to go to the shop, I shall go with you...if I may.”
“Lord Stronbert will give out that Lady Gorham came to us last night because you had a riding accident and were stunned, but that you are all right now. You shall not mind?”
“Only to have my riding so maligned,”
Felicia retorted with a slight smile. “Yes, that will be fine. I cannot like to think that people will know what really happened.”
Lady Gorham eyed the two of them exasperatedly. “So you shall go on as though nothing had happened? I would have spent the day in bed with my vinaigrette and cold compresses for my brow!”
“You know you would not, my dear,”
Alicia laughed. “You would be about your business as usual. Your carriage will be here shortly. I am sorry you missed the Tosley Hall ball, but I cannot thank you enough for coming.”
“Nonsense,”
Lady Gorham replied gruffly. “Where else should I be at such a time? I cannot own to have missed seeing Lady Wickham or her disagreeable son, or even her mild-mannered husband. My hostess is like to be annoyed with me, though,”
she said gravely, her eyes twinkling.
“No doubt. I have the strongest desire to see her in the gown Felicia designed for her.”
Alicia stopped abruptly and continued more slowly. “We shall see how we go on before deciding whether we will dine at the Court tomorrow.”
Felicia sat up straight in her chair and glowered at her mother, saying stubbornly, “I am sure
I
shall be right as a trivet. Of course, if you are not up to going I shall stay at home with you.”
Lady Gorham grumbled, “You might have known, Alicia. I hear the carriage. If you need me, do not hesitate to send for me.”
Then with a last aggrieved shrug she commented, “I shall see you both at the Court tomorrow evening, no doubt.”