The Bewitching Hour (26 page)

It was a Monday, bath day for the mongrels. A day in which Stratton normally contrived to put considerable distance between himself and Aunt Mirabella, her yapping horde and the inevitable clouds of dog hair that settled on everything in the vicinity. Normally his office would suffice, but today his sanctuary from the ordeal was White’s where he and Rand relaxed in one of the salons, drinking coffee and perusing the stack of newspapers delivered daily to the gentleman’s club. It was early yet and they had no other company as most gentlemen of the ton were still abed; some even still in the process of stumbling home. The solitude suited him. Other than his best friend’s companionship, Stratton’s intent was not social. He simply sought a few hours of calm in which to read his newspapers and the gentlemen’s club provided the much needed respite. But hope for such a reprieve was dashed when he heard a familiar voice.
    It was a Monday, bath day for the mongrels. A day in which Stratton normally contrived to put considerable distance between himself and Aunt Mirabella, her yapping horde and the inevitable clouds of dog hair that settled on everything in the vicinity. Normally his office would suffice, but today his sanctuary from the ordeal was White’s where he and Rand relaxed in one of the salons, drinking coffee and perusing the stack of newspapers delivered daily to the gentleman’s club. It was early yet and they had no other company as most gentlemen of the ton were still abed; some even still in the process of stumbling home. The solitude suited him. Other than his best friend’s companionship, Stratton’s intent was not social. He simply sought a few hours of calm in which to read his newspapers and the gentlemen’s club provided the much needed respite. But hope for such a reprieve was dashed when he heard a familiar voice.
    “I cannot continue this any longer, sir. The time has come to put an end to this foolishness.”
    He put down his paper and looked up at the interloper. Foppish as ever, Bertram was attired in snug yellow pantaloons that did terrible things for his lanky frame. But Bertram’s words were of far more interest to Stratton than his outlandish garb. He wasn’t quite sure what they meant. Had he actually come to his senses? Hopeful, his brows arched and he nodded. “Excellent. I agree with you completely. There’s no need…”
    “You misunderstand.” Bertram slapped an ivory kid glove on the table beside Stratton. “I will meet you tomorrow at dawn. St. James Park.”
    It took a moment for the words to sink in. Stratton let out a long low groan. It was all he could do not to take the young man by the shoulders and shake him. Instead, he pinned him with a stare and said in the calmest voice he could muster, “Have you no sense of self-preservation? Do you understand what you’ve done?”
    Bertram’s lips trembled as he swallowed. “I know perfectly well what I’ve done,” he said uneasily. “I’ve called you out. Are pistols still your choice?”
    Stratton rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. “You know you can’t possibly win this.”
    “I know. But I must try, sir." Bertram looked as if he might burst into tears. "You have put me off long enough. I realize I have little skill with a pistol and that your concern is with my wellbeing and not your own. But as difficult as this is, I won’t back away from my duty as a gentleman.”
    “Be sensible. You don’t even know what it is I’m supposed to have done,” Stratton said. “I don’t even know what it is that I’m supposed to have done.”
    Bertram stared at him a moment. The muscle over his left eye began to twitch. “You’ve caused my beloved great distress. So great she found it necessary to leave London.” He swallowed hard. “That’s all I need to know. My second will contact Mr. Danfield this eve.”
    “I don't want to do this,” Stratton said quietly. “No one other than Mr. Danfield is witness. Reconsider.”
    “I
will not
reconsider,” he said. “If necessary, I will bring in witnesses and call you out once again. I will continue until you have no choice but to accept my challenge.”
    Stratton heaved a long heavy sigh and said quietly, “Tell me what to apologize for and I will.”
    “I can’t believe you are ignorant of the reason behind her distress.”
    “ I am. Write Miss Dearborn that she may clarify the situation before we continue with this.”
    “I have sir!” he said in anguish. “There has been no reply. I have not heard from her for close to a week.” The pain on the young man’s face was enough to make Stratton want to put his arm around the thin shoulders and offer what comfort he could. That would never do.
    Stratton briefly considered telling Bertram what little he knew.
I apologize for being the object of love letters written by your addle-brained sweetheart. Letters I never knew existed until a few weeks ago.
He blinked and gave his head a shake. That not only wouldn’t work, it would add insult to injury. It was close to calling the chit a liar. This was impossible.
    He took a sip of his coffee as he pondered the situation. It was all so absurd that it couldn’t be solved with any degree of rationality and given that he was a fairly rational man, it put him at a distinct disadvantage. He did not want to pick up the glove, but what else was there to do? “Very well,” he relented. “But tomorrow will not do. My sister is to be presented to the Queen on Wednesday and her come out ball is on Friday. I don’t wish to spoil her celebration with this ugly business. If we must do this, it can wait until Saturday.”
    Bertram colored with discomfiture. “Forgive me. In my distress, I had forgotten about your sister. I would not wish to spoil her ball or her presentation. Saturday at dawn would be agreeable. That will give me a few extra days of practice at Manton’s though I fear it will be of little help.” A disconsolate look came over him and he paused. “Well, until Saturday, my lord. And you as well, Mr. Danfield.” With a terse nod of farewell he turned to leave.
    “Lord Bertram,” Stratton added sharply. “I ask that you not speak of this to anyone other than your second. I have enough to deal with without having hysterical females on my hands.”
    The young man nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course. I find myself in much the same situation.”
    Stratton watched as he disappeared through the doorway. “Stupid bugger! He’s a bloody imbecile! The thought of his reproducing is terrifying. Should I take care of that on Saturday?”
    Rand shuddered at the thought. “No. No one deserves that. I’d rather take a bullet in the head.” He gulped at his coffee. “So what do you propose to do?”
    “First, I’ll marry Priscilla.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and took in a lungful of air. “And unless we can come up with some kind of plan, I suppose I’ll have to shoot the lad.”

Later that day, hands in his pockets, Stratton stood in front of the window staring glumly at the small garden just outside Priscilla’s drawing room.
God, what a dilemma. How did it get this far?
He didn’t want to tell Priscilla but he didn’t see what choice he had. There was little chance she would marry him immediately without good reason. And he wouldn’t lie to her. His mind was still struggling to find a solution when he heard her voice.
    “Good afternoon.” He turned. She was smiling. A beautiful, sunny, breathtaking smile, and all he could think was that he was about to ruin it.
    He moved instantly to her side, took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly, hoping it would somehow lessen the blow that was about to fall. She melted into his embrace. Her lips were soft; her response eager enough to make him forget why he had come. It wasn’t until he heard a soft giggle in the hallway that he realized they had an audience. “We seem to be entertaining the help,” he murmured. “I’d like to spend a few minutes alone with you. There is something we must discuss.”
    The tone of his voice was somber and her smile faded. “The garden will do. Let me fetch my bonnet.”
    Minutes later they stepped outside. The afternoon sun had emerged from the clouds gilding the blond hair curling across her forehead. Long white satin ribbons streamed down the apricot muslin gown that swished about her legs as she walked and he couldn’t imagine her looking any lovelier than she did at that moment. She led him through an open gate and into the garden he had been gazing at earlier. It offered a little pocket of serenity among the busy streets of Mayfair. A bank of honeysuckle tumbled over the stone fence and masses of scarlet, white and purple blossoms grew along the walkway. He waved his hand in a sweeping motion. “It smells wonderful out here. What is it?”
    Priscilla regarded him carefully before she answered. “Lavender, honeysuckle, roses, azaleas and alyssum. What’s amiss?”
    “Have you started your monthly courses?”
    Her face went from concerned to horrified, and then to the bright red of embarrassment. “You shouldn’t ask me that,” she whispered aghast. “We’re not even married, yet. I don’t think you’re supposed to ask that even if we are married.”
    He was surprised. He hadn’t expected embarrassment. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Priscilla, don’t get prudish on me now. We’ve been more intimate than some couples who have been married for years.” He made no attempt to hide the impatience in his voice. “Have you?”
    She shook her head. “No, not yet.”
    “When are you due?” he pressed.
    Bewildered, she stared at him.
    Realizing this would accomplish nothing, he gentled his voice. “When?”
    She lowered her gaze and answered in a small voice, “Not until next week. But I’m not always on time.”
    He reached out and caressed her cheek before resting his hands on the soft curve of her shoulders. “Listen to me, love. There isn’t time to post the banns. I've arranged for a special license. We need to by married by Wednesday or Thursday. Though tomorrow would really be best,” he added quietly.
    “But why?”
    He sighed. “I don’t know the best way to go about telling you this so I suppose I’ll tell you straight out. I let my guard down and Bertram caught up with me. He called me out this morning. I gave him every chance to back out. We’re to meet Saturday at dawn.”
    The color drained from her face as she stared at him. “A duel? Bertie challenged you to a duel?” She shook her head vehemently. “No. Tell him you won’t do it!”
    “I tried to convince him otherwise. I asked him to write Miss Dearborn to attempt to clear this muddle up. I gather he did but she hasn’t responded to his letters.” He grimaced. “The lad just wouldn’t back down. He gave me no choice.”
    “But why? Why couldn’t you just walk away? Why did you have to say anything?”
    “It wasn’t quite that simple. The only other witness was Rand, but Bertram claimed he would call me out in front of a room full of witnesses if I refused and that would be far worse. It would negate any chance I have of avoiding this and I am still trying to come up with a way to accomplish that. But if I can’t, it doesn’t have to be a catastrophe. I will shoot to miss and I seriously doubt his shot will come anywhere close to me.”
    She swayed unsteadily on her feet.
    He caught her by at the waist and steered her in the direction of a bench in the corner of the garden. “You need to sit down. You look as if you are about to swoon.”
    “That’s ridiculous," she said as she angrily swept her skirts aside and sat down on the bench. "I don't swoon.”
    He allowed himself a slight smile as he sat beside her. “I beg your pardon, my love. It wasn’t my intention to imply that you were missish, but these are somewhat unusual circumstances and you do seem a trifle upset.”
    “Of course I am, but what has this to do with our getting married?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”
    "I don't want to wait to marry you. I want you in my house, under my protection, now." He gazed at her a moment and then added softly, “If there’s even the slightest chance that you’re carrying our child, I will not go into a duel with you still unmarried.
    She looked up at him. “But surely you don’t believe he could kill you? He’s a horrid shot. He hates pistols.”
    “Bertram is completely inept and far more apt to shoot himself in the foot than me. The possibility is miniscule but I won’t take the risk of leaving...”
    “But you mustn’t risk it at all! I’m not the one whose life is in danger.” Her eyes blazed with anger. “And I can’t very well be under your protection if you’re dead.”
    He laid his hand over hers. “The risk is next to nothing.”
    She snatched her hand away. “Mary has no idea how much trouble she has caused. I don’t know if there’s time for it to do any good or not but I’m going to write her. It all seemed so ridiculous and I thought you could continue to put him off until Mary returned.” She covered her face with her hands. Then they fell to her lap and she glared at him. “This is idiotic. What does Bertie expect to accomplish? I’ll talk to him. Make him see how ludicrous this is.”
    “No. You will not talk to him. And you will not write Miss Dearborn,” he said firmly. “Some things are best handled between men.”
    “You talk as if the two of you have done such a marvelous job of it,” she retorted bitterly. “And he isn’t a man. He’s an overgrown boy who doesn’t have a bit of sense. I must convince him this is sheer madness. And if I can’t convince him, maybe Uncle Jack can.”
    “Stay out of it, Priscilla.” His voice grew sharp with exasperation. “You mustn’t speak to either one. Bertram will be humiliated if you interfere and if this nonsense gets out your cousin could be ruined. The ton will think the worst. They’ll never believe that this is all over nothing more than a young woman’s overactive imagination. I could survive the scandal. Miss Dearborn would have a much more difficult time of it. I’m not sure why I even care but I don’t want to see her reputation ruined over this. I wouldn’t have told you but I wanted you to understand why we need to marry quickly. I will not discuss it with you any further. I will handle it.”
    “You are behaving like a tyrant.”
    “Perhaps, but I don’t make a habit of it.” He smiled. “I’m usually fairly easy to live with.”
    She shook her head. “Men are idiots.”
    “On occasion,” he allowed.
    That earned him a glare. “This is illegal. You could be arrested.”
    “Highly unlikely. The magistrates tend to look the other way unless…”
    “Unless someone dies,” she finished.
    “Have a little faith in me.”
    “I don't appear to have a choice,” she said.
    He touched a strand of golden hair that had escaped her bonnet. “Will you marry me tomorrow?”
    She nodded.
    “Good. We’ll be married at noon in a small church just north of Marleybourne. There’s an inn down the street where we can have dinner and stay the night, but we’ll need to come home Wednesday as Cecelia is to be presented that afternoon and her ball is on Friday.”
    Without looking at him, she said, “Life must go on.”
    There was one last unhappy subject to broach. “We can't keep our marriage a secret forever," he said. "There's no way to know how the person blackmailing you will respond. You'll need to be prepared for that.”
    She turned her head quickly and pinned him with a glare. “You can't tell anyone. Not yet. It would completely overshadow Cecelia’s presentation and ball. We can’t do that to her.”
    He hadn't stopped to consider how this might affect his sister. “You’re right. We can’t." He paused. "I’m sorry you’re not having the kind of wedding you wanted, love. But once the season is over, we can have a honeymoon. We’ll go wherever you want.”
    Huffing with frustration, she tossed him an incredulous look. “Do you really think I care about a lavish wedding or a honeymoon right now? Do you really think that’s what’s important to me?”
    “No.” He shook his head slowly. “I don’t.”
    “I would marry you tomorrow with or without this stupid duel. But don’t you dare make me a widow.” The sheen in her eyes became tears that spilled down her cheek. “Don’t you dare leave me.”
    Stratton brushed her tears away with the pad of his thumb and spoke gently, “I don’t plan to, love. But you must promise me something. Promise you won’t speak of my appointment with Bertram to
anyone.
It will only make things worse.”
    The line of her jaw was rigid. “Appointment? What a genteel way to phrase masculine stupidity.”
    He understood her anger, but it didn't change matters. She had to stay out of it. “Promise me.”
    “Very well, I promise.”
    “That includes me as well. You and I will no longer discuss this.”
    She stared at him. “But that’s ridiculous.”
    “It won’t accomplish anything and I don’t want to spend the next few days arguing with you.”
    “You’d best leave before I change my mind," she said. "I have things to do and I expect you do as well.” He bent to kiss her lips but she turned her head and offered her cheek. “This is something I must to come to terms with. Just go. Please.”
    Sighing heavily, he rose and headed toward the house.