Chapter Sixteen
Over his cousin’s protests, Darcy had dragged Fitz to Aunt Matlock’s favorite jeweler—Rundell, Bridge, and Rundell’s—to commission a wedding gift for Elizabeth.
He had the sketches ready, but the goldsmith had a few questions.
Fitz paced about the shop, earning himself some wary glances from the clerks.
“Sit down, Fitz, before they ask you to leave.” He leaned over the sketch to point out a detail in the design.
It was to be a necklace that could be converted to two bracelets or a brooch, similar to one his mother had once owned and had been left to Georgiana.
The goldsmith redrew a part of the clasp on his sketch and explained why his alteration would be stronger.
Darcy agreed. They settled on a price and a date when the piece would be completed and delivered.
Fitz grabbed his arm and nearly dragged him from the shop. “Your mind should not be on your wife just now, Darcy,” he insisted. “You do not want to lose this match.”
“My mind is always on my wife, Fitz,” Darcy replied. “But there is room for the match as well.” This was not hyperbole. Even as he pored over the drawing with the goldsmith, his mind had been at work on how to work this meeting to his advantage.
“You are turning my stomach, Darcy.” Fitz was exasperated. “Three days married, and you are no longer your own man.”
It was true, to an extent. Had he been a bachelor, Darcy would not have issued a summons to Howard.
Darcy did not believe in duels, and he knew this was a duel in a sense, though it would end without bloodshed.
There was a kind of performance that would be required of him today that he detested.
But Howard was a danger to Elizabeth, and that Darcy would not, could not, abide.
“Why are you so agitated?” he asked Fitz. “You have been in real battle.”
“I wish you had listened to me. This is not a good idea.” Fitz replied. “This is a real battle, though it is for reputation rather than land.”
“It is not only reputation at stake, Fitz,” Darcy said seriously. “I would not meet him for that alone. I have told you before that I mean to impress upon Mr. Howard, very clearly, what awaits him should he ever make another attempt to harm me or mine.”
Fitz ran a hand through his hair, something he never did. “A shot across the bow is risky, Darcy.”
“You know what he said to Elizabeth. He was ready to call me out, Fitz,” Darcy reminded his cousin, “and his summons would not have been to Angelo’s. By issuing my challenge first, I seized control and set the terms.”
“And Howard will not like it,” Fitz replied. “I do not know what he hopes to gain from this, but the man is unstable and therefore dangerous. You follow the rules but if Howard feels himself at a disadvantage, he will not.”
Darcy knew this, and yet remained undeterred. He had observed Howard fence at Angelo’s on several occasions. Darcy’s skill was superior. Howard was angry, and while it might make him behave rashly, it was unlikely to improve his form.
Howard had inserted himself into Darcy’s life.
For his supposed crime of refusing to marry Howard’s sister, both Georgiana and Elizabeth had been targeted for attack.
If Howard believed he had started any rumors, he was entirely wrong.
When he had soundly beaten Howard, any complaints or accusations from the man would be written off as bitterness over the loss.
Without more evidence, there was not more Darcy could do to stop Howard, but he could frighten him into leaving them be—perhaps even into leaving London.
It was not enough, but he would ensure it was done, and done well.
Despite the fact that Fitz had delivered the note only yesterday, there was a crowd spilling out the door at Angelo’s. He wondered whether he had Howard to thank for that or Henry.
Fitz cursed under his breath. “I had hoped for an audience, not a mob,” he muttered. “Move aside, you maggot-pies!”
Several men turned around at Fitz’s curse, and Darcy heard his name being whispered. The crowd parted to allow them through. “Not unlike the Red Sea,” he said to Fitz, who snorted.
His cousin assessed the crowd. “Well, Moses, it appears you are about to become a participant in the largest spectacle of the year. Every man here has likely laid a wager.”
“I would hope the odds are running in my favor,” Darcy grumbled, then raised his voice.
It was time to begin playing to the crowd.
He and Fitz had not been the victims of Henry’s skills all these years without learning a few things themselves.
“Mr. Howard has made unreasonable demands upon me, and I mean to have him apologize. You should lay wager or two, Fitz. It might make your fortune.”
“Already have, Darce,” Fitz replied flippantly. “Why do you think I was so concerned about your focus?”
Darcy laughed at that. This was an absurd little performance. “How much?” he asked.
“Five hundred pounds,” Fitz declared.
That was a tremendous sum for Fitz. Well, here was an opportunity to gift his cousin something, which was unreasonably difficult to do.
Darcy was not the only proud, stubborn man in the family, but Fitz would never complain about taking money earned on bets.
“That is quite a sum,” Darcy declared. “Add another five hundred on my behalf. Should I lose, I will cover the entire amount.”
That set the tongues afire. Darcy rarely gambled, and never so large a sum. Fitz gave him a sidelong glance but nodded and stepped back to accept a flurry of wagers.
He had the crowd of men paying attention. Now he must deal with Howard as though the man was nothing more than an insignificant irritant. He wanted those in attendance to understand that he was through with all unreasonable demands.
Howard had already arrived and, foil in hand, was taking angry swipes at an imaginary opponent.
Darcy observed him coolly. Howard was slender and his footwork was quick, but his use of the foil had always been slow, flawed.
That was when he was composed, and Howard’s emotions were certainly not in check today.
Men stood near the walls on either side of the long room. At each end of the floor stood a rack of foils, but Darcy had brought his own. He removed his coat and exchanged it for his weapon. Howard sneered and stepped forward.
“Admit you have wronged me, Darcy,” Howard hollered above the noise of the spectators.
Darcy frowned. Clearly Howard had his own performance planned. “I asked for this meeting, Mr. Howard. I believe we both know that you are the one who owes the apology. Will you not offer it?”
Howard sneered. “I have no apologies to make.”
“Then,” Darcy said, lifting his foil, “en garde.”
Howard did not mirror his movement. “I cannot trust a man like you to admit my hits. Fawkner will score.”
Darcy dropped his arm and rolled his eyes. “Very well. Colonel Fitzwilliam will also score.” Fitz pushed through the crowd and stepped forward.
Howard’s stare through his spectacles was murderous. “He has wagered on you.”
Darcy shrugged. “As Fawkner had wagered on you. If you are seeking a disinterested party, you are in the wrong place.” There was some hooting among the men, and Howard’s face reddened. “Are we through with these petty games?”
A muscle in Howard’s cheek twitched. “Very well. To three points?”
Darcy nodded.
The men moved into their positions, and each lifted his foil. The spectators quieted. Darcy’s focus narrowed until Howard was all he saw.
They began.
Howard stepped to the right. One, two . . . he lunged.
Darcy parried with a flick of his wrist. The noise was back, increasing in pitch and drowning out the clink of metal on metal. It did not matter, for Darcy heard none of it. He simply watched Howard retreat and begin to circle in a demi-volte.
Howard advanced, then retreated quickly, attempting to lure Darcy into a lunge of his own. Darcy simply waited and watched, moving defensively, awaiting the right moment. Howard made a pass on the outside. Again, Darcy parried.
As Howard’s arm and foil were thrown out to the side, Darcy advanced, turned his wrist in carte, and with a quick strike, fixed his point to Howard’s right breast. The eruption of sound registered in Darcy’s mind, though it was not loud enough to pull his attention away from his adversary.
“A hit for Darcy,” called Fitz.
Fawkner glanced at Howard but nodded his agreement. It was not as though they could disagree.
Howard stepped back and away from Darcy’s foil. “Again,” he demanded.
“That is the way a match typically proceeds,” Darcy said drily. Howard scowled at the catcalls Darcy’s rejoinder produced.
Darcy had never doubted he would emerge the victor, but Howard was presenting even less of a test than he had expected.
He was wild and undisciplined, which did not fit the man Darcy had once known.
A younger sister’s ruin could account for Howard’s change in behavior, but this sort of sober madness was inexplicable and, as Fitz had warned, dangerous.
Had Georgiana not been saved, Darcy would have been distraught, but he did not believe he would have allowed it to undo him.