Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Josephine’s Bedchamber; Books and Their Readers
Midnight
Josephine stared at the letters long after the last tinkling notes of the piano had died away and Knightswood fell quiet. It was the kind of blanketing quiet that always comforted her as a child, but tonight it only felt oppressive.
Again and again, she read the lines that could mean so many different things ‘… He intends to know, one way or another, and so I have but one choice … I can disappear – for that is my intention… Promise me, Eliza, that, should anything happen to me, you shall not be emboldened to speak out – for our mother’s sake, if not your own… ’
Josephine drew a ragged breath. It seemed evidence, at last, that Pellham was innocent, and protecting Eliza, but why? And where did that leave Huntingly?
She looked from the yellowed sheets to her ball dress of Parisian silk hung on the front of her armoire, feeling as though every breath she took was a conscious effort, until she could bear it no longer. She had to confront him, betrothal or not.
Resolutely, Josephine climbed to her feet and reached for her robe, which was exactly the moment that a soft knock sounded at her door.
She frowned and glanced at her window; the night was dark, and the moon higher than she’d thought: it had to be after one in the morning.
Picking up her candle, she crossed the room to inch it open, expecting to find Matilda or one of her other sisters, but instead she found a very tall and distinctive silhouette.
‘Sir Francis!’ Josephine exclaimed in astonishment, her gaze travelling over his stockinged feet, pantaloons and open-necked shirt. ‘Are you well?’ She frowned. ‘Do you require any assistance?’ She thought briefly of Miss Amelia, and wondered if he’d come to enlist her support again.
‘Assistance?’ Sir Francis smiled enigmatically. ‘How very thoughtful you are, Miss Fairfax, I was hoping you might say that.’
‘Why, whatever do you mean?’ Josephine frowned, suddenly conscious she was in her nightwear and he barely dressed at all.
Her chest started to thump: she was no stranger to the games of gentlemen when they were in their cups, and there was a lingering scent of bourbon about his person.
She’d witnessed her brothers wagering the most ridiculous challenges when so affected, but somehow this felt different.
‘You see, I am in rather a quandary, Miss Fairfax… You are to marry Lord Huntingly, but I do not believe he knows what a prize he wins.’
‘That, sir, is between myself and Lord Huntingly,’ Josephine replied tersely. ‘As are your private arrangements with Miss Amelia Carlisle, Miss Isabella Hampton and perhaps others too!’ She took a deep breath. ‘Now if you will excuse—’
‘So, it would be wonderful if you could assist me to understand why, given all the books I have at my disposal, I cannot read the one I desire most.’
Then he leaned forward and brushed his moist lips over hers in a way that made Josephine recoil, her stomach churning.
Lord Huntingly’s passionate kiss beneath the trees at Ebcott flew through her mind yet, despite all her protestations, he’d never made her feel so violated.
Her face darkened as she wondered why she’d ever put Sir Francis up on a pedestal.
Matilda had been right the whole time: he really was a crowing peacock, and an entitled one at that.
‘Keep your hands to yourself, sir!’ she forced through gritted teeth. ‘I have not given you leave to address me thus, and this conversation is at an end!’
Then she started to close the door, only to find its path blocked, and Sir Francis advancing into her bedchamber. Furiously, she snatched up her letter opener and brandished it at the smiling nobleman, who stood over six feet tall in his stockinged feet.
‘Come come, Miss Josephine, there is no need to be melodramatic, or to play the schoolroom chit with me,’ he crooned.
‘We are both aware you are quite old enough to be married and widowed again. Who knows, you might be wishing the same once you’ve spent a month with that undeserving dog!
’ He smirked unattractively while Josephine swallowed a rise of nausea, wondering what she ever saw to admire in him.
‘On the other hand, we have known each other for some time now,’ he continued silkily, ‘and I’m quite aware of your admiration. In truth, I must own to feeling a little the same way. We are a plane above most others in wit and charm, and what a pity it would be were we not to—’
‘Enough, Dashton!’ a low voice hissed from the doorway. ‘Stand aside this instance or, so help me God, I’ll make you!’
Shocked, Josephine’s gaze swept from a confounded Sir Francis to a furious Lord Huntingly, also standing in the doorway of her bedchamber. Had he heard something from the gentlemen’s wing?
‘Huntingly!’ Sir Francis sneered, whirling around. ‘Did you follow me? Or were you lurking in the shadows – again?’
He laughed then, but to Josephine it sounded thin and nervous, despite his towering frame.
‘How dare you!’ Huntingly growled. ‘Not content with insulting my betrothed, you now seek to disrespect me! You will meet me for this impudence. Now!’
To Josephine’s further astonishment, Huntingly then produced a sword that he levelled directly at Dashton’s chest. ‘And believe me when I say I am not a patient man.’
‘Oh now, do consider, Alistair,’ Sir Francis wheedled, visibly paling. ‘Think of the scandal… It’s the Ball tomorrow, and we are both guests of Sir Fairfax, who would not thank us for a scene…’
‘Thunder an’ turf, Ed, look! A duel! A duel in Jo’s bedchamber! Told you I heard something!’
Josephine gazed, in further disbelief, as both Henry and Edward appeared in her bedchamber doorway, looking suspiciously bright-eyed and dishevelled.
‘Lay you a monkey Huntingly wins!’ Henry said, crossing the bedchamber and establishing himself on her window seat with a happy sigh.
‘Of course he’ll win, he’s the only one with a sword!’ Edward admonished, joining him.
‘Is he, by Jove? Well, that’s easily fixed – here you are, Dashton, have mine!’ Henry replied, withdrawing his sword from his robe and offering it in a most sportsman-like way.
‘You brought a sword?’ Edward whistled. ‘Beneath your banyan?’
‘Why, yes, of course.’ Henry scowled. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t?
I could have been facing a band of ruffians single-handedly!
You’re lucky it’s only Huntingly looking fit to murder Dashton,’ he added severely before turning back to the duellers.
‘As you were, gentlemen, as you were. Please don’t let my brother’s lack of forethought affect your matter of honour,’ he advised, before settling back down.
Josephine closed her eyes in pained denial, as Edward continued to watch with the look of one who’d come close to losing a ringside seat.
‘No, this is very much not a duel,’ Josephine forced through gritted teeth, just as Huntingly raised his sword in a salute.
‘I said outside, but if you’re too pigeon-livered, we’ll sort it right here and now!
’ he seethed. ‘You were a silver-tongued snake at Oxford, Dashton, and time has done you no favours at all. I ought to run my blade through your rumour-mongering throat this very second and be done with it,’ he hissed as Sir Francis brought up his own shaky sword.
‘Never have I ever been so insulted or rudely spoken to!’ Sir Francis replied, his eyes bulging in a way that cast his Olympian looks into sudden shade. ‘I can think of nothing I would like to do more than give you a good dressing down!’ he added. ‘However, as we are in a lady’s bedchamber…’
Yet whatever raft of social nicety he was about to cling to was lost as Lord Huntingly lunged, forcing Sir Francis to meet his sword with a pronounced gasp.
Josephine sucked in a sharp breath at the clash of silver, amid her brothers’ delighted calls of ‘en garde!’, ‘plant him a facer!’ and ‘pon rep, he displays to advantage!’, while the duellers ignored them all.
It was clear from the outset that, despite his old injuries, Lord Huntingly was by far the finer swordsman.
He broke through his opponent’s wavering defence time after time, a faint smile creasing his lips, while Sir Francis’s distinct lack of courage felt telling too.
Then, after several very near misses that made Josephine consider throwing the contents of her flower vase over them both, Lord Huntingly executed a lightning thrust that glanced along Sir Francis’s forearm, ripping the delicate lace of his sleeve and leaving a short red scratch.
Instantly, Sir Francis turned the colour of porridge and swayed.
‘Oh, will you desist!’ Josephine hissed furiously. ‘At no point have I asked for any determined attentions or noble defence! You are both mad! I have no desire for bloodshed, and even less for a betrothal, if it means subjecting myself to—’
‘Francis … no…!’ a new voice shrieked loudly enough to wake the rest of the household.
Josephine spun round in despair to spy Miss Amelia standing in the doorway of her bedchamber, her eyes as round as saucers, before she expelled a dramatic gasp and slunk to the floor.
‘Unless you wish to join my post … out of my way this instant!’ Josephine growled, brandishing her letter opener and forcing the gentlemen to step aside.
‘What the deuce is all the noise about?’ a calmer voice complained as Josephine reached Miss Amelia’s slumped body.
‘Why is Miss Amelia on the floor? Oh, is it a party?’ Fred added innocently, glancing around his sister’s bedchamber.
‘I say, Jo, you’re a dark horse! Phoebe and Matty holding a private party, yes, but yourself or Sophie… ’
‘It is not a duel and most definitely not a party!’ Josephine declared, making Fred wince. ‘In fact, everyone is leaving this instant! Perhaps you can see them out?’
Unfortunately, at precisely the same moment, Fred happened to spy Sir Francis’s scratched arm and let out a shriek to rival Miss Amelia’s.