Chapter Fourteen #2
He greeted Cook, who was up to her elbows in dough, then went to his gun cupboard.
He retrieved a wooden case that contained a set of dueling pistols.
They had been his father’s, though he’d never used them in a duel, only for target practice.
And he’d taught Jules how to fire them with precision, telling him it was a necessary skill in this unpredictable new world in which they’d lived.
The pistols matched perfectly and were exquisitely crafted.
The mechanisms were calibrated with hair triggers.
He reminded himself of their weight and then pretended to fire at a portrait of Lady Collinger that hung on the opposite wall.
He reckoned his aim was still on target, but even so, he’d have a few practice shots in the rear garden to refine his skills.
“Damn and blast,” he muttered, packing the gun away. “How has it come to this?”
Jules didn’t want to fire a gun at anyone. Chances were he’d add murder to a list of things he wasn’t particularly proud of.
Or he’d be dead and none of it would matter anymore.
Perhaps the duke would be open to a conversation and Jules could make him see sense, explain the situation. Explain that he couldn’t marry his daughter because his heart belonged to another.
That thought hit him harder than any bullet.
Did his heart belong to Meredith?
He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. His heart was thudding, as though answering the question for him.
He breathed deeply and his memory conjured up the scent of her sweet flesh. Petals and powder.
“Oh, dear Lord.” He looked at Maximilian on his glorious steed. “Is this how you felt when you met Mary?” He paused. “It’s compelling. I understand that now.”
But no matter his feelings for Meredith right now. Jules still had to make it alive to midday on Sunday, and that would require either sharp thinking or sharp shooting.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon had had Meredith working the evening she arrived back from Paris and every evening since. With the chess tournament growing ever closer, there were plenty of lessons scheduled. Gentlemen were eager to hone their skills and be in with a chance of the grand prize.
Her third student on Saturday evening was the Duke of Newgale, William Sorrel. Meredith was pleased to witness his chess skills were improving. He’d not only been practicing, but he’d read the book about strategy she’d recommended.
And he was easy company. Polite and intelligent, listening to her instruction and advice as though soaking up each word in for future use.
She sipped a glass of wine as he pondered his next move.
Her eyes felt heavy. She was still tired after her travels.
“Very good,” she said when the duke made a clever reposition of his knight. “I can tell you have analyzed all of my future moves if you make that one.”
“I have.” He grinned, clearly pleased with himself.
She made her move. An easy one. She could see where this was going.
“Don’t let me win.” He wagged his finger. “I want my victories to be real.”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.”
Eventually, she beat him, but he had been much closer to winning than he had been on previous occasions. “You really are improving.” She stood. “Keep practicing and perhaps you will win the tournament.”
“I can only hope, but can I just state, that you, Meredith, really would beat all of the contestants if you were to play.”
“Sadly, it is a gentleman’s chess tournament.” She shrugged and gave a half-smile.
“Ah, true. How terribly unfair.”
“Isn’t that just the way of life?”
“I would agree.” He slipped on his jacket. “Just as it is unfair for Jules Habsburg right at this moment.”
“I beg your pardon?” She frowned.
“Mr. Jules Habsburg. He is a chess pupil of yours, is he not?”
Her breath hitched. “Yes, he is.”
“Usually, he comes in here after me. Well, I don’t think he will tonight. I suspect your evening of teaching is over.”
“Whatever are you talking about?” A fist of panic gripped her heart. “Has something happened to him?” Please, no. She’d presumed he was perfectly fine and going about his usual art-world business.
“Nothing has happened to him…yet.” The duke shook his head and frowned. “But it seems his gallivanting has finally bit his rather dapper behind.”
She sat heavily, her knees suddenly week. “Please tell me what has happened.”
He tipped his head and studied her as though surprised by her reaction. “The Duke of Marlborough has challenged him to a duel. It seems Mr. Habsburg is refusing to marry his daughter after sullying her reputation.”
Meredith shook her head. “But how… How did he sully her reputation?” Was there something she didn’t know to which the rest of the ton was privy?
The duke flapped his hand in the air. “Oh, I don’t really know. Something about being alone with her on a private terrace. His daughter is claiming that Mr. Habsburg swore undying love to her and promised to ask for her hand…which he hasn’t done.”
“But… But that’s absurd.”
“Is it?”
“Yes…he told me. He told me that nothing like that happened.”
“He’s a slick talker.” The duke buttoned his jacket. “Always has been.” He reached for the door handle. “But it might be the last time his tongue gets him into hot water.”
“But…where is this duel? And when?”
“The gossip on the grapevine is that it’s at Green Park tomorrow at dawn.”
“Oh, dear Lord!” She pressed her hand to her chest.
“Are you quite all right?” the duke asked. “Should I get you something… Someone?”
“Yes… Yes… I am quite well. I just hate violence, any of it, and a duel, pistols… Someone could die.”
“That is the point, I’m afraid. A death settles the argument once and for all.”
He left and Meredith downed her wine. How could this be happening?
Jules.
Her Jules.
He could be dead by midday tomorrow.
And there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
Or was there?
The next morning, before the sun came up, Meredith and Nancy sneaked from the Lyon’s Den. It was Sunday and no one would notice their absence for a few hours.
Green Park was a short walk from The Mall and as she and Nancy strode arm in arm up Constitution Hill, Meredith felt her stomach coiling tighter and tighter.
“It will end well. I am sure of it,” Nancy said, squeezing her hand. “I can feel it in my bones.”
Meredith appreciated her friend’s kind words, but they were hollow. She couldn’t possibly know how this would end. No one could.
The morning was misty, and the birds were unseen but noisy overhead in the branches of the ancient lime trees.
A knocker-up walked past with the bamboo pole he used for tapping on windows. There was little trade for him on a Sunday, but still he walked the quiet London streets.
Horse whinnies in the distance guided their way across the grass, each of them holding their shawls tight with one hand and their hems away from the dew with the other.
“Do you think we are too late?” Nancy asked.
“I haven’t heard any gunshots.” Meredith couldn’t suppress a shudder.
“That is true.”
A squirrel darted in front of them, a flash of orange, and then raced up a nearby tree.
“Perhaps they will be stopped by the government,” Meredith said.
“We can hope. I hear the Duke of Marlborough is an exceptional shot.”
“Oh, don’t say that, please, Nancy.”
“But perhaps Mr. Habsburg is too. Is he?”
“I have no idea. We never spoke of shooting or hunting.”
“That doesn’t mean he can’t. He is a man of gentry, after all.”
And then, out of the mist, appeared a gathering of men in their Sunday best.
“Quick, behind here.” Nancy tugged Meredith behind an enormous hawthorn bush. “We can’t let them see us.”
Meredith pulled in a deep breath and then peered out. Weak sunlight was attempting to break through the mist and she could see several figures separated by twelve paces or so.
It took her a moment to single out Jules, but because he was tall and lean and always kept his spine rod-straight, she soon focused in on him. He held a pistol at his side and wore a black morning jacket and black trousers.
“Oh, he’s there.” She clasped her hand to her mouth.
“Where? Oh, yes.” Nancy was peering around the other side of the bush.
“Who are all the other men?”
“The Duke of Marlborough is in his top hat; he’s famed for forgetting to take it off when he goes indoors.”
“Yes, I see him.”
“And the others are seconds, I guess, hoping to either stop the duel or referee it. Oh, and I think the man with the medical case must be a surgeon.”
Meredith trembled and dragged her shawl tighter. What a senseless act this was. Attempting to kill or maim each other over a disagreement.
She wanted it to be over.
But she didn’t want it to be over…because what if Jules was killed when it was over?
How would she even be able to breathe?