Chapter Fifteen
Jules shook his head at the duke. “Is this absolutely necessary? It seems a frightful fuss over nothing.”
“You have insulted me and my family, so yes, this is necessary, Mr. Habsburg.”
“I really don’t see how going for a smoke on the terrace has landed me in such hot water and got you so bothered.”
The duke grimaced and a vein thudded in his neck.
“Can’t I just apologize for the misunderstanding and be done with it?” Jules held out his hand.
But the duke didn’t take it. If anything, he appeared angrier than ever. His cheeks were quite red now. “And how would I explain that to my distraught daughter?”
“But why is she so distraught? We spoke of embroidery, nothing more… Oh, and birds, and then I bid her goodnight and joined the ball for a dance with Miss Everleigh.”
“How dare you? How dare you twist history to suit yourself?”
“I am not. That is what happened. I swear. I didn’t lay a finger on your perfect daughter; she is totally intact.
” He paused. “And if she isn’t, then it isn’t my doing.
” A thought popped into Jules’s head. Was this why the duke’s daughter was taking this to the extreme?
She was in a delicate condition and in search of a gentleman husband with whom to saddle the bairn?
And if so, who was the chap who had lain with her?
A servant? A groom? Someone she couldn’t marry, that was for sure.
“Grab your barking iron, man.” The duke nodded at Jules’s pistols, which the seconds had deemed of good quality. “And let’s get this done.”
Jules stared at him for a moment. Should he voice his suspicions about the man’s daughter? It was all making sense now. Why else would she have come up with such an outrageous lie about their time on the terrace?
She was with child.
“This is for my daughter’s honor,” the duke snapped, “not because I wish you for a son-in-law.”
“As I have no wish to have you as a father-in-law.” Jules scowled and bit on his bottom lip.
What was the point of dropping a young lady into the mud with her father?
A young lady who clearly had passion in her blood, maybe love in her heart.
The situation wouldn’t change if he spoke up and perhaps he could face the outcome if he knew he had somehow defended her honor and given Lady Eloise more time to face her situation.
This was his chance to redeem himself, even if he was the only person to ever know about it.
“Twelve paces and then shoot.” The duke’s second held up his hand and waved a red kerchief. “On my count.”
The duke turned. So did Jules. Their backs touched and Jules gripped the pistol with his finger on the trigger. He took a deep breath. He must keep his head clear. He had a plan and he had to stick to it.
The second began to count and each time, Jules took a long pace. His stomach was knotted into a twist of nerves, but his hand was steady. He had faith in his father’s shooting lessons. And he had faith in his Habsburg ancestors who had ridden bravely into battles and won.
On the count of twelve, he turned with his pistol at the ready. He focused through the mist, saw his target, and shot.
Two bullets flew through the air, the sound earsplitting as the scent of gunpowder filled his nose.
He dropped down to the right, a force whizzing past his shoulder with unimaginable power. But it didn’t hit; he landed on his right knee, dragged in a breath, and then jumped up.
The duke cried out. “You bastard.” He clutched his left shoulder. “Get him. I demand he be arrested! He shot me.”
The seconds made no move, though the surgeon rushed to the duke.
Jules slipped the pistol into the waist of his pants and walked toward the duke. He’d pulled his plan off. A flesh wound, a glance of the bullet, not a death shot… He didn’t need that on his conscience.
“Your Grace, I presume this is the end of the matter,” Jules said.
“You… You shot me?” The duke was huffing and puffing as the surgeon attempted to bandage his shoulder.
“You challenged me to a duel. What did you expect?” Jules shrugged. “Though I could have hit you here if I’d wished.” He tapped the space between his eyebrows. “But knowing you are such a fair gentleman, I didn’t think that would be decent.”
“Why, you little upstart!”
“I trust this is the end of the matter?” Jules turned to the duke’s second.
“Yes, sir, it is.” The man paused. “A reconciliation, perhaps?”
“Not a blasted chance.” The duke snorted. “Not with him!”
“I should remind you, Your Grace…” the second said. He was a smart-looking man with a small, black moustache. “That according the rules of a duel, blood has been drawn, so that is the end of the matter.”
“And what am I to tell my daughter?”
“Might I suggest,” Jules said, “that rather than tell her anything, listen to her, hear what she has to say. She might have a reason for falsely accusing me of inappropriate behavior.”
“Whatever do you mean?” His pale face creased into a scowl.
“Like I said. Listen to her, even if what she has to say isn’t easy for you to hear.” Jules paused. “I swear on my life that I never promised her that we’d be wed.”
The duke huffed and then winced as the surgeon strapped the bandage tight.
Jules sighed, then set his pair of pistols in their case. He flicked away some wet strands of grass and then headed for The Mall.
What a start to a Sunday, but at least he’d survived to tell the tale.
But tell the tale to whom?
Meredith. She was the only person to whom he wanted to tell all. Only her.
Meredith had watched the duel feeling sure she would vomit at any moment. Her guts were in knots.
And when the shots had fired, both she and Nancy had jumped almost off the ground and she’d cried out before slapping her hand over her mouth.
Jules had fallen to his knee and she was sure he’d been shot. Instinct had made her rush from behind the hawthorn to go to him, but Nancy had pulled her back with a swift yank of her arm. “No, you can’t let him find out you’re here!”
“Why not?” She was breathing fast.
“Ladies should not be at a duel, and besides, you have dodged gossip in being associated with him so far. Why invite it now?” Nancy peered through the branches, parting them with her elegant fingers. “But he has not been hit. He is standing, walking.”
“He hasn’t? He is? Are you sure?” Relief washed through her.
“No, no injuries from what I can see from here.”
“Thank the dear Lord above.” Meredith resumed her position peering through the shrubbery and crossed her chest.
“Come on. We shouldn’t linger. We don’t want to be seen here or missed at the Lyon’s Den.”
“Yes, you’re right.” Meredith gathered her hem and dashed into the mist. She released a small giggle as Nancy took her hand and they ran together. The cool, damp air filled her lungs and for a moment, she felt as though she were flying.
Jules was alive. He’d been shot at but had survived.
Her heart could still beat.
“What a morning,” Nancy said as they approached the Lyon’s Den. “You certainly keep life interesting, Meredith.”
“For the first time ever. I have lived so quietly in Wales all of these years, and Mrs. Dove-Lyon had no luck with finding me a match. Yet now…”
“And now?” Nancy stopped and made Meredith turn to face her.
“Now I have no idea how any of this will work out.”
“What do you mean?”
“In my head, I know that we had that one time together, a magical moment in Paris, but my heart… I don’t know.” She paused and shrugged. “Call it women’s intuition, but I don’t think this is over.”
“My dear friend…” Nancy gripped her shoulders tighter. “You cannot think this way. He is a rake, that much is clear, and look at his behavior this morn. Dueling is against the law, but he sees no problem in that.”
“Neither did the Duke of Marlborough.” Meredith pouted.
Nancy’s scowl deepened. “What I’m trying to say is you must put this whole thing down to a folly. Jules Habsburg will be onto the next woman, the next game, the next dodgy deal before you can say, ‘the Tower of London.’”
Meredith closed her eyes. What Nancy said was true, but that didn’t shake the feeling that something momentous was about to happen.
Later that day, Meredith found herself at a loose end. The sun had burned away the early mist, so she decided to walk to the Dulwich Gallery.
It took her a while, but for some reason, her legs were twitchy and walking helped. Perhaps it was the lingering fear and excitement of the morning.
Also, she wondered if Jules might be at the gallery. He’d said it was one of his favorite places to be.
Sadly, she didn’t see him as she wandered the halls, stopping to commiserate with Saint Barbara desperately trying to flee from her evil, controlling father, and then at the painting of David holding up Goliath’s head.
Last time she’d been in that exact spot, Jules had been beside her—standing close, telling her the story behind the picture, enchanting her.
Making her throw caution to the wind and fall for him.
Before she left, she found herself in a smaller room painted pale green.
There were only three paintings on the wall.
They appeared to be a set. The first was of a young woman in a beautiful claret gown and a tall hat with a piece of lace hanging from the tip.
A knight kneeled at her feet, kissing her hand.
Her eyes were closed and her breast pushed at the neckline of her gown.
It was as though she were savoring the intimate moment and committing it to memory, taking a deep breath and holding him there in her chest.
Meredith moved to the next painting. It was the same woman, though now she had a rounded, pregnant belly. Her hand was placed protectively upon it and she was looking straight at the artist. The knight was nowhere to be seen.
The final painting showed her seated beside a fire, the swaddled child at her breast as she looked lovingly at it.
Meredith searched for the knight. Was that him?
In the background beside the hearth and in the deepest of shadows?
The artist had given only the faintest impression of his outline.
It could have been a set of wide shoulders, a glint of light on a helmet, or just the exposed bricks of the cottage. It was impossible to know.
Meredith wrapped her arms around herself. She still hadn’t succumbed to her courses. There was a chance she was with child.
Nancy had said it wasn’t possible on a single occasion, and certainly not on a first time.
But Meredith hadn’t admitted just how many times she and Jules had come together as one.
There was being irresponsible and then there was being breathtakingly, wildly, inexcusably reckless!